...beneath these tragic waves
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one-way
Sept 30, 2002

What a very eventful time it has been at the first day of my new job. I'm proud to report, not a flipping hamburger job or "sanitary technician", but graphic design! The very field I've spent my semi-hard earned money at college for. The work is...well, not what I'd ideally like to do, but it's about the best I can get here and truly, not half bad. The people though. Oh, the diversity. Not diverse in the interesting and unique individuals way, but rather in the "we may all have 80's hair, but we are as different as Whitesnake from Poison...hairstyle wise. But I'm quick to judge. Though, there is no jury out on the 80's hair verdict, because, frankly, there it is. But they are all friendly, which is a plus and indeed a change of pace.

I'm used to clients in and out quite a lot, but there wasn't too much of that going on today. We did have one interesting visitor, at least. We are, apparently, the Plymouth Rock, Jamestown, or wherever it is people who don't live here (can only say "very good very good" and who think we barter, trying to give us salted fish for our woes) first go when they decide to head for the "land of freedom", as they did in olden says when they sailed ye old high seas. But rather than sailing as it was back then, they take the plane, for a cheap cost of 700 rubles, and the entire way press the help button and utter, with a heavily accented, "Pepsi for please". Our visitor, quite obviously (and understandable) upset from perhaps falling asleep on the "great metal ship of the sky" and having her headphones fall over her eyes decides to unleash righteous justice upon the wicked, cruel, and graphic designers.

It was about the time I was clocking out, when she decided to come. I, nor any of Motley Crue, knew that she was showing up. I was at the window, having a look outside - ah how nice to have a window - and nothing at all was amiss. So I decided to grab my stuff from the back and head out. No sooner did I take 5 paces when I hear a slight racket behind me, in the very spot I was standing. I turn back, and where the window once was, now is a big rectangular hunk of metal that says "Oldsmobile" on the front and a woman in the seat with eyebrows in this shape: /. I'd show you my face, but I lack the keys for such an expression. Not since the time I got hit in the head with a car grill have I been that close to the front of a vehicle. I will venture that this time was much less a bother. In fact, I hope all my work days will be this exciting. Except the problem was, I was stuck in the building until the car was moved.

The woman was fine - or so I guess. She was speaking not a bit of English. My guess was that MAYBE she was pulling one of those moves that you see people do on TV, when they get furious and slip into their native tongue as they chew out someone who crosses the line. But she was well enough, it seems, to throw that mother in reverse and speed away. But she wasn't quite up to the task of hiding the fifteen empty beer cans that were in her car when the cops brought her to swift, very different kind of justice.

In other news, I found myself in the men's room (and also the women's at work, very much by mistake) today, against all logic, undoing my once unwieldy button fly pants with one hand and tapping a merry beat on the wall with another. Obviously, today was an odd day, else my mind would have been where it should, and my hand wouldn't have been where it shouldn't, i.e. the WALL OF A PUBLIC MEN'S BATHROOM. Nevertheless, halfway, er, towards completion of certain natural functions, I hear a small child starting breaking out into song in a stall far into the distance (it's a long bathroom). Yet again, against even more odds, I found myself singing along before I realize what was going on. I was zombified by the kid's cuteness. It was quite clearly a child created song, but I think I handled it rather well. That is until the boy's father stepped out from the stall and said "what the FUCK do you think you are doing" (yes, in front of his kid...he was probably that same father I saw in line at the movies back in the day who ordered himself and his two 5-8 year old boys tickets to "Barbed Wire"). To be quite honest, I didn't have an answer, so I acted as if I had a candy cane shirt on, took off my brimmed hat and waved it in the air like a tambourine, spun my cane in the other hand, leaned at a mean 45 degree angle, and did a sideways "running man"-ish move out the door, looking as if i was slipping on a banana peel as I went.

devolve | evolve

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