on why I am convinced God doesn't want me to be an adult
I am trying desperately to write a resume and create a budget. But no matter how hard I try, something gets thrown in my way that prevents me from doing that. Nothing obvious, like lightning striking my papers from my hands or booming voice from the heavens warning me about impending adulthood. But small incidents keep cropping up that are ultimately too distracting, and prevent me from writing down the damn facts.
Of these incidents, one stands above them all: The Dancing Hobo.
It was a day like any other day. After I got off of work and showered, I decided that it was a good day to try being a real grown-up. So I grabbed my papers and unsuspectingly drove down to the local hipster cafe.
I entered the cafe, ordered my drink, and found there was nowhere to sit but the window seat.
"No matter!" I thought. "I'm just going to be being a responsible adult. I don't need a whole table to myself!"
So I battered my way through the chairs and tables in my way, plopped myself into the seat, and began making a budget like a motherfucking adult!
I was a couple figures in when I noticed a very large homeless man outside. This man had a magnificent beard stained with his earlier coffee beverage, still dripping milk. He also sported a wonderful potbelly, and a torn camouflage pack. He meant business.
At the same time, some local acoustic group decided that now was the time that they needed to jam, because their soulful voices and laidback guitar melodies would truly augment my studies, but only if played as loudly as possible.
The hobo picked up on this very quickly. He immediately set down his bag, and began grooving to the music. Right in front of where I was sitting.
So, he was hopping around, tapping on the window, and the music was blaring behind me. I was now trying -with herculean effort - to write this damn budget.
The hobo then changed tactics for gaining my attention. He left his bag outside, came inside, and sat immediately behind me, and promptly began banging on the table and muttering to himself. At this point, I was just trying to avoid any form of eye contact with this guy. The acoustic band was still playing, and making bad 1960's references.
When the hobo realized he wasn't going to get me to turn around, he went back outside and kept busting his moves in front of where I was, tapping on the window with more vigor than before. I was just worried for my safety at this point.
Finally, the Dancing Hobo went to use the bathroom, and I grabbed my stuff and bolted for the door, budget and resume forgotten in my mad dash to avoid contact with this guy.
God, if you're reading my blog, please let me get this stuff done. It's kind of important. Thanks.
aliceheist
Of these incidents, one stands above them all: The Dancing Hobo.
It was a day like any other day. After I got off of work and showered, I decided that it was a good day to try being a real grown-up. So I grabbed my papers and unsuspectingly drove down to the local hipster cafe.
I entered the cafe, ordered my drink, and found there was nowhere to sit but the window seat.
"No matter!" I thought. "I'm just going to be being a responsible adult. I don't need a whole table to myself!"
So I battered my way through the chairs and tables in my way, plopped myself into the seat, and began making a budget like a motherfucking adult!
I was a couple figures in when I noticed a very large homeless man outside. This man had a magnificent beard stained with his earlier coffee beverage, still dripping milk. He also sported a wonderful potbelly, and a torn camouflage pack. He meant business.
At the same time, some local acoustic group decided that now was the time that they needed to jam, because their soulful voices and laidback guitar melodies would truly augment my studies, but only if played as loudly as possible.
The hobo picked up on this very quickly. He immediately set down his bag, and began grooving to the music. Right in front of where I was sitting.
So, he was hopping around, tapping on the window, and the music was blaring behind me. I was now trying -with herculean effort - to write this damn budget.
The hobo then changed tactics for gaining my attention. He left his bag outside, came inside, and sat immediately behind me, and promptly began banging on the table and muttering to himself. At this point, I was just trying to avoid any form of eye contact with this guy. The acoustic band was still playing, and making bad 1960's references.
When the hobo realized he wasn't going to get me to turn around, he went back outside and kept busting his moves in front of where I was, tapping on the window with more vigor than before. I was just worried for my safety at this point.
Finally, the Dancing Hobo went to use the bathroom, and I grabbed my stuff and bolted for the door, budget and resume forgotten in my mad dash to avoid contact with this guy.
God, if you're reading my blog, please let me get this stuff done. It's kind of important. Thanks.
aliceheist