The Usual Bushiban Dogshit
I rarely refer to the circumstances surrounding journal entries. I can rarely do it well. This was intended to be the August 3rd post. It's a little late because the dog just ate a Chuppa-Chuppa. Or Choop-Choop. Or something like that. The Goddamned dog just managed to get into my bag and swipe this shitty little sucker some shitty little brat passed out to make people like him just a little bit more on his birthday. I didn't even want the fucking thing.
Right now, the dog is locked into whites-of-the-eyes, Shiba-Leg-Humping-Frenzy. Translate that into Chinese in four or less characters by seven p.m., my time, tomorrow night, and I'll send you a copy of Can's *Tago Mago.*
But he doesn't look like he's dying, so I'll skip the cab ride to the 24-hour vet located next to the Rao He Night Market. Of course, if he wakes up dead tomorrow morning, I'll have to delete this post and replace it with a heart-rending account of an intoxicated KMT party-member hauling ass the wrong way down our alley (waving an ROC banner) and smearing our little dog from the whorehouse to the egg wholesaler.
Did I mention I hate Beijing?
Anyway, I was at work today. Against my better judgment I showed up yet again and handled the K1 and K2 summer camp. Strangely, the Taiwanese manager had a great idea for an activity. I'd thought of it before, kind of, but things more important than work came up and I "kind of" ditched it. It was role-playing, basically, and the kids worked at, and shopped at, a supermarket.
Tony, the quiet kid, was the stock boy. I thought that was kind of fitting seeing as how I've known a few stock boys in my day and the best ones were quiet. Winnie, the class hypochondriac, got to be the cashier. Again, I'm thinking of my days at Arbor Drugs, here. Maggie was the bagger. Like most baggers, she wasn't really into her job. I'd have been afraid if she'd thought it was a total gas but, hell, give her credit for not complaining.
Yeah, the Taiwanese teachers set up one of the empty rooms so that it was like a grocery store. In true Taiwanese fashion, none of the products for sale were priced.
But, this is the thing, at one point. . . I forgot to mention that I was the manager. . . at one point, I looked at the line at the counter. It was eight kids long, and I thought to myself "Jesus Christ, I've gotta get in there and straighten this mess out."
It was what I like to call a "direct thought." It came from seemingly out of nowhere and hit me so hard that my initial impulse was to step up to Winnie's side and help her out, it came to me and I forgot that I was playing a game.
Hey, far out, the dog just took a shit! It's just as greenish-brown as ever, same smell, same consistency; but it's segments are shorter, this time. As if all the synthetic nastiness in that little guilt-trip inducing candy bound up his insides. Signs of high pressure, at the ends, like maybe he had some trouble squeezing them out.
Right now, the dog is locked into whites-of-the-eyes, Shiba-Leg-Humping-Frenzy. Translate that into Chinese in four or less characters by seven p.m., my time, tomorrow night, and I'll send you a copy of Can's *Tago Mago.*
But he doesn't look like he's dying, so I'll skip the cab ride to the 24-hour vet located next to the Rao He Night Market. Of course, if he wakes up dead tomorrow morning, I'll have to delete this post and replace it with a heart-rending account of an intoxicated KMT party-member hauling ass the wrong way down our alley (waving an ROC banner) and smearing our little dog from the whorehouse to the egg wholesaler.
Did I mention I hate Beijing?
Anyway, I was at work today. Against my better judgment I showed up yet again and handled the K1 and K2 summer camp. Strangely, the Taiwanese manager had a great idea for an activity. I'd thought of it before, kind of, but things more important than work came up and I "kind of" ditched it. It was role-playing, basically, and the kids worked at, and shopped at, a supermarket.
Tony, the quiet kid, was the stock boy. I thought that was kind of fitting seeing as how I've known a few stock boys in my day and the best ones were quiet. Winnie, the class hypochondriac, got to be the cashier. Again, I'm thinking of my days at Arbor Drugs, here. Maggie was the bagger. Like most baggers, she wasn't really into her job. I'd have been afraid if she'd thought it was a total gas but, hell, give her credit for not complaining.
Yeah, the Taiwanese teachers set up one of the empty rooms so that it was like a grocery store. In true Taiwanese fashion, none of the products for sale were priced.
But, this is the thing, at one point. . . I forgot to mention that I was the manager. . . at one point, I looked at the line at the counter. It was eight kids long, and I thought to myself "Jesus Christ, I've gotta get in there and straighten this mess out."
It was what I like to call a "direct thought." It came from seemingly out of nowhere and hit me so hard that my initial impulse was to step up to Winnie's side and help her out, it came to me and I forgot that I was playing a game.
Hey, far out, the dog just took a shit! It's just as greenish-brown as ever, same smell, same consistency; but it's segments are shorter, this time. As if all the synthetic nastiness in that little guilt-trip inducing candy bound up his insides. Signs of high pressure, at the ends, like maybe he had some trouble squeezing them out.