Tuesday, April 19, 2005 scam
If it wasn't for me, nobody in this town would ever have bus fare.
Anyway.
I've been away lately. I went to Jupiter and got more stupider. I went to Baltimore and got more heckled. It's street harassment season! Are you excited? Silver bells. Silver bells. Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? The other day a grown man called me, "Bouncy", like it was my name. "Hi there, Bouncy," he said. Maybe I'm being judgmental, and he wasn't harrassing me at all. Maybe he had left his glasses at home that day, and from a distance, I looked just like his cousin Bouncy.
No, what was I saying? I've been kind of checked out. It's one long late afternoon for me. It's kind of OK, honestly. The day swims by. Aloha!
They've been doing construction outside of my work today. Those guys are innovative. I would never have dreamed of digging a four foot deep ditch in front of our entrance, and then putting up yellow caution tape across the steps, and then putting a sign on the door that says not to use it, and then locking the door. Amateurs.
All day, I would come from folding towels in the back room to answer the phone or because, like a roomba, I had sensed that the floor was dirty, and I'd see someone ignore the construction workers yelling to stop, cross the ditch, circumnavigate the machine that was tearing up the alley, brush the caution tape aside like so much cobwebbing, pull the door, poor harder, huff and puff, then look up an read the sign on the door that said in giant letters to use the forbidden entrance on the other side of the building. Then, as I was crossing the room to unlock the door, because they'd made it that far and to hell with safety regulations, they would nod at the sign, then turn and leap nimble as gazelles back over the ditch and back down the alley. Can't argue with a sign.
I go to Mars. I eat candy bars. I go to bars. Maybe.
Like, maybe I'm going to go the Happy Hour thing tomorrow, because it's nice to go out and meet people. Also, it's right on my way home. The thing is, sometimes, I just can't hang, not with friends, not with enemies, not with internets. I've been making deals with myself for days now, trying to decide whether to go or not based on vaguely relevant outside factors, and here is the one that makes the most sense to me: if by the time it's happy hour tomorrow, fewer than five out of a hundred people have looked at me crooked or given me a hard time in my exalted capacity as receptionist and pedestrian, then I'll go and see thirty more people, and it'll be fine. posted by Frenz | 4/19/2005 11:36:00 PM
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