(no subject)
Things I think about while I'm out getting lunch:
- God damn it it's cold again and the wind is helpfully attempting to slice my face off. Winter is demoralizing.
- While complaining about work online is unprofessional and inadvisable, I doubt that I'm going to get in trouble for pointing out that at least two of the cold-water faucets in the main bathroom are purely ornamental.
- I wonder, if I had a balled-up piece of paper, if I could hit that pigeon in the back of the head.
- GOD EVERYBODY STOP SMOKING
- There seems to be a certain look that all young professional women in New York have and I don't. Pin-straight hair and an ugly oversized bag seem to be part of that look. I rock neither.
- I totally want to say something obnoxious to the Scientologists in the subway (I hear talking about Xenu freaks them the hell out) but by the time my brain offers something the moment has long since passed.
- I wonder if I'm constantly slouching because I'm taller than almost everyone I meet. On that note, I wish I could wear heels, but they'd make it even worse.
- The worst thing about Midtown is the flyer people. They, too, have a uniform look: invariably short, squat, and bundled in several layers of outerwear, one of which is sometimes a badly-designed sandwich board. Some will approach to attempt to foist a flyer on you, some will stand holding a flyer passively at the mass of Busy & Important humanity rushing by. The silent sales pitch makes me angry, but even when I get a good rage going I know they're not the targets of my unspoken wrath. My beef is with their employers, whom I would love to meet to scream at them about how their pushing for all of us to come buy things we don't need or remotely care about from their back-alley store, but also to give them what for for making these people do this. There can't possibly be that great a boost in business to be gained from making people stand in the biting cold or sweltering heat trying to get people to notice them.
These people are also never white. Don't think I don't notice that either.
- God damn it it's cold again and the wind is helpfully attempting to slice my face off. Winter is demoralizing.
- While complaining about work online is unprofessional and inadvisable, I doubt that I'm going to get in trouble for pointing out that at least two of the cold-water faucets in the main bathroom are purely ornamental.
- I wonder, if I had a balled-up piece of paper, if I could hit that pigeon in the back of the head.
- GOD EVERYBODY STOP SMOKING
- There seems to be a certain look that all young professional women in New York have and I don't. Pin-straight hair and an ugly oversized bag seem to be part of that look. I rock neither.
- I totally want to say something obnoxious to the Scientologists in the subway (I hear talking about Xenu freaks them the hell out) but by the time my brain offers something the moment has long since passed.
- I wonder if I'm constantly slouching because I'm taller than almost everyone I meet. On that note, I wish I could wear heels, but they'd make it even worse.
- The worst thing about Midtown is the flyer people. They, too, have a uniform look: invariably short, squat, and bundled in several layers of outerwear, one of which is sometimes a badly-designed sandwich board. Some will approach to attempt to foist a flyer on you, some will stand holding a flyer passively at the mass of Busy & Important humanity rushing by. The silent sales pitch makes me angry, but even when I get a good rage going I know they're not the targets of my unspoken wrath. My beef is with their employers, whom I would love to meet to scream at them about how their pushing for all of us to come buy things we don't need or remotely care about from their back-alley store, but also to give them what for for making these people do this. There can't possibly be that great a boost in business to be gained from making people stand in the biting cold or sweltering heat trying to get people to notice them.
These people are also never white. Don't think I don't notice that either.