(no subject)
I see the sun again! I have been saved from perdition the night shift and returned to earth the morning shift. It's actually really crazy how good my mood is these days. I feel less like I want to smite my fellow man and more like I should embrace him (in a highly embarrassing and inappropriate fashion.)
My good mood may also have something to do with the fact that customers were not assholes today. They were cheerful and polite, they thanked me and said "goodbye." I wondered if they were possessed but was too overcome by the unaccustomed rush of vitamin D to test the theory properly.
They must have been possessed, though. One of them actually made my boss call her so she could tell him how helpful and awesome I was. I feel like I'm living on another plane of reality.
My boss, though is still a dick. A couple of weeks ago, I was coming down the escalator and he nodded at me and said, "Good stuff," as he passed.
I could not restrain the full body shudder. I also will never be able to look at him again without thinking of the Supernatural episode "It's a Terrible Life." There are not enough chemicals in this world that can clean my brain now.
I looked up from a fic I was reading on my phone over lunch break to find one of my coworkers staring at my chest.
"Uh. . ." I said, leaning over and waving a hand in his face. "Dude? Awkward."
He blinked up at me.
I used to work with C in the cafe. He had no sense of personal space or social propriety and I would sometimes find him staring at things and muttering, "I really hate auditory and visual hallucinations." And I would not ask because every time that I did ask I'd get an answer like, "I just imagined that woman reaching into that stroller and biting the infant's head off." Only with more of the blood and the screaming and the dying.
"Man," I'd said at the time. "What is your brain, a Hieronymus Bosch painting?"
Moments like those always threw me off because C, while being mentally deranged with a propensity to read way too much Sartre, was just about the nicest person in the universe.
So, maybe I wondered a little if he was having visions of tearing my still beating heart from my chest and feasting on it, crowing in victory while the sales guy in the other room watched in horror after running in to find out what all the terrified screaming and gurgling was all about. Or, he could have been trying to read my shirt.
Since it was actually the latter, I did him the service of reading it for him.
"I'm only here until I achieve escape velocity." I told him. "Which is true. At two, you are going to hear the combustion of my rockets and I will leave the atmosphere. You won't even have time to blink." I made the khfff noise and swung my hand up into the air to illustrate.
"Will you also leave a hole in the ceiling?"
"There will be a very large boom," I said dryly and went back to reading. C, having no concept of personal space, shuffled his twig-like self around the table to try to peer at my phone. (When we were working in the cafe, C tired to get me to freak out by rushing at me backwards with his ass in the air. It worked. "Oh my god," I'd said fascinated and horrified. "You look like a stick bug trying to bend itself in half." And another time: "I find your lack of ass disturbing.")
I put the phone face down on the table and looked up at him again.
"Yes, Mr. I Never Iron My Shirts?" I asked.
He pulled at his shirt and grimaced. "It's covered with an apron." He said and shrugged. "What are you reading that's so funny?"
I just looked at him.
"Ah." He said knowingly. "Porn."
"Of course." I said cheerfully. I hadn't actually been reading porn, but I could have been. "Well, not porn. . .yet."
"Oh, Erin," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "That's so you."
--
A couple of days earlier I was reading a fic in the break room that was so funny I could not stop laughing.
"What are you reading?" A newer coworker asked. I hadn't been working with him long so I hesitated as to whether or not to say something crude and he blinked and said, "It's fanfiction, isn't it?"
"OK," I said, surprised because this is not the first conclusion most people come to. "We can be friends now."
He laughed. "My sister loves fanfiction."
"I love your sister?"
Then he asked me what fandom it was in.
My world, she tilted on her axis.
--
The phrase of the day Wednesday was "colostomy bag." I would say I had no idea where it came from, but I remember exactly when it came up as a conversation piece and it was just as disturbing (if not worse) than what followed. Throughout the day, J and I found ways to work it into conversations and tossed it over bookshelves at each other. When I woke up this morning, there was a text on my phone waiting that read: "Colostomy bag!"
The colostomy bag became its own character, soon to star in a musical and, later, a horror film.
"Why can't it be both?" I asked J.
"A horror musical!" He laughed.
"Like Reefer Madness!"
"Oh, Erin," he said, shaking his head. "I can always count on you to take it just that extra step. . . . ."
"Right," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because it's not like we don't have a collective mental age of five today."
I love J. If J were not gay like a gay thing, I would probably hit him over the head and drag him to my cave just to have him around to talk to. As it is, we have conversations like this:
"I love you, J."
"I love me too. . . as often and as thoroughly as possible."
"I also love that you said that to me while standing in the Children's section practically on top of a woman reading to her children."
--
In other news, I've been sucked completely into SPN fandom of the Dean/Castiel persuasion. I don't know how it happened, only that it is really reassuring to know that I'm not the only one who thinks, "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," is one of the gayest things ever spoken (because the twelve year old in me totally went, "Hee! I'll bet he gripped Dean tight.")
Also, I feel like I need something to keep me going between seasons because I cannot download J-drama. (Woe!)
My good mood may also have something to do with the fact that customers were not assholes today. They were cheerful and polite, they thanked me and said "goodbye." I wondered if they were possessed but was too overcome by the unaccustomed rush of vitamin D to test the theory properly.
They must have been possessed, though. One of them actually made my boss call her so she could tell him how helpful and awesome I was. I feel like I'm living on another plane of reality.
My boss, though is still a dick. A couple of weeks ago, I was coming down the escalator and he nodded at me and said, "Good stuff," as he passed.
I could not restrain the full body shudder. I also will never be able to look at him again without thinking of the Supernatural episode "It's a Terrible Life." There are not enough chemicals in this world that can clean my brain now.
I looked up from a fic I was reading on my phone over lunch break to find one of my coworkers staring at my chest.
"Uh. . ." I said, leaning over and waving a hand in his face. "Dude? Awkward."
He blinked up at me.
I used to work with C in the cafe. He had no sense of personal space or social propriety and I would sometimes find him staring at things and muttering, "I really hate auditory and visual hallucinations." And I would not ask because every time that I did ask I'd get an answer like, "I just imagined that woman reaching into that stroller and biting the infant's head off." Only with more of the blood and the screaming and the dying.
"Man," I'd said at the time. "What is your brain, a Hieronymus Bosch painting?"
Moments like those always threw me off because C, while being mentally deranged with a propensity to read way too much Sartre, was just about the nicest person in the universe.
So, maybe I wondered a little if he was having visions of tearing my still beating heart from my chest and feasting on it, crowing in victory while the sales guy in the other room watched in horror after running in to find out what all the terrified screaming and gurgling was all about. Or, he could have been trying to read my shirt.
Since it was actually the latter, I did him the service of reading it for him.
"I'm only here until I achieve escape velocity." I told him. "Which is true. At two, you are going to hear the combustion of my rockets and I will leave the atmosphere. You won't even have time to blink." I made the khfff noise and swung my hand up into the air to illustrate.
"Will you also leave a hole in the ceiling?"
"There will be a very large boom," I said dryly and went back to reading. C, having no concept of personal space, shuffled his twig-like self around the table to try to peer at my phone. (When we were working in the cafe, C tired to get me to freak out by rushing at me backwards with his ass in the air. It worked. "Oh my god," I'd said fascinated and horrified. "You look like a stick bug trying to bend itself in half." And another time: "I find your lack of ass disturbing.")
I put the phone face down on the table and looked up at him again.
"Yes, Mr. I Never Iron My Shirts?" I asked.
He pulled at his shirt and grimaced. "It's covered with an apron." He said and shrugged. "What are you reading that's so funny?"
I just looked at him.
"Ah." He said knowingly. "Porn."
"Of course." I said cheerfully. I hadn't actually been reading porn, but I could have been. "Well, not porn. . .yet."
"Oh, Erin," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "That's so you."
--
A couple of days earlier I was reading a fic in the break room that was so funny I could not stop laughing.
"What are you reading?" A newer coworker asked. I hadn't been working with him long so I hesitated as to whether or not to say something crude and he blinked and said, "It's fanfiction, isn't it?"
"OK," I said, surprised because this is not the first conclusion most people come to. "We can be friends now."
He laughed. "My sister loves fanfiction."
"I love your sister?"
Then he asked me what fandom it was in.
My world, she tilted on her axis.
--
The phrase of the day Wednesday was "colostomy bag." I would say I had no idea where it came from, but I remember exactly when it came up as a conversation piece and it was just as disturbing (if not worse) than what followed. Throughout the day, J and I found ways to work it into conversations and tossed it over bookshelves at each other. When I woke up this morning, there was a text on my phone waiting that read: "Colostomy bag!"
The colostomy bag became its own character, soon to star in a musical and, later, a horror film.
"Why can't it be both?" I asked J.
"A horror musical!" He laughed.
"Like Reefer Madness!"
"Oh, Erin," he said, shaking his head. "I can always count on you to take it just that extra step. . . . ."
"Right," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because it's not like we don't have a collective mental age of five today."
I love J. If J were not gay like a gay thing, I would probably hit him over the head and drag him to my cave just to have him around to talk to. As it is, we have conversations like this:
"I love you, J."
"I love me too. . . as often and as thoroughly as possible."
"I also love that you said that to me while standing in the Children's section practically on top of a woman reading to her children."
--
In other news, I've been sucked completely into SPN fandom of the Dean/Castiel persuasion. I don't know how it happened, only that it is really reassuring to know that I'm not the only one who thinks, "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," is one of the gayest things ever spoken (because the twelve year old in me totally went, "Hee! I'll bet he gripped Dean tight.")
Also, I feel like I need something to keep me going between seasons because I cannot download J-drama. (Woe!)