Value Pack

Part 2

2010-02-02T16:43:00.000-08:00

This is a continuation of my best of 2009 list. Scroll down to the previous entry to see the first six. If you're interested in hearing any of the albums on this list (which are mostly work-friendly), you can listen to anything once on Lala. Just create a free account, search for the artist, select the album, and click queue album. It's even easier to do than it sounds. Tracy and I have also created a Pandora station with many of these artists.

12. Passion Pit - Manners
This is a pop nightmare. Take one part lovestruck loner and one part Fruity Loops, mix in a shit-ton of falsetto, and you have this sublime (read: "terrifyingly beautiful") mess of unlistenable, masturbatory rock. The guy uses what I'm guessing is a harmonizer vocal effect and maybe some other vocoder thingies, and then he belts out an unabashed love song. I feel a bit guilty whenever I hear this guy, as though I've stumbled across a hidden stash of high school love letters, gleefully flipping from page to page with hilarity and nostalgia. The first time you hear Passion Pit, you will likely hate it, but it grows on you like mildew in a dorm bathroom.

11. M Ward - Hold Time
I nearly forgot this record, not because it was sub-par, but because I kept thinking it came out in 2008. This February 2009 album marks the first M Ward album I found myself enjoying beginning to end. A nice pairing to his collaboration with Zooey Deschanel in 2008 (She & Him - Volume One), this one is worth looking into if you enjoyed that record. There's not much more to say about this except that it's a southern pop gem, and hell, I even bought it for my Dad.

10. Dan Deacon - Bromst
Spastic to the point of annoying, this is the followup to the... similar 2007 release Spiderman of the Rings. Having been a fan of other bands that sound like kids' music on speed (DAT Politics, Blectum from Blectum, Secret Mommy), this is nothing new per se. However, if you check out any of his videos, you'll see he has made the style his own. I frequently find myself dancing like an idiot (okay, maybe that's the only way I dance, but you get the idea). There's not much to talk about musically here... he uses plenty of complicated equipment and fine-tuned loops, but the rhythmic simplicity is part of the charm. Dance, bitches!

9. Atlas Sound - Logos
His 2008 release started showing up on Pandora frequently, I think on the station that included Department of Eagles. Having found myself saying, "ooh, what is this?" for those songs, I picked up his first album last year. It's relative obscurity led me to believe he wasn't due for another release any time soon, but Logos released to some fanfare a short time later (probably because of the success of his other band, Deerhunter). His first, elaborately titled record, was decidedly more ambient, and several people I talked to found it uninteresting. Logos features more vocals and rhythm but is still layered over a complex background. This makes for a pleasant, if somewhat sedate (in a more listenable way vs Volcano Choir), experience for both passive and involved listening.

8. Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca
It's easy to hate these guys - Brooklyn hipsters with chips on their shoulders. Much of their earlier material is deliberately obscure, and I'd found myself saying, "Who the fuck do you guys think you are?" However, I would recommend Rise Above for the amusing fact that it's an indie pop retelling of a Black Flag album. Bitte Orca does not uh... rise above the pretentious obscurity of their other titles, but it's still fun to listen to. Warbly melodies and vocal precision dominate this record. You'll also find some genuine pop rhythms and cringe-worthy lyrics ("Isn't life under the Sun just a crazy, crazy dream?"). Putting this on for someone who is unfamiliar with their... quirks... will likely result in a shoe hitting you in the ear. Still, give it a spin or two & try to ignore the critics (read: most of the internet).

7. tUnE-yArDs - BiRd-BrAiNs
It's fitting that this odd bird falls right below Dirty Projectors, with whom she apparently toured last year. Merrill Garbus (yeah, I had to look that up) of the band Sister Suvi (which I've never heard of) has spectacular vocal control. The instrumentation tends towards what you might call math rock, at least in as far as the more poppy groups like Fiery Furnaces have imagined it. This leads to the occasional difficult section, and her voice keeps up with the zaniness. The lyrics are vacillate between angry and self-deprecating, lending the songs peculiar (but contagious) energy. "Why'd you think I'd put out your fire? ... What if my own skin makes my skin crawl?"

A new decade cometh

2010-01-10T19:12:00.000-08:00

Okay, I don't tend to place much weight in the concept of calendar years being a new start or a fresh, stinky baby or whatever. I mean I've never made resolutions (that I intended to keep), and I don't start on my taxes until well into the first quarter of the year. That being said, New Year's Eve remains a fantastic opportunity to start the year with a hangover. There's also the top 10 list. It's long been the tool of Late Night TM to amuse us with topical humor, as well as the list fetishist for masturbatory material. Being neither of those and having written absolutely nothing in the past year, it is my feeble opportunity to tell a bunch of people (or like, 3) what I thought done good. So without further ado (except this one: ado), here is my first
BEST OF 2009 REGULAR OL' MUSIC EDITION (Part One)
In which I find stuff (18 stuffs) I liked that can also be played in a public setting

18. Why? - Eskimo Snow
At the show in 2009 at Cat's Cradle, marking the third time I've seen Why?, the place was packed. Possibly not sold out but... I have no idea how they went from opening at 8:00 to (the horrible) Islands to headlining a show in Carrboro. Anyway, being the super awesome fan that I am, I sang along like a total tool bag (that is, a bag full of tools). This is some poppy, whiny stuff, friends. Eskimo Snow is actually far from being my favorite. It seems each album adds another dude to their band, and the sound is beginning to get crowded in my opinion. See, in the beginning, during his CloudDead days, Yoni Wolf was known as Why? by himself. It was a... rapper name? But while the ranks grow, Yoni continues to grace us with his occasionally shocking, often hilarious lyrics with a distinctive hip-hop delivery. Give 'em a chance, but I'd say start with Elephant Eyelash.

17. Bon Iver - Blood Bank
Another male vocalist who keeps it up there in the falsetto steps into the scene. Along the lines Jens Lekman, Beirut... and hell, I'll even throw in Antony (of Antony & the Johnstons). Delicate melodies and heartbreaking vocals dominate his works, & you'll see he made my list again a couple spots further up. Maybe if he weren't so busy doing side projects (like the Twilight soundtrack for god's sake), he could put out a proper full length.

16. Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport
The past couple of years have been dominated by heavy doses of jarring electronica. From the now super popular Girl Talk to the web prominence of mash-ups (Best of Bootie anyone?), I've seen stuff rise to the surface that I wouldn't have imagined could... 5 years ago even. It's a stretch to call this playable (even the name is tough to say in a crowd), and that's probably why it's not higher up on the list. There's certainly more accessible stuff out there that won't, you know, make your head want to explode, but there's plenty of bang here. I'd like to say more, but I truthfully haven't listened to the record enough times. Give me a couple of weeks!

15. Volcano Choir - Unmap
Another one I've regrettably given too few listens. The subtlety on this record makes it difficult to enjoy with the casual listen a coffee shop (or even the car) would afford. If you weren't aware, this record is pretty much a side project of a side project. Collections of Colonies of Bees, who are also members of the post-rock group Pele, team up with Justin Vernon, also known as Bon Iver. Both sides of the equation balance each other out with competitive minimalism. You won't find much here that's... disagreeable though.

14. Girls - Album
This variety of... I'll call it "garage pop," is typically not my style. Several recommendations and critical acclaim forced my hand, and I bought it. Part of my intrigue lay in reports of unusual origins for the band's lead, and his troubled past is reflected in the music. The lyrics, well, they tend to be your standard fare & occasionally trite, but I mean the music. Maybe it's just because I'm aware of his history that I sense a challenge in the simple and often repetitive melodies. Still, I find myself singing along in the car, particularly to the nearly seven minute long "Hellhole Ratrace." "I don't wanna cry / my whole life through, / I wanna do some laughin' too / so come on, come on, come on, come on and laugh with me. / And I don't wanna die / without shakin' up a leg or two, / yeah I wanna do some dancin' too / so come on, come on, come on, come on and dance with me."

13. Woods - Songs of Shame
This will not be the only lo-fi folk item on this list, surely. It probably would have ranked higher were it not for the psych-out right in the middle of the album. There is so much poppy, delicate goodness in there that this rambling section has me skipping it more often than not. Anyway, you'll find some fine nuggets on this record. I found the group gives me a feeling of intimacy not found in the other new editions of the lo-fi genre like Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti (with his oddly forced conceit) or even Neon Indian, whom I rate higher on this list. That's not to say the songs are sappy or that they have a narrative strain (like the critical favorite Girls Album), but something about their sound gives the impression of being in the same room with them.

Another top somethingorother

2009-01-13T09:01:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is 2010 & I never finished my best of 2008 blog post. Somehow that also kept me from producing any other sort of post for the last year. I decided to just leave this guy as is & post it before moving on to the best of 2009, which you will see shortly! Promise!

Sometimes I like to fancy that someone cares what I think about music. You may have heard me slyly insert that I was once a college station DJ or perhaps interject that "this sounds like the lovechild of Six Organs of Admittance with Sleepytime Gorilla Museum." Anyway if you're down for some musical masturbation I have for you
RUSS'S TOP ALBUMS OF 2008

2008 releases
1. Chad VanGaalen, Soft Airplane (Sub Pop)
I purchased this album after hearing a single song on the radio. To be honest I was more thrilled that the TEXT function had worked & I'd gotten the name of the artist without having to listen to one of the vapid DJs on NC State's radio station THE REVOLUTION. Apparently their revolution was to start doing immature station ID's, giving themselves DJ names like "the fox," and taking paid advertisements.
Surprisingly enough, the album is entirely listenable (despite some obscurity scattered throughout). His songwriting is often captivating, even humorous. Take, for instance, "I can hear the cries of the dead/ Maybe it's your neighbor beating his dog in the basement." Some might find his delivery whiny, but I believe it's the kind of controlled warble you might get from someone like Thom Yorke. Still, it likely fails what I like to call
THE PARENT TEST FOR NEW MUSIC
a. Does the music fall into one of the accepted categories of white people music: folk, cookie-cutter rock, inoffensive dance/disco, covers of songs we already know the words to?
b. Will the lyrics cause one to blush in mixed company?
c. After passing the above, will the disc be skipped anyway in favor of ZZ Top?

In other news, I decided (ill-advisedly) to purchase his earlier album Skelliconnection after enjoying this one so much. Though still enjoyable, I found it to suffer from unimaginative drumming and production... and just a bit too pop-y (a word I've said often but never attempted to spell). I was reminded of Grandaddy's third album Sumday and what a disappointment it had been (inversely from VanGaalen chronologically) after The Sophtware Slump. In addition to that coincidence the fact that their tone is unmistakeably similar.

2. Animal Collective, Water Curses EP (Domino)
It's no secret that I have intense feelings... sexual feelings towards Animal Collective. Now, initially it was all negative. Immediately following their release of Sung Tongs in 2004, I was working at the college radio station all hours. One afternoon I was called and told I could come in an hour later due to a scheduled interview. This was pretty common, though it was rare I had even heard of the band. I came in during the interview to pull records for my show & occasionally crossed paths with members of the band. They wore old clothes and had a haze that followed them like stale pot smoke. Since they were touring, they had likely not showered in weeks & smelled like they'd been dumpster diving, a distinct possibility. What followed was pure contempt, and, mind, I had never heard their music. Assuming it was some hippie bullshit I passed it over in the following months. Eventually I heard the full album & came a little. I discretely purchased Sung Tongs and, a challenge at that time, the bulk of their material. As time passed I attended several shows of theirs through the much lauded Feels release. In 2007, Panda Bear (a founding member) put out my favorite album from that year. The same year saw the release of Strawberry Jam. Okay, I've been rambling for awhile here, but the idea of putting an EP on a top 10 list is to say that this record was, as best as I can tell, an apology for Strawberry Jam. The tour that followed, which I unabashedly enjoyed, had them pretty much playing the album. Previous shows had been mostly noise (though enjoyable), and I think the band began to feel they had sold out. Succinct yet soulful, Water Curses was the stepping stone between Person Pitch and Animal Collective's spectacular 2009 release, Merriweather Post Pavilion.

3. Hercules & Love Affair, Hercules & Love Affair (DFA)
It's a curse of mine that I will buy just about anything from DFA. The label is run by two guys who also do remixes (as is my understanding). After a spectacular pair of label samplers/remixes, they went on to produce two chapters of fun remixes (mostly off-label) that are incomparably playable. So I confess that picking up H&LA was more an indulgence in DFA than my knowledge of their work, which was nonexistent. The reviews I have read attribute the success of this record to the input of Antony. Though he appears to be only a guest artist of sorts, I had viewed him from the outset as a quintessential part of the band (if you can call it a band). His vocals actually sound more like a deep-voiced female, and a quick glance at any biography will nod to the reasons behind that. The result is a passionate act of disco that is not stale top 40 wankage. Though the lyrics are not, by themselves, expressive, their delivery lends them credence. "You Belong" (to him tonight) has a kind of desperate urgency that makes me start dancing, as if for my life. I had it playing at the store once & went to the back to fill a cup with ice. I started groovin' at the ice machine when a young girl spotted me on her way to the bathroom. She joined in with six year-old vigor, and I knew at that moment that this was a music that transcended generations.

4. Crystal Castles, Crystal Castles (Last Gang)
Anyone who was around me during the summer months of '08 knows I played the hell out of this album.

5. No Age, Nouns ()

6. Benjy Hughes, A Love Extreme ()

7 . Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend ()

8. MGMT, Oracular Spectacular ()

9. Department of Eagles

Honorable Mentions
1. She & Him, Volume One (Merge)

New to Me
1. Bark Bark Bark, Haunts ()

Zing!

2008-11-08T13:12:00.000-08:00

I wanted to take an opportunity to toot my own horn.

Jen & I were idly conversing the other day.
Me: I'm trying to think of the term... for a logical fallacy when you keep wishing for something to happen. And then when it does happen you say, "Oh, it's because I wished for it!"
Jen: I'm not sure... It's not self-fulfilling prophecy.
Me: It's not caveat emptor, though I bet it's all latin-sounding.
Jen: Now that's going to bug me all day.
Me: Oh, I've got it!
Jen: Yeah?
Me: Christianity!

FYI, from the wikipedia article, I believe Non Sequitur best fits the description we were looking for, though it covers a broader spectrum of fallacies.

2008-11-08T13:10:00.000-08:00

By changing races, apparently.

Also, no hand holding for you, fatty!

Invalid query

2008-11-08T12:16:00.000-08:00

Predictions for our time together based on the questions you ask me:

1. "What's good today?"
We're about to have an awkward conversation about the difference between a latte and a cappuccino.

2. "How are these?"
You want me to lie.

3. "Where's your bathroom?"
Ten minutes from now I will knock on the door & interrupt your second line of coke.

4. "Do you have wi-fi?"
Your home office is occupied since the kids are out of school today.

5. "What's playing [on the radio] right now?"
You want my body.

6. "Is the owner in today?"
A group of customers is about to walk in the door.

7. "Do you know any good places to eat around here?"
I'm going to discover that I do not, in fact, know the best place to get a slice in NYC.

8. "Can you make a kid's hot chocolate?"
My calls to keep hands out of the retail beans will go unheeded.

9. "Don't you have just regular ol' coffee?"
The bus from the retirement home broke down out front.

10. "What's yer biggest size frappuccino?"
My ability to suppress a gag reflex is about to be tested.

Another best of

2008-08-28T05:04:00.000-07:00

I was rolling in a bit on the late side this morning & still had tons of stuff to do when customers started coming in. Not a big deal, mind, but difficult to juggle the usual opening tasks with an influx of customers as well.

In walks Willy Loman. The type, you know, with a little extra confidence pinned to his jacket. He was round in the middle and tall. I'd imagine he orders much of his clothing by catalog. Additionally there was, of course, the gray ponytail. He came in with a backpack over his shoulder, and I began to reminisce about Sneaky Santa. A short while later, the backpack and jacket came off to reveal a dingy white t-shirt and suspenders. I had just finished paying the milkman when he walked in. As he approached, he held up the OPEN/CLOSED sign and proclaimed, "Do you need this?" It hangs from a little suction cup, which he had also removed.
"I don't need that."
"Are you open?"
"We are... I don't need that back here."
He ordered a coffee and offered that he would be back once I'd gotten things together a bit.
"You a new place?"
"We've been here a little over a year now."
"You know in the big city at the STAR-BUCKS [I don't know how else to iterate how he pronounced it, almost as if I'd never heard the word before] they have CDs right up front & they just pop 'em in with all that music already loaded up."
"Yeah I uh... I pick the music here generally." [I'd just put a CD in, the soundtrack to There Will Be Blood] "They used to send us these pop CDs, Cafe Music or whatever, which were just terrible. We never played them, and I don't know why they ever started sending them."
"The city I'm from... In Boston the streets are just paved with CDs!"
"Uh huh..."
Anyway he was a pretty nice guy I guess, just quirky as all hell. It was like nobody had ever had a conversation about media before.

I've been asked a few times now what I like to drink. Back before I worked in a coffee shop I'd order all the sweet-ass milkshake drinks or get a flavor in drip coffee. To be fair, the coffee around campus was piss poor. Generally I just drank soda. On my way to class in the mornings I'd pick up a soda or sometimes a Sobe thing to wash down a multi-vitamin. Breakfast! As time went on though, I realized that I liked coffee much better without any sweetener. I mean I've cut a lot of the sugary shit out of my diet since then, but I'm talking about the taste.
These days I mostly drink regular black coffee. If I'm at a place I don't know I'll typically put a splash of whole milk in there too. During the mornings when I work I'll go through maybe... as little as 8oz of coffee or as much as 25oz. Some days when I'm training I get all wired up tasting espresso, too. I can't get into the spitting thing; it reminds me too much of chewing tobacco. Once I mistook a can of spittle for my black cherry soda and wound up hurling into the sink for about half an hour (followed by chugging water & jamming my finger down my throat).
If I'm feeling adventurous I have a couple of standby drinks.

This is an iced americano, for lack of better descriptors. It's a little ice and water with a splash of whole milk. Then I pull a triple ristretto espresso over some cool water (to keep from shocking it on the ice) and put it all together. It's pretty strong at first, since I don't mix it in, but that way the last bit is more manageable.

This is just a slight variation with some frothed milk spooned on top. An iced cappuccino, if you will. If you won't then I don't know what to tell you...

Come get some

2008-08-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

A couple of frustrating situations I'd like to relate.

This morning a woman came in whom I didn't recognize. That's not unusual of course. And anyway I can't remember every fuckface that comes in the door. Sometimes I'll have people who will ask for "the usual," but fucked if I know what drink you ordered on one or two other occasions over the period of a few weeks. Okay, well, in this case it became clear she'd been there before (which I'll get to in a second). Things immediately start to go wrong here, so I played it out best I could. I'll admit I'm easily irritated. Let's just get that out of the way. Chances are you do something that annoys me. I'll survive. I do things that annoy me. To other people I mean... not to myself. There are those rare interactions, however, wherein nothing seems to go right.
1. She began by identifying her coffee as the "Peabody" rather than the appropriate "Peaberry." Not that big a deal, right? I nearly corrected her but thought better of it. It was already the third time that mistake had been made today.
2. She produced five whole bean stamp cards, each with roughly two pounds (out of ten) stamped. Surely not the first time I've combined somebody's cards, but this was a record. If you've ever had business cards printed out, you'll know that they can be pricey. Further irked, I still combined the cards & kept my composure.
3. I ask her if she needs anything else, and she declines. After paying, she brings up the complimentary coffee that comes with whole bean purchases. She could have said something when I asked but... well I guess that doesn't matter so much. Thing is, the free coffee comes with a pound or more purchased. She had about 3/4 of a pound. I don't know but... it seems like she would only have waited until the transaction was over if she knew she didn't have enough. Let's suss out how this went, shall we?
Me: I'm sorry; the free 8oz comes with a pound or more. You have about 3/4 pound here.
[I'll mention at this time that it is extremely annoying when people want to try to accumulate their free coffees. That's why we say at the "time of purchase" so it's not so goddamn difficult to complete the transaction. I mean who the fuck is going to keep track of that?]
Cust: Oh, so I'm not a good enough customer?
[see if you can come up with a reasonable answer to this question]
Me: Oh you know... silly policies.
Cust [walking away]: That's why people come to small businesses, right? To avoid all that corporate stuff.
Me: Mmmm...

Alright, so who the fuck are you then? You've obviously bought coffee here before, but I don't know you. You expect something for free because...
1. You're a regular customer.
2. We're a small business.
Do either of those make sense? I just... can't get my head around it.

Another thing, which happened yesterday, is another sticky one. I've written about bums before (this city's got 'em). As far as vagrants go, this guy wasn't so bad. I was told a bit later that he was known in nearby businesses as "Sneaky Santa." I suppose his beard was reminiscent, but he seemed a bit to decrepit to pull off anything sneaky.
SS might have been sitting at a table out front, but I believe it's more likely he was simply walking by. A customer decided he "looked like he needed a cup of coffee" and bought one for him. Congratulations, fuckwit! Your $1.40 has bought you a feeling of self-satisfaction that will keep you smug for the rest of the goddamn day! Meanwhile, I am given the opportunity to express my goodwill for the next six hours. Sweet! I can't ask him to leave because... well I guess he's sort of a customer. He sat there at a table inside, smelling of his salty-sweet self, making awkward eye contact with every hapless customer who walked in the door. On the plus side, I got to enjoy a range of reactions to his presence such as eye-averting fear and short-lived pity. From time to time he tried to make conversation, but I was unable to glean more than the following:
1. It's hot outside.
2. Barbers shave with a straight razor.
3. Our company roasts its own coffee in a small town which he has visited (or possibly grew up in).
4. He also has a Bojangles cup.
5. A query: is that sound a television? No. It is, in fact, the radio.
I briefed my replacement on the situation, to which his response was "No more refills for him!" Well played, friend. Well played indeed. I grew worried that he would reemerge today, but he has not (so far). Perhaps the heat, in conjunction with a scorching hot diuretic, killed him.

A special thanks to Wikipedia and Google image search for making the unnecessary hyperlinks possible.

Coffee con leche

2008-07-07T07:00:00.001-07:00

I've spoken about the vague things that happen across long periods of working at a coffee shop. Sometimes, many of those things culminate in a single morning to remind me of how annoying (in petty ways) people can be. Monday this week was one of those! None of these are major offenses, mind, but I just thought I'd show how ridiculous I can be.
1. Asking me "What's good today?"
Uh... the coffee? This might work at a restaurant where there are specials or catches of the day or whatever, but we have two coffees. Do you want one of those coffees? Do you want the one that I like? No, I don't know what the hell you mean. I suppose it's meant to be nice, but let's face it that there just aren't that many choices. The order wound up being a mocha. Surprise! And yeah, it's pretty much the same as it was yesterday and last week and when we first opened. It's a mocha. Then sure, it's good today.
2. Speaking Spanglish.
Children who learn two languages sometimes blend the two when they are looking for a word that doesn't come to mind immediately in the primary languages. Interesting stuff! When an English-speaking adult does it, though, it says "I don't speak Spanish very well." I can't really iterate what I find irritating about this, but maybe you too find the phrase "Over on the counter there they have uh... leche" grating as well.
3. Ignoring the children.
Left to their own devices, 2 year olds will yell, throw shit around, and injure themselves. Also, not responding to their "Mommy" cries will not eventually yield silence. They're gonna keep doing it. These two were throwing a cell phone to the ground, picking it back up, and throwing it again. It took a dozen of these gleeful tosses before anything was said, and even then it was a "Now, now..." kind of affair.
4. MAWDS (Middle-Aged Woman Dance Syndrome).
The quickest way to induce symptoms of this syndrome is to play the Beatles. Otherwise ordinary, whole-milk fearing ladies will gyrate casually, perhaps recalling a sock hop prior to when their first child was conceived. Together we can end MAWDS. Currently the only cure is playing unlistenable music, but a variety of sleeper holds have been found to incapacitate the suffering party until the offending song has passed.
5. Requiring a ludicrous number of vessels for baked goods.
A plate for each item and a bag for the remainder some time later. It's not that I'm all that particular about waste but... come on. You know, reduce your carbon footprint or some shit, I dunno.
6. Interrupting me while I'm answering a question.
I don't really care if I'm interrupted during inane chatter. I was asked what coffee we were serving, and I began, "It's a blend of the Sumatra with the-"
"OH! Sumatra! Hey, it's the Sumatra."

Perhaps it will not surprise you at this point to discover that all of these were from the same person.

I'm not your...

2008-06-16T05:55:00.000-07:00

It's no new phenomenon that hosers will use words that make others cringe while thinking themselves clever or... I don't know... hip? You know there was that guy in the 19th century who called everybody "guv'na" and everyone else was all, "Yeah, alright man, just because we're having tea together doesn't give you license to talk like an asshole." Or when you're time traveling to prevent an imminent apocalypse and you keep getting "Og no like boomstick!" and you're like, "Come on Og, all your friends are calling it a shotgun... and how about some verbs every now and then? I didn't spend all that time teaching you English so you could talk like a stereotype." I hate that!

I was reminded of this problem just this morning when a guy called me "Chief." As in, "Make it a medium, chief." He got the coffee, yeah, but he also got a glare of well-masked incredulity. The urge to return fire is fairly intense. "Enjoy the coffee, Ace!" I've come up with a way to tell if the nickname you're about to apply to a complete stranger is inappropriate. Consider if you would use the same word in the following scenarios:
1. Your eight year-old gets his first hit in T-Ball
2. Your 94 year-old relative is having war flashbacks (you're not being an asshole or anything; you're just helping him cope)
3. A fellow trucker gives you a thumbs up when you drive past
4. When playing kickball with friends, somebody completely whiffs on a slow pitch ("Good hustle though, Tiger!")
5. You're trying to kill the mood when your partner wants sex and you don't
6. You're naming your new puppy

Here's a rough list of offending names:
-Chief*
-Buddy*
-Friend*
-Brotha
-Pal*
-Partner*
-Cowboy
-Ace
-Tiger
-Sport*
-Champ*
-Li'l man*
-Scooter (actually this was my parents' nickname for me as a child)
-Dude-a-rino
-Boy*
-Playa*
-Killa
-Rockstar*
-Superstar
-Pimp
-Chump
-Bra (there was a plumber in Hillsborough who used this word at least once in every sentence)
*I have been called this by customers or maintenance workers, in earnest

Nicknames are not the end of it, sadly.
-"Can I get that latte with a smirch of vanilla?" I can only guess that was meant to be a cross between "pinch" and "smidgen."
-"Does that come with a squirt of chocolate?" Sure, let me just run to the back here...
-"I want it with an extra pump of caramel." Don't we all.
-"Frozen mocha with froyo." I now call this the Froyo Fromo (patent pending).
-"Latte. Super flat, super fly." Okay, the woman who says this actually pulls it off. If anyone else tried it they'd be a tool faster than I could smile awkwardly at them.

As usual, I'll request you put your own examples in the comments. Then, as per usual, no comments will appear. Good on ya, mate!

Other people's bums

2008-06-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

One morning over a year ago, I rounded the corner from the parking lot at our location in the small town of Hillsborough. That store opens at 7am, so I imagine it was around 6:30. A police car was stopped in the middle of the street in front of the store. It was a pretty wide street, granted, but he was smack in the middle of it - a car would have had difficulty negotiating his presence in either direction. As I approached, he glided slowly forward. It was still dark enough that I couldn't see into the vehicle, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I unlocked the front door.

Hours passed, and I had forgotten about the brief incident. I was unnerved, but the pace of the store that morning had taken precedent. The afternoon approached. At this time the store was quite slow, and a lone customer approached the counter - a southern man in his 50s who worked at the Fish and Game store just next door. He asked if I had heard about the events that morning. At that point I did not even recall the officer. Little did I know the preceding events had occurred well before my arrival at the store...

The manager or owner or whatever of this F&G store got there around 5am every morning for... whatever reason, and so did the baker of the French patisserie. The F&G dude was going about his usual morning business (of gutting fish? fucked if I know), and his wife was at the front of the store. A scrawny black man (whom my storyteller identified as a drug addict) approached the woman and began harassing her. From what I understand, he was soliciting money (or possibly sex? Again, I dunno). F&G guy took offense. He yelled at the man to vacate, but things only escalated. F&G kept a shotgun in the back room (of course), which he moved to retrieve, wife in tow. Upon returning, he found the handgun and camera missing from the cab of his truck along with the aggressor. He phoned the police...

I don't know how much time passed in the interim; neither do I know if our store was open for any of this story. The addict (which will be later corroborated) was picked up trying to sell the gun at a pawn shop in another town. How he managed to cover that much ground so quickly... I couldn't say. My guess would have to be running like a guy being chased by a redneck with a shotgun. Crazy fucker was identified and taken to holding. Therein, the ranking officer at the time decided he didn't want some crack addict (thereby the corroboration) tearing up his cell. Dr. Wacky was released unto the public.

Were I in such a fix, my first inclination might be to pick another town to terrorize. But then my history of being arrested is decidedly limited. What could have been on his mind? Revenge? Justice? Further theft? He jumped right back into the fire, making a bee-line for the Fish and Game store. Outside, he met the Frenchman out for a smoke break. The heated conversation between these two must have been... amusing in the least. Hearing the commotion, our portly F&G hero drew his weapon (a bat) and leaped into battle. With his already demonstrated proficiency in flight, crazy fucker made haste. To whence? It may surprise you to find that his instincts lead him directly back to the place which had only just released him. His presence preceded by frightened squawks, the Hillsborough officers ushered our addict past just as the charging brute rounded the corner. He was tackled and subdued by a small force of Hillsborough's finest and taken to holding.

Scrawny-ass disappeared, never to be seen again.

The very same day, as I was accustomed, I finished the work week with a trip to the neighboring restaurant. I took a seat at the bar alone. The waitresses, who are usually attentive, were talking amongst themselves behind the bar & stealing glances at a woman opposite my location. She was bent over a nearly emptied glass, her hair covering her face. At the nearest opportunity I asked the waitress what was going on. "She's very drunk," she whispered. I gathered they were afraid she would start trouble or refuse to leave. I further understand (since, anyway) that she was often wont for money to pay for said beverages & could only pay in advance. The woman's figure, though hunched, was not out of shape. I imagine her younger years found her quite attractive. A small commotion drew my attention - she was attempting to dismount the stool. The horrified wait staff was unable to assist in time. As she rose from her knees, her hair fell back from her face. I caught only a glance (I looked away much like one does when not wanting a crush to catch you gazing). Her face had a scrape on it that I can only describe as low-impact road rash. Bizarre. Since I had plenty of storytelling at my fingertips, I moved the image to the back of my mind.

The following week (Monday or Tuesday) I joined my manager for drinks at the Mexican restaurant nearby. As we entered, I spotted the same hunched figure roosting at the bar. I ordered a small pitcher of margaritas for my manager and me. The waiter returned with the drinks but informed us his boss had told him to make sure to check our IDs. I had mine, but she had left hers at the store. We already had the pitcher, so she elected to rush back to the store to retrieve it. We went ahead & ordered before she left. I sat in wait without touching my drink (like the fucking gentleman I am).

Lost in thought, I did not sense the woman approach. Even so, the cloud of liquor was intense. She loomed over my table. I looked up at her and could barely make out a face behind the countless bruises. One eye was swollen shut in an award-winning shiner; the other bulged with fantastic greed at the two salty glasses. I recognized her as the woman from the restaurant - the earlier scrape now framed still more wounds glistening with fresh scabs. She looked as though she had only just stumbled in from a street brawl.

"I'm very sorry to bother you... terribly sorry."
...
"But I saw the bartender making those drinks and I was wondering, can I have one of your drinks?"
"Uh, I'm sorry...," was all I could muster
"See I just got out of jail, and my husband beats me."
...
"And I don't have any money... I was just wondering if I can have one of your drinks there."
"I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that," I said, feeling kind of like an asshole.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, almost in echo of my sentiment.
"No I just... I don't think I can do that for you."

Without saying anything else, she retreated to the back. I heard a screen door snap shut, and I assumed she had left the building through a back exit. Just then, as I was still turned around marveling at the space before the dark back rooms, my coworker returned. I must have had my eyes wide open in amazement. She apologized for having to run to get her ID, thinking that was why I was in such a state. I related the story to her and shifted the drinks closer to the wall.

She laughed, "That's crazy! You're kidding, right?"
"No," I refuted, "She only just went out that back door there!"
"Really? Uh..." I kept my resolve. "You're kidding!"
"I'm afraid not," though I had begun to laugh.
"See, you can't even keep a straight face!"

I didn't press it much further, but I was still shocked. We began discussion about work for several minutes. From the shadowy alcove in the back, the beaten woman returned. The women's bathroom, I realized, was separate from the men's.

Again over the table she hung in a stupor before us.
"I'm sorry to have bothered your friend before. I didn't mean no offense."
...
"I just saw that you had two drinks there and..."
She lunged forward like a zombie, her hand outstretched in the direction of my friend's drink. As if in correction, she instead braced her arm hard against the bare part of the table.
"And I just got out of jail and I... I just really wanted some of your tequila."
I glanced at my friend who had that look on her face... the one that's in the movie where the character realizes they were telling the truth all along (or something). Yes, we might as well have been in the presence of an alien.
"I didn't mean no offense."
And she left.

Later I related this story to the wait staff at the aforementioned restaurant. They claimed that it was extremely unlikely that she had a husband & was instead homeless. The bruises were more likely from a drunken fall or from a run-in with less than gentle police officers... a fight she had likely forgotten.

What I'm not

2008-06-13T06:41:00.001-07:00

First a couple of nuggets from the shop:
-After answering the phone the usual way, a man asked if we sold pool supplies. After a pause, he asked, "Who have I reached?" I repeated the business name. "Do you sell pool supplies?" "No we do not." "Okay."

-This next one was so confusing I can't repeat it exactly. I still don't know what he was asking me for.
Older Guy: I'm meeting a friend here.
Me: Alright that's fine. Did you want to start an order now or wait until he gets here?
OG: Well, I was wondering if you had a computer.
Me: Do I have a computer? [I begin gesturing toward the one I'm standing in front of]
OG: Since he's not here yet, I was hoping to go ahead put my information into your database.
Me: Uh... You mean your order or uh... I don't think I understand what you mean.
OG: I mean do you have a computer.
Me: Just this one here, but it's -
OG: One that I can use temporarily.
Me: No, we don't have anything like that.
OG: Okay... [He hustles off, several binders clutched to his chest]
I did see another guy come in who I recognized a short while later. He said he was looking for someone, but I was busy & didn't have time to discuss it. I didn't see either of them again.

-I only just remembered something that happened back at another store. People ask for strange ways of getting their drinks sometimes; they'll get double cups and a sleeve, "It's for here but I'll take it in a to go cup" [which is great, since I fucking care where you're going with it], "Small in a medium cup" [much like saying "I want to pay less to put more milk in my drink"]... Anyway this woman came in first thing in the morning before I'd even flipped the OPEN sign. She was quibbling about the cost of the smallest coffee (at the time $1.10) & kept coming back up to the counter. She asked me for a sleeve with her tiny cup, which wouldn't fit anyway. She got one regardless and made what amounted to a little hat for the thing - pretty funny looking if you can imagine that. Then she wanted a bag... maybe she was looking for a plastic bag with handles, I wondered? I showed her all we had were little pastry bags, and she plopped her little coffee into one, hat and all. She kind of stormed off without saying anything else. I never saw her again, which is for the best, but I wonder if she thought I was terrible at customer service.

-Soy guy I'd almost forgotten about. This happened at the same store as the above woman, but he's since been terrorizing a different location. It's irritating, though not unusual, that people ask for some leftover steamed milk. Since we steam each drink to order, there's not really much just sitting around... plus it's not free (sorry). It's even less frequent that we have soy remaining. This guy began by asking about the prices for each size of coffee and wound up getting the smallest one. They're all under $2, by the way. Then he wants some soy for it, which I keep behind the counter. He then claims that soy milk will curdle if it's placed in hot coffee, so could I steam it for him first. I explain to him that the little bits that appear are not curdles, and soy can't curdle anyway (in the way that cow's milk does - it can still go bad obviously). Eventually we compromise that I give him a tiny cup of soy to put in the microwave. I lost track of him with other customers - a mistake. A customer comes up after a short while to tell me there's a horrible mess in the microwave. He had heated it for... I don't know, a minute maybe? When he came back I explained that I couldn't let him do that anymore, and no I wouldn't steam soy milk for him for free. I feel like I'm usually pretty reasonable about that sort of thing, and I try not to upcharge people, but he was becoming a real nuisance. That same day he got on his cell phone right by the counter talking to his father. As the conversation escalated (sadly I hadn't heard much of it), he began shouting "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DAD!" I was a little frightened, and he was certainly bigger than I, but I asked him to take his call outside. He obliged with surprising calmness. Later, after I had warned my coworkers about him, I heard he'd begun appearing at the other store with the same weird requests. Now though he was trying to sell us baked goods, because the other place we were getting things from "doesn't know shit about baking." We politely declined.

-There's a guy at the store right now that I lovingly refer to as "the applicant." He came in not too long after we opened to get an application. A day later the phone calls begin. To this point he had not purchased anything yet. He sat down with the phone [I'd definitely told him to keep it to a couple of minutes] and pulled out a folding wallet. This thing was absolutely bursting at the seams with business cards (including one of my coworker's). After a good half hour on the phone I had to use the credit card machine, so I asked him to yield the phone. This began happening every day, & I had to lie that the phone wasn't working. Once, he left a stack of what I had assumed were applications on a table. Thinking he'd be back for them, I left it for a good hour before retrieving it. It was, in fact, an application booklet for the private investigation service up the street.
Regardless of my coldness toward him, he kept coming in practically demanding an interview. We told him we didn't have an opening for someone with his level of experience (none). Still, the calls kept coming to each of our stores. He turned in another application with different information on it. Eventually we had to tell him flat out to stop calling.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I recognized him immediately. He asked for an application, and I said he couldn't have another one. He asked for my business card, which I gave to him (it just has the store number on it). It was a bit busy, and he didn't ask to use the phone.
Today, literally as I'm writing this, he's still here. He asked to use the phone. After ten minutes or so I saw him start to dial another number & said I needed the phone back. He obliged. Then he starts asking me about the prices of all the baked goods. Since we're not Burger King or some shit, the stuff is not cheap. He had his eye on these fancy pastries that run about $2.40. He decided on a croissant ($1.70) and a coffee, totaling $3.10. After looking through this bulging wallet and every pocket on his person, he produces $2.60. I tell him that's what he has (mostly in change). "How much do I need?" I tell him. "I'll be back." Assuming he wouldn't be back, I pulled the items back & prepared to shelve them. Within minutes though he reappeared with an additional pair of quarters (from who knows where). I put the items back on the counter for him.
Applicant: Fill that up please.
Me: No room for cream? [of course later he spilled it all over the counter]
App: I don't like that one [the croissant], I like those round ones [pointing in the case].
Me: The ham and cheese ones? Those are more expensive I'm afraid.
App: How much more expensive?
Me: [Checking in the register] Uh... nearly 5o cents.
App: That's too much. Are all these that much [pointing around the case].
Me: All the filled ones are. The plain ones are just these.
App: I don't like that. These should all be 99 cents.
Me: Okay... well, they're not... I'm afraid.
App: Is that the only one that's for one something?
Me: [I identify all the things in the case that are under $2]
[Someone appears in line behind the applicant]
App: Do you have Philadelphia Cream Cheese? [I almost expected him to say "TM"]
Me: We do.
App: I'll take that then with butter too.
Normally we charge for that kind of shit, but I was pretty tired of dealing with him (not to mention the other customer in line). Nothing else happened except for spending an inordinate amount of time at the to-go station & leaving all his trash at the table. I found, amongst those things, a small slip of paper with my coworker's name (who is no longer in charge of hiring) and the other store's number. Just now he's walking down to the fencing place... where I doubt anyone will be looking to hire him.

I was planning to begin a list of names for the Java Jackets here, but it looks like I already have quite a bit going on in this post. So much for just "a couple nuggets" I guess.

Second verse, same as the first...

2008-05-29T07:34:00.000-07:00

Even MORE Ways to Piss Off Your Barista

Since the first one was so popular (enough to elicit angry comments at least), I'm back again with hate-filled advice for the average coffee drinker. This was actually largely composed over a month ago, but I've felt like sun-baked shit for a little while now. Please to enjoy. As it's been said, you haven't seen it, so it's new to you!

1. Don't make me gag. Okay, so you're only breaking your diet this one time... That's none of my goddamn business. Still, if the first question in your mind is whether caramel or chocolate syrup (or both) will best compliment the heavy cream in your drink, try again. Maybe I should start printing directions to the nearest emergency room on the bottoms of the cups.

2. No bullshitting. Let's review some of the more fanciful claims from customers:

-Soy milk curdles in hot coffee.

-Higher lactose content in heavy cream makes it healthier.

-In a half-caff, regular should go on top of the decaf because it's "heavier."

-"I got that last time I was here..." (unless that was over four years ago, I can say with confidence that you're wrong).

-Oily beans taste better (this, in fact, probably means they're old).

3. We're not gonna do it. A few helpful customer suggestions:

-Install a roaster in every store.

-Use cold-brew coffee.

-Carry [insert small-time baker]'s [insert unsellable item].

-"You should have live music!" You're going to be in charge of setting that up? Fantastic!

-"You need to change your business strategy. There was a line out the door at Starbucks!" Sign me up for a subscription to the Wall Street Journal and Business Advice from Know-all Dicks immediately!

-Let you put stacks of fliers on our counter for your fucking band or anti-Bush rally or Vegan Carob Muffin sell-off.

4. There are stupid questions. Pick any item in the store, and you can come up with a stupid question about it. Examples: Croissant - "Is that a bagel or a scone?" Single Origin Coffee - "What's in this blend?" Muffins - "Do you bake your own muffins?" [maybe not such a strange question, but I've had people insist the sanitizer was, in fact, an oven.]

5. Fresh is a relative term. No, not everything behind the counter "just came in." There's a thing called shelf life, and I believe we do our best to stay well below it. Here's what I don't want to hear:

-"You don't have anything fresh today?" That's just an asshole thing to say. Neither yes nor no appropriately answers it.

-"How old is this muffin?" Is there somewhere that it's acceptable to say something like this?

6. You can't have it. I've had people ask for money from my tip jar. People have asked for 62 cents worth of coffee. I don't have a cigarrette for your broke ass, and neither do my customers. And please stop trying to apply for my job; as far as I know I'm not in immediate danger of being replaced.

7. Taste the coffee. We offer samples of the coffee. I will also give detailed descriptions. If you then take the sample and add cream/sugar or ask for half-caff, you've just insulted me. Do you ask for the $25 fillet & then cover it with Heinz 57? No, because that's ass-stupid.

8. I don't want to smell you. Coffee has a strong aroma. Maybe it doesn't always cover my BO, but I like to think it gives me an enchanting musk. If, on the other hand, your walking into the door turns us into a 19th century French brothel, it's time to cut back on the Au de Assflower. One guy, and I suppose no one's ever told him this (I sure as hell wasn't about to), smelled like sex all the time. Maybe this is judgmental of me, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't because he was getting laid. What does sex smell like, you ask? Umm... sweat and pollen? Boiled cabbage on the cattle ranch? Fine cheese and raw salmon? I expect answers in the comments.

9. It wasn't funny when the first guy said it, either. Examples? You bet!

-"Looks like you need your coffee this morning too!" [I still say this sometimes anyway, so I guess I'm a hypocrite]

-"Can I get a mocha-whata-frappa-dappa-lappa-ccino?"

-"Do you even have just regular coffee?" [try to imagine the amount of incredulity that goes into a question like this]

10. Place your goddamn order. If people are always asking you to repeat yourself, it's probably because you need to speak the fuck up. If you pay for a cappuccino & watch me make it, I don't want that look of surprise and insistence that you said "cuppajoe." After your order, if you see me just smiling and nodding even when you ask me a question, it's because (like your Kindergarten teacher told you) you need to take your hand out from in front of your mouth & fucking enunciate (okay maybe she didn't use those words exactly. Most 5 year olds can't pronounce "enunciate").

11. We don't have it. Actual things people have asked me for.
-"You got hot dogs?" This is inevitably followed shortly by "You sure?"
-"You have Kirkland Colombian Coffee?" No, we don't carry Costco's pre-bagged coffees.
-"Can you put together Starbuck's Christmas blend?" This was in June, mind you.
-"You got Coke?" This leads to a brief check of our drink refrigerator just to be sure.

12. Shut up. No, it's not a library, but...
-Nobody wants to hear the latest music upload on your Myspace page through your tinny iMac speakers, ya hoser.
-Don't shush the other customers. No seriously, don't.
-Kids should be neither seen nor heard. Maybe you should carry them around in a box with you. That way people will assume the "live animal inside!" is a puppy and think better of you generally. This doesn't extend to rattling the box if it starts making noise. Nobody likes a shaken puppy. If your children are too big for the box, I issue but the following requests that they not: 1) yell your name 20 goddamn times before you respond 2) try to come behind the counter, 3) walk around slamming the cabinets, 4) leave the majority of a muffin in a slobbery pile on some crinkled plastic wrap, 5) write on the fucking wall (yes this happened).
-Take the call outside Dr. Awesomeface. And set your phone to silent - it's more erotic that way.

13. I don't want it. Someone who doesn't approach the counter is trying to sell me something.
-Something from your bag of suspicious jewelry. You'd be surprised how many of these otherwise non-English speakers understand the word "soliciting."
-That $20 inspirational jazz CD. The guy that offered me this ended his lengthy, breathless explanation with "How many would you like?" Maybe he's an RIAA goon? And I was planning to make copies for all my friends...
-Your baked goods. A guy once explained to me he gets a commission (no shit) from every new account he gets. Unless you're planning to shift some of that my way you can go ahead & get fucked.
-Your coffee. What? Do you walk into Biscuit King & try to sell them some McMuffins? No. No you do not.
-Your résumé. Graduating from Connecticut Business Law Economics College University & 5 years of sales consulting for United Paper Concern do not qualify you for a job at our coffee shop.

That's all I can think of for now. Working in food service means I should have plenty more nuggets for next time!

Just stop it.

2008-04-01T05:38:00.000-07:00

A few inane things from the past week or so:
-This morning, a balding man holding his hat in his hands in front of him. It was a beret or a working cap or whatever, and it made him look like he'd come in to tell me he was awful sorry he'd run over my dog.
-A fairly nice customer in every other way but... snorts his phlegm at the counter every morning. So of course after writing that sentence he comes in and gives occasion to observe. He'll do it after saying something to me, like "...and a croissant *SNORT*" So people clear their throats all the time & I don't take a second notice, but if you must expectorate, I'd appreciate if it would occur in the privacy of your own home. Even in the bathroom - there was this guy in Hillsborough who would hock one up every morning, so loud you could hear it through the store - it's just gross.
-Just now, a guy walking down the sidewalk with a bike tire. Strange, though not as strange as the old black dude cruisin' down Markham with some fine shades and a killer smile... on an electric wheelchair. There's a sidewalk, sure, but I suppose it is a motor vehicle. I believe he makes the trip pretty often, and I wonder how well that battery holds out for these sojourns.
-A young couple, the guy hunches a bit at the counter to sign a receipt or whatever & his girlfriend discretely begins humping him from behind. Hilarity.

And the big one, where I won't be using any names, just happened last week.
Customer: Americano.
This is a customer I've seen many times before. He's always gotten an americano but not always in the same size. Often times people come in looking sour - I imagine they're in need of caffeine - but he was working a mean scowl.
Me: A double? ...Large, medium?
Cust: Medium.
Me: Anything else this morning? ...$1.99.
Cust: What are you always fucking smiling about?
Me: Uh... I'm sorry?
Cust: Why are you always fucking smiling?
Me: [Thinking he might be taking the piss] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: What?
Me: [A bit more dramatically] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: Just make the coffee.
Me: Uh... well I'm sorry you feel that way.
Cust: I can't even come in here anymore because of you.
Me: And why is that?
Cust: You're just so... smarmy.
Me: Alright...
As I finished the drink I thought about the chances I had to turn this around, all the sinister things I could say. After all, it's not often one is openly insulted first thing in the morning... without provocation. I decided quickly that none of that was worth it, and he works nearby anyway. I don't know what he's saying to other people about me, but I certainly don't need to give him ammunition.
Me: [Without sarcasm, if you can believe it] Your americano. Have a good one!
Cust: Just stop it, [my name].

Because seven eight nine!

2008-03-20T05:44:00.001-07:00

Customer: A medium Americano.
Me: Okay, anything else?
Cust: That's all.
Me: It'll be one ninety-nine.
Cust: One ninety-eight?
Me: Uh... one ninety-nine.
Cust: Alright.

Maybe this was only funny to me?

The Roar

2008-03-19T08:41:00.000-07:00

My first job was at Food Lion when I was the ripe young age of 16. Although too early for diagnosis of many major mental illnesses, but not for early onset misanthrope!

When I first asked for an application, the incredulous cashier asked me how old I was. This was discouraging enough to delay me until my parents made an ultimatum of some sort. I discovered that crippling boredom sets in fairly quickly when all your friends have Summer jobs to complain about. See, ultimatums tend to have the opposite of the desired effect on me... like my jackass within wants to defy someone on the principle that they want me to do something. Anyway, I doubt my parents had much luck enforcing whatever punishment they had devised considering I was home alone all day.

After returning the now months-old application (not like any work experience was going to appear on there during that time), I received what I had thought would be an interview & turned out to be "see where you can put yourself on this schedule." In fact, I immediately got a clock-in number and was set before the break room television with a training video. This thing was so insipid and outdated that it wasn't even funny. A despondent employee recommended I stop the video and read the paper in the span of time it would take to watch (an hour), but all I could find was The Lion's Roar, featuring winners from the Cashier's Olympics. No, that is not shit you can make up. Incidentally, I continued receiving The Lion's Roar by mail for years after my employment there.

My job description was one I have not witnessed before or since, "Front End." Most grocery stores, including other Food Lions, separate this into three separate jobs.
1) Cashier: More important than anything is your IPM (items per minute). Let me tell you that my IPM was so distressingly low that management frequently talked about it. Let me also tell you that your manager telling the elderly lady that it was okay to go back home to get more money in the middle of a transaction will tick down your IPM rapidly and keep you from beginning new transactions. I would, however, like to be the one trying to figure out why it took 45 minutes for some kid to ring up Mueslix and adult diapers.
2) Bagger: I will say that many people, upon realizing I'm the only employee in the front of the store, will start to bag their own groceries. Still, a fair percentage will glare at you the entire transaction with a look that says "When is the goddamn bag boy going to show up?" These same people will ask for help getting their groceries to the car as other customers line up. Yes, of course I was later chided by management for not providing this service for them. Sometimes there was a bagger manchild who would offer anyone with a bag or more help to their car, but generally I was unable to spontaneously asexually reproduce so I could help some yuppie asshole squeeze her groceries in next to the bike in her trunk. Always a bike in the trunk.
3) Stocker: Whenever we had a free moment, we were meant to be "blocking." Blocking consisted of arranging items near one's register to be aesthetically pleasing. Whenever I was alone in the front (most of the time), I was not supposed to move more than one register away. Those three aisles of candy were always fucking gorgeous. Whenever some jerkoff kid would toss the shit around I'd be there to put it back. Other times, when there might be another employee around, I'd take a cart with misplaced items around. I'll talk about that more later...

So I have a crush on you... still!

2008-03-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

After my last post about crushing on customers, I have bolstered my confidence level. With a little time and encouragement, I am ready to become the bear. Or take on the bear, or successfully evade the bear, I don't remember how it goes exactly. Just keep one thing in mind; have no fear ladies, I am not actually a bear.
BECOMING THE BEAR
I recently watched the movie Grizzly Man, and let me tell you... being a bear is tough! I'm not sure if I'm prepared for the ramifications of defecating in my crush's territory. I'm willing to give it the old college try! If I am accused of anything, it will be of taking the metaphor too far. Or assault. Anyway the point is I have to step it up if I want anything to develop. No more pussyfooting around! No more using words that contain "pussy" either! The ladies only like that if you're talking dirty to 'em, or so I've been told. The closest I've gotten was "I haven't showered in six days," but she didn't go for that. I even told her that bears don't shower. You know she managed to work that into the restraining order! That lawyer was a real bear of a wordsmith.
So if I've learned anything from this (aside from all that cool stuff about bears), it's that ladies like a man of action.
SUBMITTING TO THE BEAR
Any survivalist can tell you that an encounter with a bear is potentially fatal. Most women respond to a bear confrontation in the following ways:
1) Running in fear, obstructing the bear's path with mobile objects and small children (let me tell you this one is pretty irritating).
2) Mace (okay this one is more irritating I guess). Tip: don't fire mace into the wind.
3) Dropping to the floor and pretending to be dead. Most bears will fall for this and leave you alone. As far as I know, there have been no cases of ursine necrophilia.
4) Embracing the bear. This will so confuse the bear he may be unable to act. Or he will kill you instantly with a hug of his namesake. At the very least that would make a kickass obituary.
5) Distracting the bear with bells or bits of string. Bears can be quite playful. They may also mistake you for a woodland trolley, which is of no interest to the bear (except maybe during rush hour).
MOVING ON FROM THE BEAR ANALOGY
There comes a time in every relationship where a man has to stop pretending to be a bear. I forget who it was who said, "Stop that. It went from endearing to creepy like, really fast." Maybe it was that blond girl... I don't remember her name; I haven't seen her in awhile. Here are some signs that the guy who is crushing on you (me) is trying to express interest without anthropomorphisms:
1) I appear to be avoiding looking at your chest. Now I'm not the kind of guy who stares at breasts wantonly, but let's call to mind the "Don't push the button" scenario. When I start finding a girl attractive, a part of my mind tells me not to screw it up by staring at her chest. Now you've done it! Stupid mind. If all else fails, I may pretend to be reading the text on your shirt (which is fucking cruel). Additionally, I frequently worry that transferring change or beverages across the counter will be mistaken for a sly boob-look. Not so!
2) I check your hand for a wedding ring. There's no way I'm gonna ask you about your boyfriend, so if you have one you might as well try to work it into the conversation somehow.
3) The following takes place one or more times:
Me - You live or work around here?
Gal - Oh yeah.
Me - On your way to work?
Gal - Yeah.
Me - Cool, where do you work [again]?
Gal - Oh just up the street.
Me - Cool, cool... uh... have a good one!
Gal - Yeah.
4) In the course of trying to converse with you, I forget to give you your coffee.
5) I put a heart on your latte. Truthfully I do this pretty much every time, but it's cool if you want to take it as a gesture of flattery.
NOT CALLING THE BEAR AWKWARD, BECAUSE HE'S SENSITIVE
There it is, ladies. Call me!

I must have picked up the wrong phone

2008-03-11T08:30:00.000-07:00

A few things have been troubling me.
First, there's Qweta. Simple misspelling of QWERTY or something far more sinister? You decide.
Saturday night. Begin scene. I'm checking my phone for missed calls again (none!) when I discover a new message. 919 area code, but a number I don't recognize. I've given my number to countless ladies at the clubs, to be sure, but this is on my private number. Somebody is serious about getting a hold of some Vitamin R.
Rec 8:12 - U better tell ya lil friend 2 keep my name out her mouth.
My little friend... Instantly Scarface comes to mind, but having not shot anyone recently I put that out of my head. Still, looking back, that would be a pretty badass way to tell somebody they were going to die. "My little friend here just can't keep your name out of his mouth." Then the kiss of death puns begin and we have one clusterfuck of a mixed metaphor. Movie goodness! Right, so I respond politely:
Sent 8:15 - I bet the person you meant to send this to would feel pretty threatened right now. I however am having a nice laff
Rec 8:37 - If this is samone then i dnt feel stupid. However da chic im referenin 2 is tish. So i figured u a get da mesage across!
[ed NOTE: names and spelling have not been changed. Texting has no innocents.]
Rec 8:49 - Bein dat u pregnant im not tryna stress u cuz dats a beautiful thng.
Sent 8:53 - Turns out I wasn't pregnant. Just gas.
Rec 9:01 - Dats cute! But its so weird how i saw sum pics of u n yo man on myspace? I wud tel u who but u might beat her ass again
Sent 9:20 - I'm on my way there now. sumbody's bout ta get cut!
Rec 9:20 - Who gurl
Sent 9:30 - Tish or that bitch b fuckin wit my boo
[At this point I had assistance with my messages from a room full of people]
Rec 9:36 - What? Who is ur boo?
Rec 9:39 - How did we change da conversation. Do u even knw who dis is?
Sent 9:43 - Whatevs i lost all my numbers dropin da phone in th toilet
Rec 9:47 - Like i said b4 it aint no beef wit u. Its dat bitch tish dat keep runin ha trap. Dis is qweta
Rec 10:34 - Nicole aint got shit 2 do wit dis so when u c her wit me 2nite dnt let up or whoop ha ass again CUZ I SAID SO.
Sent 10:36 - we straight
Rec 10:45 - What? Yo what da fuck dat mean. Im not 4 dat bs jus let ur bitch ass friend tish knw we gon b at da pool hog n efland.

Aaaand I left it at that.

Good Grief!

2008-03-07T07:02:00.000-08:00

I've been struggling to come up with a concept for a new post. I have a few more work stories to tell, but it was running a bit dry. Recently, though, I began to ponder a concept which has always plagued me - why do people think Cathy is funny?
Then I went to the site & the new post material was solidified:
In case you're not wearing your monocle right now, let's just cut to the last frame. "Once I was 'large'. Now I am 'Venti'."
As her girth expands in each frame, so do the grammatical errors. Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks, people. Also, is her mirror (frame 4) on top of her desk (frame 2)? Oh I see, her torso is forming out of the floor as in Hellraiser. As the cellulite ripples over the newly formed bone, we hear the distinct sounds of both... "Flip flip click click." Shit, that is funny! Maybe I was wrong about Cathy!

Okay let's pause to reflect a bit. What is humor? I sound like a right ponce with that question don't I? My answer to that, simply, is the opposite of what is expected, as in irony. Let's examine, for instance, the Alanis Morissette song "Ironic." In the song, several situations are presented as ironic. To wit:
-A black fly in your chardonnay
-Rain on your wedding day
-A free ride when you've already paid
Before you ask, yes I'm doing that from memory. Shut up. Anyway, each situation there is an unfortunate circumstance to be sure (though the last one is lacking any sense whatsoever), but not ironic. Sorry Alanis. I'm not the first person to point this out, I know, but I'm proving a point here. The irony in a song called "Ironic" is that it contains no ironies. That's funny! Let's apply that then to Cathy. The humor in a strip meant to be comic is that it contains no humor. It's all making sense now!
Now we are presented with a puzzle - which line is bigger? Is it
a) the countertop
b) Cathy's mouth
c) They're both the same size, silly!
If you've ever read an optical illusion book, you'll know the answer is c. It's the opposite of what you'd expect! See, the way the lines are drawn, you're meant to assume the counter space is larger. That's a thing we artists (and by "we" I mean the royal "we," or not me) call perspective. If you pull out a ruler you'll see they are actually the same length. No, don't measure your computer screen, silly idiot! Take my word for it. In the next panel, surely Cathy will devour the counter! I think you'll join me in saying, "SHIT dude, that's funny! Cathy, you so ca-ray-zeeee!"

For you monoclely challenged, the final frame reads
Cathy: "We used to 'pig out'. Now we 'bird out'."
Cathy's mom or possibly older friend: "I crave hulled millet!"
SHIT dude, that's fu- HOLD IT! Yes, I know "hulled millet" sounds pretty silly, but let's look at this like the professional humorologists we are. Here's the situation:
1) Cathy takes a common idiomatic phrase and makes it her own.
2) Cathy's older friend (whom they bring along to appear younger and more fertile) interprets the new idiom literally.
Using our basic definition of humor, let's do some interpretating of our own!
Expectation: To have made it to such a ripe old age, Cathy's friend/mom must have an ounce of sense.
Irony: The woman is a blathering idiot!
Everybody now, "SHIT dude, that's funny!"
Artificial zoom!
Cathy: Listen to me tell you about woman things!
[Cathy's friends snap each other's bra straps]
Cathy's friends: Lip Augmentation! Eyelash tattoo! Botox!
This is an excerpt from a much longer comic, but I assure you no context is lost in the summation. It's time to apply life skillz...
Expectation: Cathy has ten portly, possibly gay friends.
Ironic reversal: These women would rather have voluntary surgery than listen to Cathy speak.
Before we jump in with hearty guffaws, this shit is layered!
Expectation: Cathy's call to maintain confident womanhood will be looked upon with admiration by the countless female readers who revere her.
Ironic reversal: Cathy is a pathetic mockery of feminism through its vapid adulation of bourgeois excess. I'm usin' big ol' words!

Okay that's all I got for today. I looked at a picture of the author and felt intense pity. Also, she apparently won the Reuben Award in 1992. The criteria for that seems to be... to have not won it before. Unless you're Gary Larson.

IMAGES USED UNDER FAIR USE, REVIEW. CATHY IS COPYRIGHTED 2008 CATHY GUISEWITE. HELLRAISER IS COPYRIGHTED 1987 NEW WORLD PICTURES.

Winders! Part 3: Gaping Maw

2008-02-05T08:40:00.000-08:00

A phenomenon to which I am no stranger - a situation gives instance wherein one must look upwards. As I have mentioned, this is no cause to allow the jaw to hang lackadaisically. No, dear friend, keep the lips pursed as though yearning upwards for a kiss... perhaps from a lover leaning over the La-Z-Boy to bid a good night. Should this lover be greeted with an agape oral cavity, said osculating person's libido shall be summarily withered. Upon entering Sam's Club, a crushing majority are floored by the terrifying beauty of floor to ceiling excess. End-caps are terraced as in rice paddies to maximize the number of impulse buys mountained atop one another. As each scooter rounds the corner, it brings with it a fresh fly-catcher. Without bothering to pluck the struggling bugs from their teeth, they putter down the aisles with eyes heavenward. Children scatter, and the elderly are cut down like so many daisies beneath a tractor. One must make way, as the sublime ignores all precedent and demands appreciation.

When customers were not completely ignoring me or just asking where things were, they were finding surprising ways to incorrectly answer my question. Perhaps you've been in a place where you've had to utter the same phrase countless times, such as "Paper or plastic?" and "Too boku, no boom boom for soul brother!" Have you then received the same clever retort as many times? Here are the most common responses, in descending order of frequency:
"Do you have any home improvements coming up?"
1. "Huh?"
This may be replaced simply with a blank stare.
2. "Where the tools?"
Try looking over by the mirrors & you might see 'em.
3. "I sure hope not!"
Then I guess you have something to look forward to when you get back from Sam's Club.
4. "How much?"
I have no idea.
5. "Not fer winders!"

That last one requires a bit of explanation. See, there's a window display on the booth, but there are also numerous indicators that Lundberg offers more than just diminutive windows. In addition to the suffix to the name, "Windows and Siding," my booth had signs hanging from the front with all the different offerings. Each sign was printed in a large, red font popular at airport landing strips. What I'm saying here is that failure to recognize that windows were not the sole product could only mean one of two things: 1) Most people don't pay a lick of attention, 2) Sam's Club shoppers are completely illiterate, purchasing only items which they can see through the package or recognize from the logo. I'll let you guess which I'm leaning towards.

Okay, I understand that I'm looking pretty harsh here. Let's take a moment, though, to examine the following construction:
"Not fer winders!"
The closest I can get to deciphering that is... "I'm not in the market, currently, for windows." I suppose it's the preposition that's throwing me off. Much like the phrase "Where my dawgs at?" there is no clear reason to include a preposition... at all. Isn't the purpose of simplifying language to colloquialisms to, you know, shorten stuff? Well I might not have preferred having rednecks yell "NO WINDOWS!" every time I asked a question, but at least it would have made some sense. Now for the real puzzler.
"Not fer gutters!"
As I have said, the window display was the most prominent item on my booth. Clog-free gutters fell third in the list of products, neatly nestled between "ROOFING" and "TRIMMING." How, then, were gutters so frequently picked as whipping boy for my enterprise? Additionally, this negates both the inattention and illiteracy theories I posed earlier, since they must have read the sign in order to come to that conclusion. Allow me to illustrate via Paint:

So... you'll notice there's no vest in that drawing. No vest I tell you. All summer I'd get calls from my "manager" (the one I saw only twice in person) telling me when I'd be working, etc., and giving the weekly vest update. "The vests are coming in Monday." "There was a problem with the vest order, so we should have them by Friday." "Won't things be much better once those vests come in?" But they never did. One of the last conversations I had with the guy was about the vests coming shortly after I'd be returning to Chapel Hill, where I would not be selling windows. Then this:
Frumpy guy: You can just leave the vest in the booth when you leave the last time.
Me: I never got a vest.
FG: You already returned it?
Me: I never got one.
FG: Right, the new ones haven't come in yet.
Me: I never got one of the old ones either.
FG: You're sure?
Me: I'm sure.
See, if I'd had a vest, which was blue (unlike the red Partner vests), I began to figure people wouldn't mistake me for an employee anymore. Then they'd stop asking me where things were! I realize now that was a delusion, but without dreams, what else did I have? And that wasn't the end of the vest saga. My father started getting calls from FG about the vest and even wanted to arrange to pick it up from their house.
Dad: Where's that vest so I can return it to these guys?
Me: I don't have the vest.
Dad: You already returned it?
Me: No I never got one.
Dad: He's telling me he wants to pick it up. You're sure you never got one?
Me: I heard a lot about the vests, but I never had the pleasure of meeting one. You could give him that Food Lion vest. He probably wouldn't notice.
Dad: They want you to pay to replace it if you've lost it.
Me: I will happily give them the cash value of no vest. Which is nothing. No dollars for no vest. You think they'll take a check?
Alright I made that last part up, but they did call him several more times. He also forwarded me a letter about it. I wish I'd had the foresight to keep the letter, but I think I can reproduce it fairly accurately.
[Lundberg letterhead]
Dear XXXXXX,
Please return the vest you were given as a demo representative.
Sincerely,
Frumpy Guy

That's all I have for now. I can feel my life will draining as the mere image assaults my brain. Sexually.

Winders! Part 2: Partners

2008-01-28T06:26:00.000-08:00

Roughly every half hour, an announcement would come over the PA. Sometimes it would be a pre-recorded segment, but mostly it was one of the managers reading from a script. Regardless, the volume was up so loud that any message would be mangled into a warbly pidgin wherein you could make out words like "meat" or "sale" but were otherwise at a loss. Every announcement began "Attention Members and Guests" for sales or "Attention Members and Partners" for... I don't know, safety maybe? For neophytes:
Members: People who pay to shop at Sam's Club. And I do mean shop, because you can't get into the store without a membership (even if you're not buying anything).
Guests: People who mooch off of paying members. Cannot buy anything, but I presume can put things on their friend's ticket.
Partners: Underpaid troglodytes who trudge the floor looking for ways to irritate demo representatives.

Once I was asked if I would like to write an announcement to go over the PA. An excitable gentleman got me to write out a short script, which I did happily (you'll recall I was quite bored). I had seen him many times before, and he even humored me in getting an explanation of my job. He returned periodically to check on my progress, then rushed my finished copy to the higher-ups. Not only did I never hear the announcement, the gentleman disappeared along with it. I can only assume he went on to publish my copy as his own and is now living comfortably off the royalties.

Now the first Partner I met was not even human. I mistakenly assumed that Robot Rick would greet me every time entered the store that summer... but he was only there that first day. I guess he was on tour? It was this creepy-ass thing on tank treads that would scoot around scaring the shit out of little kids asking if they knew about the sale on 4 gallon tubs of ice cream. The dude that controlled RR wasn't even remotely hidden... you could see him next to the front staging at a control panel and mic. In fact, you could hear him better than the robot. I have to admit the little bastard gave me a hint of glee that first day, that one of my coworkers might wig out and start tearing the arms off of 8 year olds, but that dream was denied me.

With that exception, I typically only saw the Partners for two reasons: rounding up for a meeting in the back, no doubt rustling cattle for the big meat department sale, or shuffling about ignoring customers. I can say categorically that a Member would only be greeted by staff when they already knew what they were looking for. In other cases they would come to me and ask for assistance. The gall! 90% of my conversations with Members went as follows:
Me: Hello, how are you? Do you have any home improvements coming up? [note the lack of pause after the first question]
Hoser: Where the tools?
Me: Sorry, I wouldn't know, I don't work for Sam's Club.
Hoser: [putters off]
Okay my response was an obvious lie... I did, after all, catalog everything to stave off boredom. I knew better than the Partners where shit was in that store, but you see misanthropy has a cruel price. In some instances I would just look at the object in question, as it was inevitably in my immediate proximity. As when there was a 6'x6' display of Tide behind my booth,
Me: [my deal]
Hoser: Where the laundry soap?
Me: [steps aside to reveal enormous display]
Hoser: All you got's Tide?
Me: [shrugs]
No one ever called me out for misinformation, though a Partner would occasionally ask if I could help customers find things. I told them I couldn't leave my booth. That was a lie.

I engaged in a losing war with the Partners which haunts me to this day. They had this underground network of tunnels and trap doors so they could pop up and annoy me on a whim. Seriously these guys would come out of nowhere, and many times I couldn't put a face on my tormentor. I happened to be stationed near the electronics. Nearest was a television set to repeat a commercial for Lysol toilet cleaner. They were running this series with "facts," and I have to say their primary sources were dubious. At one point I had the whole segment memorized since I had to hear it so many goddamn times. It began, "Fact: a bathroom that gets constant traffic needs constant freshening." Even still the word "freshening" makes me cringe... My tactic was to sneak over to the television and mute it, and theirs was to crank it back up to max. Of course I never did this while I could be seen (presumably), but I think one of the managers knew it was me who was turning it down. Similarly, the aisle had these portable televisions and DVD players. Every person who walked by, and I mean Partners and Members, would jack each one all the way up in turn. Why, I ask you? Why? These things all had shitty built-in speakers and shitty reception, so end the end you had your own personal Merzbow concert. That was easy enough to fix, but for awhile they had this backpack thing high up on one of the endcaps. See the idea was you buy this $600 portable television-in-a-bag, hang it over one of the front seats, and PRESTO your spawn are busied drooling over Spongebob instead of yelling at each other not to look out "my window." The bag had a video player of some sort in it, and they had this ancient Olson twins music video playing in a loop. This was, I assume, from the height of their Full House popularity, and they couldn't have been older than ten. The shitty speakers at full volume did nothing to improve the off-key renditions of "Wheels on the Bus" and "Old MacDonald." After enduring this affront for several days, I lost my better judgment & scaled the display to mute the bitches. Fortunately, none of the Partners spotted me or had the minerals to get up there to turn it back up.

Up next... Part three: Terrifyingly Beautiful

Winders! Part One: The Hours

2008-01-23T06:03:00.000-08:00

Back a while ago I made some terrible images to accompany my tale of woe with Lundberg Windows and Siding. This was during my "humorously bad Photoshop phase," from which I have not fully recovered. I will, as my high school German teacher would say, salt and pepper them throughout this retelling.

First, let's set the stage. A 19 year old boy returns from his first summer at university jobless. He puts in applications at all the usual spots - Starbucks, uh... actually I think that was the only one. But he picks up applications for all sorts of crazy places. Oh yeah and Target. His friend got a job there but he applied too late or something. Right, so he naturally starts scouring the paper and finds that Cutco hires all the goddamn time, but this guy's no sucker. Okay he's not that kind of sucker. He finds one that sounds promising... "Demo representative" for $10/hr plus commission. He thinks "demo" will be the sort of thing where he tells people about a product & shows them how it works. He is wrong. Oh so wrong. He shows up for an interview dressed in his best Sunday slacks and polo within a Sam's Club, where he is not a member. He is not so much given the job as he is immediately asked to man the booth for the next four hours. He politely declines. He meets the man again (for the penultimate time) at a K-Mart... and the odyssey begins. He receives no vest, I repeat, no goddamn vest. Then he stops using the third person present tense because, frankly, it's getting irritating.

The K-Mart gig was actually not so bad. See my job was to stand at this booth for four hours. It was this little rolly thing, like a big box, with a sign and a sample window on it. At first I tried to glean what sort of information I was to be giving the customers, but I eventually determined that the answer was a tidy amount of none. In fact, it almost seemed like I was being aggressively denied information about the product... but I'll get to that later. Anyway I was beginning to wonder what exactly "demo" stood for, since the only demonstrating I could do was open and close the window display. "Tilts open for easy cleaning!" The beauty of the K-Mart gig was that there were people there, you know, buying things and walking by. I was also right by the front door with a girl selling cell phone plans (never buy from these people - it's a big ol' ripoff), so you better believe you were gonna get harassed when you walked in. Just by the sheer number of people I got a decent number of leads. And by the way, what the fuck is a lead? I just ask everybody "Do you have any home improvements coming up?" and, if so, take their name for a "Free in-home consultation!" That's a lead in the home improvement biz. Call me a traditionalist, but it seems to me a lead involves some kind of inside information, not just bluntly asking people. So I guess that's why it was called something other than "salesman," because I didn't actually do any selling. And oh, while we're there, let's talk about pricing. That's right I still don't know how much anything cost. Not even a ballpark figure. Sure, I can't go quoting prices to people without seeing their house or whatever, but cost was 9 times out of 10 the first thing people asked about. And when denied any kind of range, most just walked away. I mean I had that line about the free consultation, but you have to figure most people don't just go replacing their gutters on a whim. I'll talk more about the customers later though.

K-Mart only lasted about a week when Lundberg's contract with them expired, so I was relocated to a Sam's Club in Matthews that was being remodeled. From the outside it looked closed for remodeling, but there was a sign up that they were still open around the side. There were... not so many customers. I was positioned near the back in one of the main aisles. Let me please tell you that I can still recall how it smelled. Like a warehouse floor... with sawdust. I saw, by my best guess, about one person every half hour. Within my four hour shift, let me also tell you that the frequency (with those 8 people) that were in the market for home improvements was tragically low. Originally I claimed that I would be interested in working 8 hour shifts... I needed the money after all. But let me tell you further that a single 8 hour shift at this job would render one in a similar state to that kid who saw his whole family murdered with a croquet set (only $14.99!) - irreparably mute with a thin lock of white hair. So boring. Here is a list of some things I did to keep myself occupied:
1) Recovered the combination to the lock on the box by trial and error. It was 776. I started at 000.
2) Not reading. It was so boring that anything further relaxing would have put me in a coma.
3) Not writing. With the exception of a letter I wrote once, the experience was so mind-numbing I couldn't come up with anything. Imagine, if you will, trying to get a group of 10 year olds excited about balancing a checkbook, and you will catch a rare glimpse into my brain at that time.
4) Cataloged the things I could see. A list, I mean, of the various products and their prices within my proximity.
5) Engaged in a cold war with the Sam's Club staff (you'll have to wait until installment 2 for that!).
6) Created dialog for customers in the distance. I think somebody only heard me once, and they didn't say anything about it.
7) Sung to myself quietly.
8) Scanned the pamphlets in the box, only a handful of which were for products Lundberg carried. I was never told which handful those were.
9) Walked to the bathroom or for water, about once an hour.
10) Worked out increments for how long I had remaining on my shift. For instance, "I am 3/10 of the way finished."

Every one of these tasks was like a little reward I would give myself to stay sane. I might, say, scold myself for going to the bathroom too soon or pat myself on the back for not looking at the clock in five minutes. Actually the last time I saw my supervisor was when I had been in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to mind. Still, I lived in fear that he might show up when I wasn't there or something, so I always arrived and left exactly on time. I even accounted for the time it would take me to roll the box into and out of the aisle from the front.

Alright I'll wrap this segment up. Next I'll talk a little about the Sam's Club staff.

So I have a crush on you...

2008-01-03T07:05:00.000-08:00

A GUIDE FOR WHAT TO DO IF I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

ACCEPTANCE
1. Congratulations!
2. Although I may appear uninterested, it's a ruse.
3. You may become confused or frightened at first. Don't worry, that's normal! I can be pretty intimidating. Fear not though, I'm harmless. I've never even been in a fight! Well, except that one time that another kid threw a book bag at my head and I tackled him. But you know I didn't have a crush on him & I was 12.
4. Seriously if you're still thinking about #3 you shouldn't. Look at these arms! They're like noodles. Sexy noodles?
5. Chances are the only time we've conversed is when I asked you what size you wanted for your drink. In rare cases we may have exchanged names. This is also normal.
6. You may be wondering, "What's in it for me?" Wonder no more (but don't worry, wondering is normal!). See all this coffee? I'm authorized to give you a discount of up to 10%, yo. Okay I have to make up the difference but that's like paying for a date, right? So like if I give you that discount a few dozen times that's almost as much as dinner I think. At Elmo's maybe? First date! Without leaving the shop!
7. Now you may be worried about how things work out mathematically in #6. Like if you're expecting a firm hug or possibly a peck on the cheek by date 3, we should probably discuss that first. Especially if we are working with fractions of dates. I know most girls think it's a bit weird when you take a calculator out on a date (I think), so maybe we should work out a rounding system.
8. Apparently in high school I was known as a druggie. Like that guy in the drive thru at Taco Bell asked me what school I went to and if I "smoked tree." As I paused to figure out what "tree" referred to, he asked me again and I sped off without collecting my change. So anyway I'm really just a sleepy guy. I like naps. Is that so wrong? It's okay if you're into that sort of thing (drugs I mean). Who hasn't smoked the proverbial "tree," right? Am I right? You're right, I don't know.
9. Maybe I went a little too far with #8? Let's just stick with a "say no to drugs" policy. I don't want to wind up in one of those conversations with all those confusing slang words. I have a general rule that if I can't identify something I don't put it in my mouth. Unless it smells like curry. I am a curry fiend! Please don't put drugs in my curry.

UNDERSTANDING
1. You may not be aware of the crush. This is normal.
2. I will not tell you directly about the crush, and I may refrain from looking you in the eyes. This is because I am afraid of you. Not because you're a scary person! I'm just sensitive.
3. My job doesn't really allow me to tell people I have crushes on them. We wouldn't want the other customers to get jealous! Soon everybody will be wanting a crush. And then come the 10% discounts... and my calculator only has one memory slot! So let's just keep it to ourselves. Or I guess I'll just keep it to ourselves since you're not aware of it yet.
4. If we run into each other spontaneously, I will pretend I have never met you. This is a common defense mechanism for humans I promise because I read it on the internet (it was a forum or maybe wikipedia!). I may then curl into a ball and weep softly. This is a common defense mechanism for puppies. Everybody loves puppies!
5. My friends may try to tell you about the crush to ease the the strain of my infinite sorrow. Ignore their lies! I have no friends. You are witnessing a doppelganger!

Hopefully that clears up a few things. Now if you'll excuse me I have a couple of results in my area from Nerve.com. I have it on good authority that they have what I'm looking for in Durham.

Nevermind, they didn't seem very nice. Casual dating indeed! That's why I carry my Grandmother's engagement ring with me all the time. Wouldn't want to let one slip through! Of course I have to give it back to her once she figures out it's gone, so act fast.

Damned if you don't

2007-12-27T08:17:00.000-08:00

EDIT: This is a joke. So clearly not for serious. Chances are you aren't an offender of any of these rules. Even if you are, my guess would be if you're reading this that you at least sort of give a damn. People break these "rules" all the time, but it's all about attitude. There's the occasional person, and you can tell when they walk in, who are going to be difficult. That's who the rules are for... they're the same people who don't signal to change lanes or jump to a newly opened register even though they weren't next in line. I'm sorry if my sarcasm wasn't clear, but for the record I didn't think anyone would read it. Then again, that got the Nintendo woman in trouble didn't it?

It's been said that I tend to expect things of people based on a rule set they have no way of knowing in advance. Like showing up to gym and finding out you're playing dodge ball by means of a ball to the face. That has a distinct sound, by the way.
Well, to all you naysayers, here it is:
BARISTA'S LIST OF (formerly) UNSPOKEN RULES OF CONDUCT
1. Your responsibility, as a customer, is to figure out what you want & pay for it. While I may appear jovial, a request of "surprise me" will most likely net you a mocha. Unless you're hot, in which case you'll get a pretty heart on your mocha. For yes or no decisions such as "Would you like a copy of the receipt?" don't panic. If it's too much for you, pick one and run with it. I doubt you'll be disappointed.
2. Unless you're a logic professor (and a dick), don't answer "or" questions with yes or no. And anyway, any logician worth his weight in tautologies will tell you that the English language sets up "or" clauses as mutually exclusive. Working in the other direction, you'd have to set up a much more complicated English sentence to express the natural conditions of "or" in a logical statement. SO THERE.
3. Hey, don't whistle at me asshole. This only happened once.
4. Take your cell phone outside. How important are you? Are you the dauphin of New fucking Winnersville? Take that phallic hunk of plastic off your ear and act like a normal goddamn human. Expecting a call at any time? Congratulations on your new child! But if you try to order while talking on the phone, I'll ask you a torrent of needless questions. Did you want soy? You'll start to think I'm just trying to interrupt you. I am. Sorry Doctor McAwesome to cut in on your surgery-by-phone. Here's your half-caf au lait.
5. Brevity is the soul of placing your order. What's a double half-caf skinny tall mochaccino no whip? A fucking small skim mocha. See, I got fewer syllables even while calling you a dick.
6. Look at the goddamn menu. The sizes and names for things tend to be reasonable. This isn't Applebee's. We don't have a mochajita con sizzle. I'm not going to make you sound like an asshole just by reading something off the menu. This extends further into "cup of java." I don't give a shit if you know fifty names for coffee, you can send it in the next mass forward e-mail with your incomparable list of names for female genitalia.
7. Keep your mouth closed. Why is it that when people gaze upwards their maw has to gape? Did you lose control over your jaw? Will the pins fall out if you strain your mouth against the ravages of Earth gravity? If I wanted to see inside your mouth, I'd check your 24-hour webcam "Stu watches TV and irradiates his testicles with countless harmful photons." Let me know how that experiment works out.
8. Take a penny. When I watch your grubby hand flip the pennies out onto the counter, it makes me want to slap your hand like a scolding grandma. Don't want to break that fiver? Watch pocket welling up with change and ready to burst? Take it to Coinstar. Yes, you can run out to your car to get some more money. I'll wait.
9. Put your money in my hand. Lorde Featherdick can't exert the strain it takes to outreach his hand the extra 12 inches it takes to be a gentleman. Countess de Fingersniff places her credit cards next to her purse & eyes me suspiciously when I reach across the counter to take it. I know each coin makes a satisfying "snap" as you press it to the counter, but please count it out beforehand. Do you wash your hands after going to the bathroom? I do. Thank you Mr. Aviator.
10. Don't tell me your problems or give me advice. Just because I'm trapped behind the counter doesn't mean I'm here for you. Unless "My girlfriend died in a tragic Tweetsie Railroad crash" is your way of indiscreetly telling me you only need one latte today, keep it to yourself. Think I look sleepy today? Got the urge to say, "Looks like you need your coffee!"? Clever. Keep it to yourself. Got something to sell? Get the fuck out.
11. Clean up after yourself. Do you see a busboy jaunting about topping off your glass of water and clearing dishes? Also, there's a fucking trash can. I don't want to fish your filthy stir stick out of the "dirty spoons" bin. I don't want to unglue the napkins from your plate. And it's so easy to get the sugar in your cup. Don't just toss it about & hope some falls in.
12. Don't bullshit me about coffee. So you heard a couple of fancy terms. I don't need you asking how long my shots are running or what temperature I steam the milk. I don't want you walking around the side of the counter & snuggling up with your head on my shoulder. Just wait and admire it when it's ready; it's fucking awesome, see? Along those lines, don't affect an accent on me. Croissant may look like a funny French word, but it's pretty easy to say. So is espresso, which has no "c" or "x" in it.
13. Don't touch the thermostat. This one's for you, Rich...
14. Don't smell the coffee. Unless a rugged Colombian rides in on a burro & invites you to peek in his bag of coffee wonders, I don't want your nose getting any closer to the beans than it needs to.
15. I hate your kids. I'm not Bill Cosby. I don't have a refreshing attitude towards kids doing asshole things. Keep them away from the bean bins. Don't let them twirl about screaming on the stools like Rhesus monkeys. Don't ask them to place their order themselves unless they're fucking adorable.
16. Tip like it's karmic retribution. Make up for creaming that kid on his bike with your SUV on the way over here.
17. Don't order espresso over ice. When you're smiling to yourself at the cream counter thinking how you cheated that barista out of a couple bucks from your husband's weekly stipend, look back over your shoulder and see me glaring at your iced latte. Unless you've followed #16 aggressively, I will call you out from across the store. Then you'll be getting wicked glances at the Whole Foods and overhearing, "Margie is a cheapskate. I'm not inviting her to bridge this week." Did you see Die Mommy Die? You should; it's pretty funny.
18. Don't complain about the music. Comments of "Is this music?" will be met with an unhealthy dose of derision. I will tell you exactly what you're listening to until you walk away in discomfort.
19. Don't camp. Get an internet connection at home. The $1.14 you spent on that cup of coffee three hours ago isn't going to cut it, cheap ass. And if you squat without buying anything? You'd better believe I'm unplugging the router. Furthermore,
20. I am not technical support. Exception: hotness.

I think that about covers it.

The Chels part 3: awful movies

2007-11-21T06:06:00.000-08:00

If a film shows in an art house theater & no one sees it, is it still pretentious? The following are films that I hated before I saw them or even, in some cases, before they were released.

We had a poster up on the women's bathroom door (so you'd see it right when you walked in) that was for Ladies in Lavender. It's a gaudy thing, and you can tell on closer inspection that they've airbrushed the fuck out of each of them. I mean that kid's shirt isn't even real. It went up for a good month before the film actually came out. Let me paint a picture for you.
"Oh is that... it's Dame Judi Dench! I love Dame Judi Dench! Dame Judi Judi Dench Dame Judi Dame Dame damn I love saying her name! I'd watch anything with Dame Judi Dench. If they filmed her popping a squat in Central Park I'd be there. If she smeared shit on paper I'd buy and frame it!"
Whack!
[septuagenarian rendered unconcious by the bathroom door swinging open]
"Are you okay? Wait... is that... it's Dame Judi Dench! I love Dame Judi Dench!"
[repeat]
Once the movie was out, hosers would buy tickets for "the Judi Dench movie." Because I'm an ass, I would claim not to know which one they were talking about. They'd have to back up and scan the titles on the board, or sometimes they'd bug me about which films were playing. It was worth it.

I eventually saw Junebug and thoroughly enjoyed it. The poster was up for a good while prior, and the art (before I recognized the significance of it) was overwhelmingly pretentious to me. More than that though, some of the worst blurbs I've seen.
1. "...distills antagonistic red-state, blue-state attitudes."
What kind of asinine thing is that to say? "I want to make an overgeneralization about the themes in this movie, but I want to make sure I sound like a complete asshole while I'm at it."
2. "effusive girl-child"
I don't even know what to say about this one. I'll admit I had to pop over to dictionary.com before I could accurately judge the terriblosity of this comment. See Stephen? I can make up words too! Well, I'm talking about "girl-child," which is I guess a take on "man-child" or "boy-child" or something? Should it be "woman-child"? How about just "immature"? I think you can figure it out, Stephen. I'm sure your NYT paycheck can get you a pretty hefty thesaurus.
3. "...exploration of the family house conveys a... sense of place."
Yeah it'll do that. If he wanted to be more of a dick, he should've said mise en scène for appreciative nods from snoots nationwide.
4. That second statement... isn't it a little premature to start calling someone an autor after his first feature film? He directed TV shows and shorts, for god's sake.
5. "Amy Adams is a revelation."
Without getting too much into semantics here, this is about the verbal equivalent of "low prices everyday." A fundamental misunderstanding of the function of a word. At any rate, revelation is already bandied about with other pop words like "anal" and "proverbial" and "literally." Is this a chaotic attempt at synecdoche? Are we meant to believe her acting prowess inspires profound realization in viewers? Bullshit.

For a film to reach "worst movie ever made" status, it has to have (in my opinion):
1. A decently large budget (so you know money was wasted). This rules out much of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 crowd.
2. A marketing engine.
3. A chip on its shoulder.
4. A following.
Pretty vague qualifiers there, but I just wanted to put things like Manos: Hands of Fate and Plan 9 from Outer Space out of the running. Anything where you could say "it's so bad it's funny" is still enjoyable to watch (or at least make fun of later).
*WHY I HATE WHAT THE BLEEP DO WE KNOW?*
I couldn't embed the video for some reason. It's for the best.
1. The tagline: "How far into the rabbit hole of mysteriousness do you want to go?" Pseudo-philosophy... GO!
2. People calling themselves "bleepers." Well, just the word "bleep" in the title at all.
3. The main character is deaf... but her other senses are more in tune? I'm choking on the metaphor. It's just so hard to chew.
4. CG. Why are there anthropomorphic blobs dancing on the screen? I think they're determining important stuff like "I want to screw that guy" and "Where did my life go wrong?"
5. One of the interviewees is J. Z. Knight channeling Ramtha. No, really. She thinks someone else is speaking through her. And they interviewed her. For their film.
6. The interviews take place largely in front of green screen. Backgrounds include: blacklight poster swirlies, fireplaces, and a university campus. Like... "Oh, you caught me on the way to a seminar. Do you have any spare change?" or "Oh, you caught me totally getting my fucking mind blown in the middle of this freaky vortex."
7. The closing line. I don't have a direct quote of this, but I saw it quite a few times as I was winding up each showing. The trick is to turn the house lights up as soon as possible so sensible people get the fuck out. I've heard complainers say "Nobody watches the credits anymore!" Yeah if you want to listen to that reprise of the main theme and see who held the boom mic, you'll have to do it while I sweep up the Goobers rolling by your feet. Anyway, here's the line as I remember it:
"People say I sound crazy but... if you study science long enough... and hard enough... and you don't come out sounding crazy... well then you haven't learned anything at all!"
[What the Bleep logo shows up on screen & shatters into tiny CG bits. Yes, the title is censored within the movie as well. How cheeky.]
If you want to be skullfucked by stupidity & 90's screensaver graphics, go ahead & rent this guy. The "Down the Rabbit Hole" version is available too, where you can choose the course of action the film takes, thereby putting the mind blowing into your own sweaty little palms. There's also this. You're welcome.

I thought I was done talking about WtBDWK, but shit just keeps flooding back. The movie ran for a long time. A couple of gems:
-Assholes from "The church of Ramtha" or some shit tried to hand out fliers to people as they left the movie. These are people who get mocked by Unitarians.
-This one woman cried because I wouldn't sell her a ticket. See it was well after 10, the movie was half over, and the box office had been closed out. I could have taken the money & put it on the next day's box but... well... I already said I'm an ass. She started weeping at me, and through the sobs I could make out something like "meant a lot to me" and "told all my friends about it" and "changed my life." That's right. She'd already seen it. I let her in.

The Chels Part 2: projectioniesting

2007-11-19T08:07:00.000-08:00

The title is in reference to a notice we got with one of the films, I think about which preview to include (?), that was littered with typos. We would also sometimes get press releases about upcoming films from the distributor. These are always a larf, reading like an amazon.com commenter page. Sometimes it seemed like the writer had only seen a poster for the film & was just guessing around; I doubt they had access to screening copies.

I started as "manager" or projectionist at the Chelsea after about a year. At that point I started three shifts a week with one as box office only (see previous post). A few funnies that are frequent:
-"The projector is on fire!"
If the motor stops and the lamp is still running, its heat literally burns through a frame of the film. It's easily fixed & usually happens on worthless headers or footers. Still, it looks pretty dramatic on screen, almost like the whole screen is burning through from behind.
-"We were late, can you rewind the film?"
No. The motor only goes in one direction. Also, the platter system is such that, once you've started the film, it has to be completely run before it can be wound up. Otherwise, imagine pulling all the tape out of a videocassette & trying to feed it through your VCR. Sounds like an exaggeration, but until you see an entire film tangled up on the floor...
-"Isn't anyone in the booth!?"
No. The days of having to change reels every 20 mins are over - the whole film is spliced together. I've had people sit through 15 mins of a movie with no sound... like 20 people... assuming that someone was "working on it." Same with a stopped film.
-"Is X coming back?"
I have no idea. Do you ask the burger flipper at McDonald's if the McRib is coming back soon?
-"I've heard about X... will you be getting that movie?" Maybe [I check the schedule]. "What's that movie about?"
I'm tempted at this point to make something up based on the title.
-"Can I speak to the owner?" He's not here. "When will he be in?" He's in most weekday mornings. "No afternoons or evenings." Periodically. "Okay..."
It's great when the truth is more confusing to the solicitor than a lie.
-"Can I speak to the manager?"
Surprise!

We had this guy come in pretty regularly, an older guy in his 60s. He'd get two senior tickets & wait for this other woman to show up... not sure why that was. He would ask to speak to the projectionist. To this point I had only met with him indirectly, and I'd learned to lie to him that the projectionist was upstairs. He'd tell me to "Ask him to do a good job tonight." Now typically I'd sit near the box office so I could see what was going on & to get my chat on. This particular night Mallory was working & it was moderately busy. He came inside to buy his tickets (which I've mentioned I hate, especially if other customers are lining up outside in a normal queue) & asked who was projecting tonight. Mallory had to help another customer, so she basically just pointed at me & turned back to the window. I was cornered there on the bench. He came up to me & stood not 2 feet away, like if I'd stood up I'd be all up in his nose hairs.
Hoser: You projecting tonight?
Me [pretending to be paying attention to the box office so as not to have to make eye contact]: Yup.
H: You going to do a good job tonight?
M: I'm sorry?
H: I said, "Are you going to do a good job tonight?"
M: Sure, yeah... same as always [forced smile].
H: No not "same as always," I mean are you going to do a good job tonight? I've been here when projectionists just didn't seem to care about their jobs.
M: Okay...
H: So I want you to go up there & make sure the focus is right after the feature starts and that the sound is at the right level.
M: Actually from upstairs you can't monitor the level of the sound as-
H: Yes you can! And that's what you'll do! Then you'll come back downstairs & sell some Coke!
M: I'm sorry, you can't speak to me that way.
H: What?
M: I said "I'm sorry," [standing up] "You can't speak to me that way."
H: I'm just telling you to do-
M: No. You can't speak to me that way.
H: Well... maybe I should just tell Mr. Bruce Stone that he has a rude projectionist!
M: Actually I'll tell him myself if you like.
[He starts to walk away, in a huff]
M: Or I could give you your money back right now...
[He turns around and starts to say something I don't remember]
M: And you can leave.
H [turning back around]: This is ridiculous...
Fearing the ever popular angry letter, I related this story to Mr. Stone (the owner) within the week. He appeared skeptical until I got to the part where hoser used his name, when he interrupted me with "Who is this guy!?"

As the manager, one of my jobs was to empty the trash at the end of the night. I think this is what drove me to insanity... not the physical act of removing the bags, but cleaning out the theaters. To anyone who is about to start a sentence "But it's your job to..." let me cut you off by saying you should have learned when you were 3 to clean up after your own fucking self. Is it a restaurant? Do you see any busboys? Do we give you a fucking basket of peanuts to shell onto the floor? Okay, I understand it's dark & you might finish what you brought in well before the end of the movie & forget your trash, but the following things do not fit that category:
1. Dozens of pistachio shells.
2. Handfuls of napkins, used and unused. Not only is this wasteful, but shoving a handful of used napkins into the cup holder is fucking disgraceful. After awhile I stopped picking up napkins at all. If people are too lazy & want to wade around in their own shit, more power to 'em.
3. Half-eaten container of sushi from Harris Teeter, overturned. The whole theater smelled like soy sauce. Each of the 10 or so packets was ripped open & partially used. A thin stream of sauce meandered its way down the aisles into a puddle at the front of the theater.
4. Six empty bottles of Tequiza.
5. Half-eaten Subway sandwich, discarded unwrapped onto the floor. Henceforth I stopped anyone I saw with a Subway bag.
6. Half a dozen wrappers for nicotine gum. This was happening regularly, and I eventually figured out who was doing it. This went on the entire time I was working there so... I guess quitting wasn't working out for him.
7. Two empty tall boys in paper bags.
8. In the Women's bathroom, tampons. On the floor, clearly used. Seriously? There are little trash bins to put them in. Even then most people wrap them in toilet paper first. What kind of person pulls a bloody cloth from her vagina and just drops it there on the floor? No really, tell me. I will find her.
9. Tobacco spit cups.
10. Ticket stubs. To be fair, these little buggers can get away from you pretty easily. However, that doesn't mean you're off the hook if I watch you drop it on the way into the theater.
11. Heath (I think it was) found a used catheter on the floor of the men's bathroom.

Also I forgot about this one interaction I had at the concession counter.
Woman: A Coke and a popcorn.
Me: Which size would you like [pointing at the bags over the popper]?
W: Umm... do you have like a...
She starts making this motion with her hands & forms a circle about the size of a basketball. Anticipating the next words that would come out of her mouth & trying to spare her a little embarrassment, I start shaking my head.
W: Like a... bucket?
M [still shaking my head]: I'm sorry we don't.
W: The large then.
M: With butter?
W: Please.

Wee update

2007-11-06T03:50:00.000-08:00

I remembered another weird drink order.

cust: One el dobio companion.
Only it wasn't quite "companion." It was sort of like... co-pañien.
me: I'm sorry?
cust: [repeats, slower]
me: [mulling it over] What's in this drink? Maybe that will help me figure out what you're looking for.
cust: It's like... just expresso. With whipped cream on top. I think it's Cuban or something.
me: Oh... espresso con panna?
cust: Yes, el dobio compañion.
me: Well, you don't need the "el." Just doppio [double] con panna.
cust: dobio compañion.
me: It's two words... con... panna?
cust: com... paño?
me: Con, it means "with."
cust: Con.
me: and panna, meaning cream, or whipped cream in this case.
cust: paña [man did she want to roll that letter]
me: So "con panna." "Doppio con panna."
cust: El doppio con paña.
I gave up and made the drink.

The Chels part 1: Rancid BO

2007-11-05T08:35:00.000-08:00

I quit the Chelsea after working there for nearly 3 years. For roughly 2/3 of that time, I was a projectionist. I still worked the occasional box office shift selling tickets. I'll share my projectionist woes some other time, but here are some of the more obnoxious exchanges from the BO.

customer: Two adults and one child for [some movie about a lion].
me: We are no longer showing that feature.
customer: I read in the paper that it was showing here!
me: Thursday was our last showing [it was Sunday]; each new film week starts on Friday.
customer: Okay, well, what movies do you have for children?
me: We don't typically show kids' movies here. We're more of an- [she cut me off]
customer: This is very frustrating... [she trailed off away from the window]
Then her son maybe... 8 years old? walked up to the counter and said "that's not very good."
me: [leaning in toward the window] It is for me.

cust: What's [movie 1] about?
me: I haven't seen it. We have reviews posted on the board there [pointing].
cust: What about [movie 2]?
me: I'm not sure.
cust: And [movie 3]?
me: They're all fairly new.
cust: You haven't see any of the movies?
me: ...Don't ask me, I just sell the tickets.
It's hard to express how much of an ass I was being here. The air of contempt in my voice was palpable.

This one happened all the time.
cust: Which theater should we go in?
There are three goddamn doors. It's not a game show; you can figure it out. Plus I probably don't remember which movie you bought a ticket for.
me: The name is over the door.
cust: But which one is it?
me: Which movie are you seeing?
9 times out of 10 they check their stub. Seriously.
me: It's that one [pointing], where it says X over the door.
I can sort of understand if there are different directions to go or theater numbers or shit like that, but this is the very definition of simple.

cust: Can I bring in my own bottle of wine?
me: [stunned disbelief]

cust: One senior for X
me: Over 65? [the Chelsea's definition of "senior" tickets]
cust: What?
me: Are you over 65?
cust: What? I'm asking for a senior ticket.
me: Sorry, those tickets start at 65.
cust: I have an AARP card!
me: Okay, well that starts at 50.
cust: This is rediculous! The AARP pays to have these things available for their members.
me: I assure you this theater doesn't see any of that money.
cust: You're not going to sell me a senior ticket, are you?
Well, since you're such a gem...
me: Sorry.

cust [with his wife]: My wife and I came in here the other day to see a movie, and the guy refused to give us a refund.
This guy was David Woodward, and I had heard this story already. I humored him.
me: What movie did you come to see?
cust: Shopgirl, the Steve Martin movie.
There happened to be a huge standee for the movie right behind me.
me: Okay, did something happen to the film?
cust: No, it was just about some tramp, running around town sleeping with everybody. So then we went into another theater & it was about some queer.
me: And you didn't stay for the whole movie?
cust: No! We asked for our money back & he wouldn't give it to us!
me: Well we don't control the content of our films. Actually at this point I can't refund a ticket anyway, because that information is in a report that has already been closed.
cust: We were wanting to go to Pride & Prejudice instead.
me: I'm sorry, the nature of the industry is that they don't exchange equally like that. Imagine going to a gallery and not liking the Van Gogh. The Matisse isn't going to come free. [I'm sure I'm embellishing my eloquence here. I was way too pissed off to make a cogent metaphor.]
cust: If we'd known the movies weren't going to be good we wouldn't have come at all.
me: The content of the movies is not bad because you disagreed with it. Both the films were critically acclaimed. There are reviews posted on the boards over there that talk about the content that offended you as well.
cust: We don't care what those people think about the movie! We have our own opinions about that sort of thing.
me: The ratings board also gives reasons behind their ratings. See here [pointing at the standee] the detail for Shopgirl states "sexually deviant behavior" [or something like that].
cust: We didn't check the ratings; we just wanted to see a good movie.
This went on for awhile, but I didn't yield.
cust: You're not going to let us in to this movie are you.
cust. wife: I think he can do it, but he won't.
me: It's both.
cust: Fine, we'll pay to see this movie. 2 seniors.
me: Over 65?

This one didn't happen to me, but it was at the box office. I was projecting at the time & was upstairs.
cust: We want our money back.
Adam: Why's that?
cust: That movie's too gay.
Adam: What?
cust: We just didn't realize... we saw that it was made in NC, but... we didn't realize it would be so gay.
Adam: Gay?
cust: Yes. There's a homosexual in it.
Adam: Okay...
cust: We brought our 15 year old son!
Adam: We don't provide refunds after the first half hour.
cust: If we'd known it was so gay we wouldn't have come in the first place! There was no indication anywhere about that!
Adam: We have reviews posted at the boards that talk about the content.
cust: I didn't read the reviews.
Adam: We have these cards too [picks up the Loggerheads card].
cust: I read the card! It didn't say anything about that.
Adam: [skimming the card] "...and their openly gay son."
After standing stunned for a moment, they guy went into the theater to collect his family & left.

Instead of standing at the box office like a normal person, this guy came in and stood at the counter. For reference, don't do that shit unless you're invited. Nobody needs some asshole hovering over the cash drawer and watching you play Freecell. That shit is personal.
cust: Two for X [hands a credit card].
me: We take cash or local checks.
I say this because people inevitably ask if we take debit cards. When this happened to Graham once, the customer insisted they had accepted his card "last Friday." Anyway,
cust: I don't have any cash. Everybody takes credit cards!
me: Sorry. There's an ATM blah blah blah.
cust: Well what about this!
me: That's a ticket printer.
cust: It looks like a credit card machine!
I tapped the space bar and flashed him the printed ticket.
me: Nope.
So I guess he thought we actually did take credit cards? Has he been denied before because he's such an asshole? Well, he found the ATM all right.

Customer walks in with his date,
cust: Is this... the movies?

Elderly customers leaving the theater, not asking for a refund,
cust: We just realized we saw this movie two weeks ago!

Woman on bike: Glad I don't work for Coke!

There's a long list of quotes in the back room. I don't remember a lot of the gems, so maybe Graham or Daphne can help me out there.

Next time: Russ becomes a badass.

Poo

2007-10-26T08:14:00.000-07:00

The defining moment of my career at the Chelsea Theater.

Jason and Lauren are total champs.

I worked Sunday nights as long as I was a projectionist, so about 2 years. Always I came in after Jason worked the matinee, a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone. Up the street from the theater is a "retirement community," where hasbeens born with silver spoons up their asses go to whittle away at their final days. This is a boon to the Chelsea and feeds the Sunday grosses like a grown adult sucking at the withered teat of its mother & thriving on life-giving Ensure. Revolting.

One particular afternoon I got a call. For some background, there are regulars at the Chelsea [another time] who appear in an aura of infamy. One man came in frequently on Sundays and has Parkinson's. He was there to see Sideways (I think it was) with his daughter or caretaker or whatever. The first thing they did that day was complain about the lack of handicapped accessible bathrooms at the Varsity (a sister theater). Thing is, they're there. I promise. They're downstairs in plain sight, and I'm sure anyone could have directed them there if they'd only asked. The Varsity is notoriously anti-senior due to parking concerns... lucky bastards. At any rate, the Chelsea employee didn't know what to tell them; maybe they expected something?

The call I received was to inform me that someone had made a mess in the bathroom. To do it a little better justice, dude had the men's bathroom fucking ruined. Like... tubgirl ruined. If you're not familiar with tubgirl, look it up on wikipedia at your own risk. Let's summarize:
1. Both toilets clogged
2. Piles of shit and toilet paper on the floor
3. The cup runneth over
4. Shit tracked back into the theater

So why did we clean it up? I mean, shouldn't we be getting a bio hazard crew together, worrying about hepatitis, putting a mop in that fucker's hand?

Lauren and Jason:
1. Scooped and scraped into the drain in the floor, rendering two dustpans useless.
2. Unclogged the far stall, which had suffered less damage.
3. Bleached the hell out of the floor.
4. Wept openly.

When I got there, I was under the impression that it was under control. The looks on my coworkers' faces were expressive of the sullen solitude common in survivors of apartment complex fires. I stepped in to survey. The mixture of bleach and excrement created a palpable wall of odor, similar to walking outside on a hot day from a grocery store. The feeling of terror was memorable, like the dolly zoom from Vertigo.

There was a line from Desperate Housewives (shut up) that describes it pretty well. "Sometimes things get so bad, all you can do is laugh." There's something of a disconnect, and the part of my brain that registers horror just shut off. So, stuff I did:
1. Unclogged the other toilet
2. Mopped the walls and the side of the toilet
3. Mopped the brown slug-trail into and around the theater
4. Replaced the mop head
5. Prayed for the last time
Seems kind of simple when I put it in numbers like that. Really I don't remember it that well, like I repressed it somehow. Any future psychiatrist who tries to recover that memory is in for a world of pain.

my bum 3: the bummening

2007-10-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

Three posts in one day!? Thrillsville.

I've been gradually bringing this home, and now finally here we are. I currently live in eastern Durham, or as I like to call it, East-ass Durham. Now it's not quite the rectum of the city, and it's not the genitals either (I can't decide if Durham is a boy or a girl). Aiken Ave. is, I believe, the portion between the anus and the genitals. What's that called? I forget. For now we'll just call it East Durham. At any rate if the city were to receive an enema, Aiken would only meet with some messy runoff. Wow that got graphic quickly.

When I first moved in here, Sarah's dogs let me know how they felt about the neighbors. They advised me to tolerate, but certainly keep a comfortable distance. Displeasure should be expressed subtly upon greeting, but hostility should not be incurred. For the immediate neighbors, let's work with a convenient 3x3 grid with this house as the center. Moving clockwise from let's say... 10:30?
1: Immaculate lawn with lamp posts and ample lawn ornamentation. Anywhere else it would appear gaudy, but here it's downright luxurious. I've spoken with them once only while trying to figure out where a dog lived (I had it by the chain, which it had torn loose from its tie with about 6 ft of slack). Despite obviously speaking English, they mostly played mute. The tactic (which I also employ) "Stay the fuck out of it" was in full force.
2: The father has a picturesque mullet, memeworthy even. He was gone for six months or so last year for reasons unknown. The mother is a suspected dealer & frequently has sketchy guests at all times of day. They run a puppy mill in a 6x6 fence in their driveway. The dogs within hump each other constantly, to where the recipient affects a glassy, vacant acceptance. I actually doubt the dogs are officially mating (probably same sex), but the effect is eerily similar. The children are on the doorstep of juvie; the younger one frequently fires his fingers like a pistol at my car as I pull into the driveway. There is a painted cement dog ornament that is always being shifted around the yard and stoop as though it were not comfortable to sit in the same place daily.
3: This house had an elderly black couple when I moved in. The man claimed to have a camera attached to the side of his house that recorded the break-in of this house, but no evidence was ever produced. After they moved out, renters came in. There are often expensive cars parked in front, but I rarely see anyone. Some evenings I have seen a group of portly black women roosting on the stoop, but they don't appear to be conversing. They watch me intently, but I don't sense any hostility. This is the least active household (as far as I can tell).
4: Action house. Trauma house. Crack house. The woman who occupies it is a nice (if somewhat trashy) bank teller in her 60s. I believe she is married, but the husband is seldom around. Her daughter is... possibly in her 30s? Rhonda is the very epicenter of entropy in this neighborhood. She's a recovering (read: using slightly less) addict whom the police and EMT know by name. There was also an older woman, I'm assuming the grandmother, who died before I moved in. Sarah explains that she used to croak "Help!" from the back porch for menial tasks such as shuffling back into the house... to anyone who would answer. Rhonda knows by now not to ask me for things, because I routinely lie to her. Need the phone? Don't have one. Use their swimming pool? [I know, what the fuck? It's an above ground swimming pool. Rhonda in a bikini is a slight against god.] I'm on my way to work (even if I'm obviously just coming home).
5: I don't know much about these people except that the woman is most definitely a dealer. She came to our door (actually more than once, but we'll stick with the first time when I was there) wailing about Rhonda and "Call 911!" Although she's supposedly using less, Rhonda continues to have seizures. This particular one happened early summer while the crack heads were having a pool party. None of them had a phone? I don't know. Anyway, Rhonda was in her bikini. Thin as a rail Rhonda needs a onesie... I mean she looks like she's going to fall apart without some sort of protective barrier against the world. And there she was flailing away under a bush. Have you ever seen someone milk a seizure? I have. I'm no doctor, but this was bullshit. When emergency did arrive, everyone scattered. Including Rhonda. Crazy-ass neighbor #5 was nowhere to be found (though she did come back later to fill us in nonsensically), and Rhonda bolted as soon as she saw flashing lights. I don't know where they picked her up, but I imagine a crackhead in a bikini wasn't so hard to spot on Cheek Road. The police asked us one question: "Was it Rhonda?" Yeah. "She needs to just be put away."
6-7: I don't know these people. Thank god.
8: Quiet, suspicious elderly couple.

The only other notables in this area are the countless dog owners who neglect their pets (who have to be rescued from Bosley, Sarah's territorial boxer) and the crack ho. Now I've heard people use the term crack ho for women who maybe slept around some or were especially skinny. No, this woman is a crack ho in that she does crack and is a prostitute. She has what I can only assume is a pimp, an older bearded fellow who could be Jesus's older brother in a Grateful Dead tribute band. She appeared, at first, to be comely. Then she flagged down my car one hot afternoon and I saw, in my rear view mirror, the latest addition to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family, "leatherho." She's always coming out of a different house and ambling drunkenly down the street. I try not to judge, but damn... she's just a crack ho.

Once the house was broken into in the middle of the day while Sarah & I were at work. The back door was kicked in, the lock broken, but that was all. My guess is that Bosley informed them they weren't welcome.

Another time I heard a sound around the house & went to investigate. When I put the lights on I saw someone scurry off in a dark, hooded jacket. He was clutching something something to his chest like a bundled child. I called the police - it was maybe 3 in the morning. We couldn't find anything missing. Days later, Sarah asked me if I had used the last of the Tide. I put the pieces together... and laughed at the image of dumbass hoofing it down the street with a near-empty bottle of laundry detergent under his jacket.

Both of our cars were broken into. Sarah's was on a Friday night, and she called to leave me a message to that effect. I got it when I was calling her Sunday morning to let her know my car had been broken into. Keen. Sarah's car was likely open to begin with, but all they got was a handful of change from the bin. They scattered candy wrappers from the ashtray throughout the car, and it seemed like they had maybe just stopped to have a snack. My car had a bit more in it, and they must have used some sort of tool to get the lock open. Aside from the minor damage to the door, the casualty was not so devastating. Allow me to illustrate via comparison. Next to each item I list that was stolen, its ARV, and below it, an item of greater value which was not stolen.
1: Handful of dead batteries. ARV: $0
2GB mp3 player, left in the driver's seat.
2: Handful of loose change. ARV: $3
X-Men DVD borrowed from David Woodward, in the opened glove compartment.
3: Electronic Travel Sudoku game (resembling a PDA). ARV: $10
Portable CD player and half a dozen new CDs.
When Sarah spoke with the police, the officer noted regarding #3, "I prefer to do mine on paper."

Interlude prime

2007-10-22T09:28:00.000-07:00

If you have Twitter or otherwise can view my tweets [dirty], I got an e-mail today:
geraldo - Hello Society rtgrimm
bang your bitch in all positions with a massive meat
Geurt Durkin

As such I have composed an open letter.

Hello Society,
Im n ur ppl, haX0r1ng ur n00bs.
If u want culture bcak, leave teh things here aformentioned:
-more 12 sec pr0n clips
-new memes lolcat s is not getting hitz nemore
-kill tubgrl that shit its just wrong
-fursuits on amazon.com
-end all sentences ".com
- www that shit its 2 hard 2 say. make it mmm so ppl no its gud.
-three words: wall st mmo. no not a game.
-asl
-shortn more words! blog, podcast, wi-fi........ r only teh begenning!!!1
urs,
teh interwebs
Geurt Durkin

THANK YOU FOR USING THE INTERNET FREE PENIS ENLARGEMENT IPODS FOR YOUR XBOX 360 CLICK HERE OR YOUR FAMILY WILL DIE I'LL DO IT DO YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND I'M THE GODDAMN INTERNET

[Please leave your suggestions, improvements to this letter in the comments]

interlude

2007-10-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling pretty lazy... too lazy for the last bumupdate. So now here's
"Things you can say in the coffee shop to irritate me"
I'm sensitive to this sort of thing, so don't think if you've said this in the past you're eligible for insta-hate or anything. Also, to those of you who stated my blog has an air of pretension, this one's for you.

-Skinny
-Grande
-Venti
-King size
-Middle size (we have four)
-Extra milk
-Extra hot
-No Foam
-2% milk
-Caramel Macchiato/Iced Macchiato
-Frappuccino
-Mochaccino
-Espresso over ice in a large cup (you're obviously trying to rip off some milk)
-Lattee, or brev
-Bold
-Less acidic
-"Could you make that like... half regular coffee and... like... half decaf?" No. You're the first person who's ever imagined such a thing.
-"Do you make the muffins here?" No.
-"You got hot dogs?" No.
-"Do you serve breakfast?" Not unless your breakfast, like mine, is a pastry (or nothing).
-"I'll have it for here, but I'll take it in a cup to go."
-"Regular cup of coffee." Which size? "Regular." 8 ,12 ,16 ,20 oz... "Whichever's regular." 20oz it is.
-Colombian/Costa Rica coffee. Is there a place you can go in and get whatever fucking coffee you want? A lot of the time I have two coffees on, or you can get a french press but what, I have 40 some-odd carafes behind the counter with a shit-ton of old coffee in them? Granted those SAs are more commonly asked for (when they're not being offered I mean), but I've also had people ask for Kona or Jamaican coffee. One guy even got mad that I didn't have it available for our discounted french presses. Like even though we were losing money in the deal it was his right or some bullshit.
-You should have free refills
-You should stamp my card for regular coffee
-You should carry iced decaf coffee
-You should have a sign about X
-You should have X baked goods
-Free advertising. Commonly used in conjunction with some fairly expensive retail product, such as "You should give these shirts away! Free advertising!"
-"Actually I was hoping I could talk to the manager?" Yeah, uh... he's not in.
-"May I speak with Mr. Thomas Roberts?" No.
-"Is this Northgate?" Yeah, I just don't like to answer the phone that way.
-"Which of your coffees is organic?" This one looks good.
-"I'm in a hurry." That'll be 50 cents.
-Adding zero into the tip line for a credit card. Either you're paranoid or just an asshole. I'm not saying you have to tip for a cup of coffee, and some people drop cash tips when they're paying by card... so do they think I'm going to write something in for them? That would be supremely idiotic of me.

While I'm on the topic, a couple of the more bizarre orders I've gotten.
[Woman looks at the menu for seriously a couple of minutes, resists assistance on picking something] "Grande Caramel Macchiato." I was so astonished I whipped around, thinking for a second that some joker might have written it in on the board. They hadn't. Just an idiot.

[This older guy... 60s maybe? Super tall, rather portly, unshaven, and again after poring over the menu, and this time while I was in the middle of helping another customer] "You make a pretty good maccharina?"
me: "A what? A macchiato?"
cust: "I said, 'You make a pretty good maccharina?'"
me: "I don't know what that is, I'm sorry. A macchiato?"
cust: [points at the board, but kind of in the lower region where the drink specials live] "Says up there you got a maccharina. Lemme get yer biggest maccharina."
me: [I legitimately started thinking he was fucking around with me] "Like the dance craze? The dance from the 90s?"
cust: "You... you take your job pretty seriously don't you."
me: "Yeah, I guess I do."
cust: "I'm just trying to get your biggest size... your 20oz maccharina."
me: "If you mean the macchiato (I bring out our print menu & point it out), it's a rather small drink (I hold up a demitasse), but if you want-"
cust: "So you're telling me I can't get a 20 oz?"
me: "Well that would just be... I mean that's a lot of espresso. I can do a cappuccino or like... a latte in that size if you want."
I'd like to point out that it's 7:30 in the morning. Well Ben came in at about that time & saw the look on my face. He sent me out to his car to bring in the baked goods; I gladly obliged. When I came back in the guy had settled on a 32oz french press. He finished about half of it. The entire time, he stood there at the bar across from the counter. I don't know... like he was waiting for something.

"Tall motil [moh-teel]." Never figured out what the hell that was supposed to be, but she wound up with a 20oz single shot decaf heavy cream latte. Ew. Actually there's another one like this where somebody butchered the name of the drink, but it's escaped me. I'll update when I remember.

"Latte with half skim, half half & half."
me: "That's um... that's pretty much whole milk."
cust: "No, no, because all the lactose that's really good for you in half and half isn't in the skim, so if you mix the two you get the benefits of both."
And sometimes you learn it's best just... not to argue.

A variation on the "regular" problem mentioned above, which escalated when I asked "for here or to go" (since putting it in a small mug for here would have solved the problem).
cust: [getting belligerent] "Just a regular."
me: "So I'm just trying to figure out how you want me to serve that to you... I have small mugs here, or I could give you maybe a medium paper cup?"
cust: "I'll take it... [ponders] in a container."
I thought maybe he was joking or trying to be an ass about it, so I chuckled. Stopped cold when the stoic bewilderment on his face remained. He got a 12oz.
This has spurned many conversations about how one would serve coffee without a container.

Getting started on this has opened up so many memories of difficult people, and I think I'll have to stop now before this runs any longer.

My bum again

2007-10-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

Before I lived in Durham, I would get lost on the way downtown. Once inside, it would inevitably spit me out the wrong way on 85. On more than one occasion I wound up in Hillsborough. I'm tempted to make a reference to the third Pirates movie here, but I'll refrain. While I'm there though, one second to confess that I found their take on the underworld utterly fascinating. If you stop reading here I'll understand.

Now part 3 of this saga will conclude with tales of crazies where I live, but for now we're sticking to Broad Street. I have an image burned into my mind of a man walking in circles between two bushes next to Whole Foods. This is a pretty major thoroughfare we're talking about, and this guy was quite literally bedding in their accents. He wasn't that well concealed (unlike Graah Plate), produced from the back of his drawstring pants a bottle in a paper bag. I hesitate to imagine how it remained perched there until business time. Without tightening his sweats, he squatted and coveted the bottle like a mother bird. He spotted me staring - I was stopping traffic - and still I felt like I was intruding.

Before I was able to establish that our store is not a shelter, the local flavor introduced themselves. The night before opening a couple months ago, a tall black male greeted us as "slim." Slim struck up a conversation about his mother that I barely understood. He then attempted the classic change for a larger bill scam. He proffered a handful of filthy, unrecognizable coins for a dollar. In his wide, withered hand he began to sort them and count unintelligibly before we (truthfully, for once) claimed we didn't have any cash. Slim insisted he wasn't asking for a hand-out, but only for change. Again we refused. The coins disappeared into a fold in his pants, and he extended his hand with purpose amongst us. My father took it and was shaken with vigor. Slim disappeared into the twilight, and I haven't seen him since.

The following day, opening, several employees were hanging around checking things out or tying up loose ends. There weren't many customers (we still sort of looked under construction). Rochelle was out front managing the plants when a short, rotund white male in his... 50s? approached. I couldn't hear the interaction well; she ushered him inside with promises of fresh baked goods. Even at that time, when the layout wasn't obvious, customers approached the register (especially since I stand there) instead of the service counter. There were tall boxes at that side of the counter, so he had to be forward to get as far around as he did. Anyway the logistics aren't that important except that I didn't have to be close to notice his smell. Nick, who was in the opposite corner on the stage perked up at the aroma like his bum-sense was tingling. Something sure was tingling. His scent had matured in the summer sun, and one could actually distinguish sweat from what was undoubtedly originating from his shirt. The shirt was stained... like sweat stains... but they weren't from sweat unless he had some bizarre seepage problem. I will reproduce a condensed version of the conversation (I apologize in advance for attempting dialect), since some of his queries were not the sort that had answers, such as his opening:

bum: "Been walkin' five miles already today, y'know?"

me: "Sure, what can I do for you?"

bum: "I need somethin' ta eat."

me: "Okay, well we have small pastries and such" [I indicated the bake case, which he ignored]

bum: "You got no sandwiches or taters or nothin'? Whatchoo got for me to eat?"

[I concluded firmly at this point that he wasn't intending to pay for anything]

me: "We have small pastries, but nothing to give away. We've only just opened."

Rochelle, I think it was, interjected: "We'll have more in the future." I believe this to have been a mistake.

bum, with growing agitation: "You ain't got nothin' ta eat? Where you get somethin' ta eat around here?"

me: "There's uh... there's a grocery store up the-"

bum: "Grosshry store! I don't have any money! I'm lookin' for somethin' ta eat!"

His emphasis on that word made me wonder... did he think we misunderstood him?

me: "Sorry, I don't know. We just opened up here."

bum: "You ain't got nooo sandwiches. You got pertaters?"

me: "Potatoes? No. Nothing like that."

bum: "What about that one?"

me: "That what? The muffins?"

bum: "No, that right there [pointing at the counter], that potato right there!"

me: "No potatoes, I don't have any potatoes. This? Do you mean this?"

In disbelief I held up a squat cup with a latte, recently produced by Stephanie during her training.

bum: "Yeah, that potato right there."

me: "This is a latte... a... a coffee drink."

bum: "Coffee? I don't need nothin' ta drink."

me: "Well this is a coffee. This is a coffee shop."

He started to walk toward the door, and Rochelle directed him.

bum: "Where's a guy get somethin' ta eat around here!"

Rochelle: "There's another cafe down the street [they were closed - we're not evil]. Another coffee shop."

bum: "I don't need no coffee, I need somethin' ta eat, E-A-T eat!

Yes, he spelled it out for us. After he left that day I endeavored to call him "Potatoes," but I didn't see him except in passing. He's worn the same filthy blue shirt, and he's always travelling North on Broad. He's lost some weight, for sure. I haven't seen him in a month or so. Maybe he found his potatoes...

Since this is running long, I'll just tell about one last bum, my bum. When he first walked in, the second day of business, I called Slim to mind. This guy is a little younger than Slim I believe, though he has told me different ages from time to time (from 30s to 50s). He was the hardest to understand of the bunch, but only because he mumbles. Whenever he wants to get something across, he can do so emphatically. He walked in with purpose that first time, scoped out the customers sitting with their computers, and chose one [now] regular to join at his table. I could tell by the look on this guy's face that he hadn't been waiting for anyone, so I called out asking if he knew the gentleman who had joined him. As the customer shook his head subtly, our guest kept his gaze transfixed without acknowledging me. I had to address him directly. Had I asked him not to come back right then, I might have avoided the difficulty that followed. Instead I tried to play it nice & it bit me in the ass.

I saw him once every few days at varying times. He would often ask to use the phone, go to the restroom for long periods, complain about the temperature of the drinking water, and mutter about his daughter to anyone who would (half) listen. His trick to try to get something out of me was to tell me he was diabetic, information which he also offered readily. Finally I produced an ancient block of crumb cake from the back that he was quick to complain about. Beggars can be, as you may well know, quite choosy. When this effort was not concluded to his satisfaction, he on a later occasion bothered me relentlessly while I had a trainee. He tried to take a chocolate ball, and I informed him it would be fifty cents. Christina promptly rang it up on the register like the trooper that she is.
"I can't have this?"
"They're fifty cents."
"Man I'm a diabetic."
"Sorry, they're fifty cents."
"I ain't got fifty cents."
"I'm sorry then."
He tossed the ball into the basket and exclaimed, "Maaan, you are tight. Tight, tight, tight!" Hence his new nickname, Triple T. After that, coupled with the frequent harassment of one of my female coworkers, I had to ask him three separate times not to come back.

So what makes him my bum instead of just any old bum? Well I kept seeing him while I was out downtown. After I'd been warned by a police officer that he would steal things, I ran into him at the Federal. He sat at the bar and asked each customer one by one for... I'm not sure. I presume drinks, but he may have just been asking for money. I went up to the opposite end of the bar to warn the bartender, but in doing so I'd been spotted. I tried to ignore him, but he called me out from across the bar repeatedly until I turned and managed a wry smile. I don't remember how I got him to leave us alone, but I'm sure it required persistent ignoring across the board.

Now, when I see Triple T coming I treat him just like family - I hide.

my bum

2007-10-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

Okay as a preface here, let me just defend myself of the following by saying that I do, in large part, recognize the plight of the homeless. That's why I use the term "bum" here instead of the many euphemisms that group otherwise dissimilar people. Is it true that the perpetually homeless are often the untreated mentally ill who could not afford hospitalization? I'm sure. Does gentrification create pockets of the destitute where blah blah blah? Yeah you got it lefty. No I'm not getting my lily-white college boy hands dirty here with social commentary.

In Chapel Hill, I did a lot of walking. I walked to campus, I walked home, I walked to Franklin, and I walked to walk-a-thons. I even walked to my car the same distance that I could have walked to the grocery store... but it would have been hard to walk back with all the groceries. The bus system always screwed me over (a story for another time). During that time I encountered bums of all sorts, but very frequently the same people. Anyway, here are some of the better solicitations I got:
-"Drop it like it's hot!"
-[upon being refused] "Come on man, this is my job."
-"I work at Disney World, and I'm trying to get back to Florida."
-"I ran out of diapers for my kid." This was at midnight at my front door. Yes I know she was lying b/c she claimed to be my neighbor. That house was, in fact, occupied by a woman who would walk up and down the street about half a block and take half an hour doing so. You'd better not be trying to park while she was crossing the driveway or you'd be sitting there for awhile.
-[knocking on David's car window] "Hello?" We ignored him. Intensely.
-"Graaaah! PLATE! Grumble..." as he lept for a carryout container I had (was filled with hamburger buns). He missed the container and instead jabbed my crotch. I swear this guy was cloaked in the shadows; he completely came out of nowhere.

This one woman who didn't ask for any money... well I won't call her a bag lady, but she did have quite a few plastic bags filled with trash. So, you know, make of that what you will. I was strolling down Church St. with about 50 lbs of English Lit in my backpack & managed to tune her out until I got close. She was sitting by the sidewalk mumbling, but I pulled a double-take like a cartoon villain when I realized she was looking at me. The only words I could make out were curses. I tried to keep pace, and all I could manage was a little salute as I passed. She went silent once my back was to her. Another 10 feet or so and "Yeah, that's right... You just keeeep on walkin' and makin' money!" I didn't turn back around, but I could feel her stare penetrate Modern Literature brutally. I didn't ever see her again.

Next time, same channel...
"Welcome to Durham."

Blog is a stupid word

2007-09-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

I located my original blog, proof that UNC is no longer deleting accounts of prior students. Looking back, it's good to see that I have always been so goddamn witty.

Right now I don't have anything interesting to write about my current life. Well, anything I want posted on the tubes. I've decided instead to write stories about things that have happened to me. I haven't written anything in a long time... and nonfiction seems to be as good a place to start as any.

To appropriately get your hopes up for magnificence, let me begin by saying this next tale is "The greatest story I have ever heard." Those words are from Evan, a friend and mentor. I will always recognize his voice on WXYC because he ends every sentence sort of like a question - it goes up.

I used to compete in barista competitions (which is a story for another occasion), and I had to buy a shit-ton of stuff to get my routine down. $130 for espresso cups from Vietri (which the judges didn't like). $60 whipped cream canister. $20 ice tongs. $25 drink shaker. On this particular trip I was on my way to the Vietri outlet in Hillsborough where they were having a sale. I wound up buying a wooden tray... $40. The way it's set up is there are tents in the parking lot at the warehouse, and you drive down the road to a grass lot to park. Honest to god there is a shuttle from the lot - about a two minute walk from the warehouse - where chubby wives of retirees cram their sweat-lubricated hams into this box waiting a solid 15 minutes before it's full... and drive down the road for thirty seconds. When I had parked, I briefly considered hopping in, you know, for the experience, but the smell of moth balls and face powder simmering in the summer heat precluded that joyride. As I made my way down the gravel road, I realized I had left my wallet in the car. I knew I would be reimbursed for what I purchased (actually I wasn't), but I wasn't sure my coworker would have the cash on hand. So... I made my way back to the lot as the shuttle scuttled down the road to deposit another load of well-fed sea cows at the very delta of faux-Italian excess.

Now I was in a bad mood. I don't remember why now... I'd worked that morning so I'd probably had some hoser in the store giving me a hard time. I passed a despondent police officer at the entrance to the lot and nodded once in his direction. We made eye contact, but he mostly stared through me, as though he was no longer capable of responding after so many inane conversations with the cellulite bags waiting for the shuttle. I wouldn't mention him except that one should note he was still quite near as the rest of the events unfolded.

My car was easy to find - a foreign economy vehicle among throngs of mid-size SUVs - so I almost missed them as I bee-lined for my wallet. "Sir? Excuse me, sir? SIR!" I turned around. Approaching me was a hydra. The legendary three-headed beast, each wearing a red hat that doesn't suit them. Cut off one head and it regrows, courtesy of cosmetic surgery funded by generous pensions. "Sir, did you come down 86 to get here?" I had. I nodded. Engaging in verbal communication with the beast only grants it power (that's totally in Revelations. Yeah I know there was no hydra in Revelations). I start thinking maybe they want directions on how to get back to the den. "Do you know how fast you were going?" Well, 86 is a 60 mph zone most of the way, so I imagine I was probably going 70. With no response, it continued. "Well you passed us going... I don't even know how fast in a double yellow and a school zone." This was turning into a bizarre Saturday morning, I tell you. Summer school on weekends is a total bitch for those Elementary school kids. I raised my eyebrow with measurable disdain. "And we just wanted you to know, we got your plate numbers, and we're performing a citizen's arrest."

Now in hindsight, there are all sorts of bitchin' things I could have said. I could have laughed in their faces, or maybe brought the cop over to join in the fun. Something totally quippy like "You think you can take me?" would have kicked some WASP ass, too. Instead, I simply started nodding. I closed my eyes and pursed my lips, as though we had reached a profound understanding of each other. Hambeast and barista, barista and hambeast... as one.

Without making further eye contact, I turned around. I went back to my car, got my wallet. As I neared the gravel road again, I saw they had crammed into the shuttle. It was just closing its doors.

So did I pass them on 86? Hell yes I did. My biggest concern was whether any of the other matrons I passed wanted to engage in some everyday assault that morning. Turns out there weren't. After all, those tents had some serious deals on discontinued china.