Friday, October 17, 2014

Short Takes

There are so many short stories weaving through my life, it really makes me interesting.

First there's REGGIE

Why do the police always pull over the clown?

He got into a fight with, who else, the OTHER custodian from our library, now that they are both downtown. Turns out Reggie kept pestering James about his gayness ("What's it like to be gay? You're not really gay, are you? Really?!" etc etc) and James attacked Reggie and it was ugly and James got suspended. But Reggie? Still smokin' and jokin'. And still not paying me my 27 dollars. (I need the money. My IWS is not helping my bank account...)

Then there's PAT, the student I tutor in, uh, philosophy.

"Glove, bat.... Non-gender-specific cake, anyone?"

During our Socratic dialogue I posed to him the thought experiment of his father's death. Pat immediately reacted by saying he'd have to kill himself. But not out of grief or love--no, because so many people attending the funeral would ask after Pat's "transition" that it would be overwhelming. Pat's father is an important person. He makes six-hundred dollars an hour as an attorney and was once the president of the Colorado and Denver Bar Associations, along with being Grand Cicatrice of the Giant Vulva Elks and All Fez-Wearing Self-Congratulators Temple. His death would be attended by over 3000 similarly important people, and there's been talk that the funeral would have to be held at Red Rocks, with Phish opening. I'd tell Pat his life is Kafkaesque, except I'm worried he'll wake up as a bug some morning.

Then there's Jorel, my fellow cadet in the mystical journey we call library science...

"Ohh, this can't be good....."

Jorel has been having more difficulties lately. First her fat dog got run over by a car, and now she's about to get run over herself by our manager. Oddly, Jorel has been rather nasty about possibly getting fired. She wagged her finger in our manager's face and said she must have been a "terrible" wife to her now-dead husband. For good measure, she also threw in that our dearly departed shelver had left because of her tyrannous ways, nearly running over our manager with her car in the parking lot. Ahhh, good times. And what about Reggie? Beyond the fact that he won't pay Greg his 27 dollars, Reggie had to leave the library because our manager is RACIST. Now Jorel has gone to HR to get our manager fired herself. Ha, ha. Who knew the library could be a delightful place? It's like Survivor: Cherry Creek, except I don't go around naked. But that will change. Soon, people. Soon.

Lastly and leastly there are the people popping up from my B&N dayz....

"Shut it, Joann. Just SHUT IT."

I've seen four former B&Ners in the last month. One of them, we'll call her Joann Le Cunt, came to the circ desk and gave me a funny look. Do I know you? I said yeah, goddamnit, you used to drive me crazy at B&N. All the memories came rushing back like a monkey-punch to a gut filled with diarrhea. Joann Le Cunt used to also work for a travel agency and as I stood up front at the cashier counter with her she'd sell people travel packages to Mongolia and other wondrous lands. Meanwhile the line got longer and longer, and I was essentially the only cashier getting people out the door as steam shot out my earholes. She had left not long after I did, but then she tried to get back on a few years later. That's when she told me the manager at the time had been "rude" to her. I asked her if she could describe said manager? She said she was "domineering." Uh-huh, go on. "Overweight." Mm. "And had lots of black hair." Ahh, yes. Time to start pounding the mattress! Orgasm.

So what did we learn from all this? Just that I'm hoping someday they unfreeze Robert Altman and he can take all these stories and make a really, really dull movie out of them. Just so long as I don't have to watch it.

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