Saturday, October 12, 2002

customer service/you jerk


fucking bus was late again this morning but I don’t give a shit so I’m just gonna walk go to cc’s and get a decent cup of fucking coffee not that work shit in the shiny plastic pouches smells like old books should I call in though? cause jim wants me in that nine o’clock meeting with the fucking marketing tools but fuck him anyway can’t stand any of those work freakshows and their stupid grazing faces fuck it I won’t call in I’ll just enjoy my fucking coffee from cc’s and not worry about shit until I show hu. . .h. . “LEARN TO DRIVE ASSHOLE!” nearly fucking hit me look at the light dumbass like you haven’t seen a goddamn pedestrian before hate this stupid city what’s with the damn clowns in front of that bank like a goddamn circus why can’t everyone not be such a fucking retard no I will not need a mortgage or checking or a loan, “NO THANKS” oh jesus what’s with people get out of my way.
holy shit that pigeon only has one foot just one foot and a stump where one was how the hell does a pigeon lose a fucking foot for christsake? disgusting damn cripple bird what the fuck makes me sick they should do something about all of them and the assholes that feed them keep them around the city just feathered trash like we need any more wish caroline would stop calling me all the fucking time just leave it for crying out loud she can’t just get along and forget she ever knew me had enough it’s not like it’s even my fault she needs to get laid and shut up christ what a fucking line I won’t even make it in by nine-thirty should I even bother? yes yes yes I’m getting my coffee now I already walked over here and came in they can fire me I don’t need that shit this is my morning to do this oh shit, duty calls fuck it’s caroline how did I fucking know?
“Hello?”
“…”
“Caroline! Good morning.”
“…”
“I’m fine. . .just standing in line here at CC’s. Gonna wake up.”
“…”
“No, sorry, didn’t get your message.”
“…”
“Yeah, I heard about that I’m really sorry.”
“…”
“Well, I mean, what the fuck are you still beating yourself up over that damn kid?”
“…”
“You know the kid who didn’t move around too much . . . the, uh . . .pair. . . uh . . ?”
"..."
"Yeah, paraplegic, that's right!"
“…”
“Well I wasn’t saying it was your fault, Caroline.”
“…”
“No I didn’t I’m just saying you’re too sensitive and he shouldn’t have been in there anyway. His damn parents fault, right?”
“…”
“I’m sorry hold on I gotta order. Sorry about that, yeah, I’ll have a Mondo-Mocha-Hazel-Medley with skim and a toscatta biscotti. Sorry, Caroline, what’d you just say?”
“…”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“…”
“I take serious offense to that that's why.”
“…”
“Oh. I’m sorry I thought you said something else.”
“…”
“Nevermind it’s nothing look I gotta get going, kid’s almost done with my coffee.”
“…”
“Yeah, I’ll call you back after work.”
“…”
“Uh huh”
jesus christ that headcase and her fucking issues gaaaahhhh get some help my god.
“What’s the total?”
“That’ll be five-sixty-seven.”
“What the fuck? Is that a large? I wanted a small coffee. I specifically said I wanted a small Mondo-Mocha-Hazel-Medley.”
“Well, you didn’t really say, sir.”
“Look, just make it a fucking small, asshole, I’m fucking late for work as it is.”
and this kid before my own eyes in disbelief this fucking kid takes this little like dicta-phone little tape recorder thing out of his pocket and I’m standing right there staring at him and he still pushes the button and speaks into it evenly, ”asshole,” and he cuts it off and shoves it back in his pocket.
“What the fuck is that all about?” and he just looks at me dead on gets this really cold look in his eyes and doesn’t say so I ask him again and he rolls his eyes a little and pulls the fucking tape thing back out of his pocket and holds it up between us without looking and hits rewind for a couple seconds and then hits play and it’s just the kid’s fucking voice calm and even saying, “ cocksucker. . . asshole. . . you jerk. . . shithead. . . asshole . . .

Thursday, October 10, 2002

vindication is spelled "l-i-n-k"


Hey ya'll. This is a poor excuse for a post, as i don't really have anything to contribute to my increasingly senseless collection of cerebral ordure, and because I'm really just writing to gloat. But don't let that stop you from reading on, okay?
So, many of you reading this are friends of mine, and you read this page because you're a) bored, b) obliged to do so, or c) because you actually have a place in your heart for, and truly miss, my misguided attempts at being funny/cute/thoughtful/sexysexysexy. I don't really care why you read the page. I don't care why you're my friends, only that you remain to act as such. I can't thank all of you enough, and I thank you fully for anyone with their own page that has linked to this one. That you would share this poppycock with others means a lot. But all of you also know me. I'm not saying this decreases the amount of gratitude I feel for your favor, but, it is less surprising than, say, if someone who does not know me at all, and has never met me in the flesh, were to link to my page.
Well, lo and behold, after months of leaving my name and URL in comment boxes on blogs far superior to mine, one fella has put a link to our very own Insufferablastarditis. This is Aaron's page, and he has included my page with some other quite reputable pages. Hopefully no one will correct him on his error anytime soon, but until they do I'm .. just so. . wow! His page is really good, too. I've been reading it for a while, and I lament I don't live in Boston so I can't go see his band. He is dreadfully funny, and his favorite Pokemon is Snorlaxx, which is perfectly admirable, though I usually prefer the cantankerously enigmatic garbling of Bellsprout (remember? the one that goes, "bellsprout. .. bellsprout .. "?). Anyways, I'm touched, and in the good kinda way for once. I'll try not to let it go to my head.