There�s nothing I love more than a good ole�-fashioned hypothetical situation.
�It starts off small � no big deal. Say, you�re running late. No worries, just hurry up, here�s what you need to do before you leave: make-up, hair, manageable stuff. Then, your hair won�t quite do anything right � the clips you bought look garish, but it�s curling weird if you leave it down, fuck it, nobody will care, just get out the door, hail a cab, you�re good to go.
You walk towards the elevator, you�re fine, double check the purse � something�s missing. Shit, where�s your lighter? And where the fuck are you cigarettes? Goddammit, you go back to your apartment and tear the place apart, desperate for the slow suicide you call a habit. You catch your reflection in the middle of your one-woman hurricane � these jeans fit all wrong and your top looks fucking ridiculous, but there�s no time to change, there�s no nicotine to be found, and you�re throwing things around in a blind rage, angry at your inability to Keep It Together, to be Responsible, to be Perfect. Another caught reflection further demonstrates your hair�s inability to perform correctly, a frustrated sob catches in your throat, and you imagine what the night would entail if you bothered leaving at all: uncomfortable chit-chat, conversations forced through Cheshire grins that make your cheeks ache as your struggle to present the proper persona, cheap beer shared with people you never wanted to see again � truly, a healthier night would be that spent alone.
You throw off you coat and call the person with whom you were throwing this obvious disaster of a party, describe the week that lay behind you, detail the shit that makes up the morrow, and express your deepest condolences, which aren�t really that deep.
As soon as you hang up, reassuring yourself that you�ve done the right thing, you really do have to get up early tomorrow, you really aren�t in any shape to be thrown into an awkward social situation, and you really can�t afford the cab ride anyway � you find your cigarettes. You tell the world to piss off and fall into a bitter sleep amidst the background noise of parties occurring the next building over and ambulance sirens on their way to parties just ending.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.�
Saturday at the shop, a customer came in, picked out a bunch of stuff, and insisted upon it beign shipped to her home in Lousiana so she could avoid the $12 in sales tax. No big deal, but she put everything on hold and was going to call me back on Saturday to let me know if she was to purchase a $190.00 coat to go along with everything. Again, no big deal, everything was going to be charged to her room as that is the only way possible to complete a purchase over the phone. She neglected to call on Saturday, but come Sunday she rings me up, lets me know she�s already checked out, and offers to give me her credit card number. �Nay, says I, �we cannot accept credit card information over the phone � our system isn�t set up for that. The only way this transaction is possible is if it�s charged to a room. I�m sorry for the miscommunication.�
�So,� stutters she, flabbergasted as only a southern belle can be, �I wasted my time yesterday.�
�Yes,� replies I. �It would appear to be so. I�m sorry it didn�t work out.�
�What time is your manager going to be in?�
�Tomorrow at 9am.�
I neglected to tell her that there was nothing he could do, figuring she just wants to bitch about me anyway. I wish she would have bitched about me to my face because (now that I�ve had all this time to think about it) I have an excellent response:
�Listen, lady, I am not going to stand here and take your abuse over a few tank tops and a coat.�
There�s more to it, but that�s my favorite part. Do people really allow themselves to get up in arms over these petty things? Poo to them.
I talked to a very nice gentlemen from Comcast last night. I put on my best, �I know it�s not your problem, but you�re going to deal with it anyway. Long story short, he ended the conversation with, �I would love to take care of this [extraneous and inappropriately placed] charge for you�� I was tickled at how passionate he was in trying to deal with my problem. Love? Hah! Who is he to speak of such things?
I've spent today organizing some 480 video cassettes. They keep giving me work that doesn't really need to be done, which is nice -- to feel somewhat productive -- until I think about how I could just not do anything and it wouldn't really matter.
I'm not so sure about this job.
one year ago today: �ebay, baby. ebay.� two years ago today: � my therapist said i was "out to orbit."� three years ago today: � Mary Kay Ash was exciting.�