Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thanksgiving means I have to talk to you
If you come through my line I am required to speak to you, even though my Thanksgiving was uneventful and all you want to do is ask about me how my holiday went. I want to tell you that I only celebrate one religious holiday a year, my birthday. I want to tell you that I had to work this Thanksgiving just so you could buy all the dry ice and beer you need to celebrate, that most of my family is out of state this Thanksgiving, and all my friends had better things to do this year than invite me over for turkey dinner. So maybe I had the worst Thanksgiving ever and I 'd rather not talk about it. But you don't want to hear that. I'd like to stop pretending that my holiday was "pretty good," I want to tell you that I didn't even get the pathetic single friend "left over" plate from my friends who celebrated this Thanksgiving without me. I thought that shit was obligatory. I think my friends expect me to believe that they ate an entire bird, and that not a drop of stuffing was left. Bullshit.
Instead yesterday, a full two days after Thanksgiving and still needing my turkey day fix, I bought a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken from the deli of my grocery store. I made stuffing all by myself, and then I microwaved half a packet of dried mashed potatoes and covered them with store bought gravy. It was quite delicious, thank you. I bet you don't want to hear how I have nothing to be thankful for that I didn't make myself.
I am only talking to you because my boss told me that I have to. She was hovering over me as i was trying to leave today, she took my money drop and watched me listlessly scan the last few customers I had in line. I didn't want to talk to them, so I made no effort to pretend in front of her. I was pissed off, because I was already a good 25 minutes over my scheduled time to go home. And the only reason I got to leave at all was I looked over at my manager and gave her the "If you don't block my line off I will slit the throat of your first born son and drink his blood." She got the message and finally blocked me.
I rode the bike over to the library right after work to blog this story. Not because this is a particularly interesting story, but because I know you need to be on the inside of my inner mental life. I thought you'd like to hear that a second girl gave me a hug, that way you won't have to think I'm such a loser.
I'm on a roll. Lisa is the the second girl to hug me this week at work. She says she loves me, but then she called me old. She told me I looked just like another guy we work with. That dude is like 40, so I got depressed. Then she made fun of my pimple. I've had a pimple stuck on my nose for the last 6 weeks. It simply won't go away. It's so big the Astronomical Society has decided to rename my pimple, Pluto. They believe my pimple has a larger gravity constant than any object in the near Kupier belt. It's kinda cool that my pimple was named a 9th planet though. Kids look up me to me and want my autograph. People who come through my line feel obliged to ask about it. They wonder what how it's going and what my pimple is up to. "Does it mean you have 2 brains?" Lisa the hugging courtesy clerk asks. "Is that why you are so smart?" Yeah, that's right, Lisa. Which I guess is two more brains than you'll ever have."Why don't you just come over here and give me another hug?"