As Far as I Could Tell

You never know who's listening.

Category: satire

Wow

Two young girls sat across from each other. Both of them looked like they probably chose to sleep on a futon mattress on the floor. Not because the couldn’t afford a bed, just because, you know, it’s cool. I imagine they both threw some lentils in a pot of water before they left home in the morning, giving them plenty of time to soak before being cooked and paired with a couple thick slices of grilled Portobello mushrooms for the night’s dinner.

When the girl who’d lived in Egypt for two years asked the girl in the skinny, skinny jeans and calf high boots what her boyfriend was like, the girl in the skinny, skinny jeans replied, “He’s very cool. He’s an aspiring writer. He has a degree in Latin.”

“Wow,” said the girl who’d lived in Egypt.

“I know, right?” said the girl in the skinny, skinny jeans.

“Wow,” said I to the empty space in front of me as the girls stood up and walked away.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Who’s there? My brother? Like that’s gonna be fun.

“Well, maybe, but you have to go.”

“No I don’t. Who says I have to go.”

“But it’s your grandfather’s funeral.”

“Yeah, I guess. I might go. I just don’t want to commit just yet in case something else pops up. He’d understand.”

Time to Commit

You don’t want BFF bracelets? I hate you.

“A real BFF would have fought for this friendship instead of immediately giving up and saying she hated me. Thank you for showing me I made the right decision.”

“What if I bought it for you?”

“It’s not the money.”

“What is it, then?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

“Seriously. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you remember last week when I said that we should get BFF bracelets and  you rolled your eyes?”

“Oh my god, are you still upset about that?”

“No”

“We’d only been friends for a couple days at that point. You can’t commit to BFF bracelets after just two days.”

“I knew after two minutes.”

“I’m sorry. I want BFF bracelets now, though, isn’t that all that matters?”

“You rolled your eyes.”

“I’m sorry. I am. I’m really sorry. Let’s get the bracelets. Won’t that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know. I’d need you to promise to wear it forever and never ever take it off.”

“Of course I promise.”

“Even if it turns your wrist green”

“Even then.”

“I guess it would be okay, then. What color should we get?”

“I like the silver ones.”

“Oh my god, I like the silver ones, too.”

“See, best friends.”

“Best friends forever.”

Don’t Forget the World Wide Web

Whatever you do, don’t try to fly your airplane, helicopter, ultralight, or hot air balloon anywhere near Rickenbacker Field if the president is coming to town. They will scramble jets faster than you can say “Bob’s your uncle.”

I went to the Obama rally at Ohio State this afternoon. Afterwards I overheard this young girl trying to impress a friend, “I called my dad and asked, ‘When is restricted air space?’” The girl’s dad is, apparently, a firefighter, so he’s in the know. Also in the know is anyone with access to the World Wide Web. In case you’re ever curious, you can go to http://www.faa.gov and see a listing of all restricted air space for the country. Be sure to type the “www” part of that address, because whoever set up the domain for the site failed to do the thing that one has to do to make it so that people don’t actually have to type the “www.” I point this out because it’s one of my personal pet peeves AND because it makes the Federal Aviation Administration, one of the departments within the federal government that seems to have a hard time getting funded.

Obviously the FAA’s primary responsibility is to make sure that if Plane A traveling from New York to Las Angeles leaves at 3:30 and Plane B traveling from  Las Angeles to New York leaves at 12:30 they don’t run into each other somewhere near Topeka. Still, if I’m going to have to arrange my parasailing around the president’s reelection efforts, it would be nice to at least save myself a few key strokes. Maybe one of the budget cuts they had to make involved firing their web developer and instead saddling an intern with the task of building http://www.faa.gov using a Blogger template. Maybe they got their money’s worth and we did too.

Quick Business Meeting

I’m on the midst of the final stages of a couple things.

“I’m meeting with a couple top level prospects and we’re getting reading to close in on an agreement for phase one of this project.”

“It’s awesome when things really start to come together.”

“For sure.”

 

Quick Conversation

Sorry, I overslept. I never over sleep.

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know, weird, right? Because I never over sleep.”

“In the last 48 hours, you’ve overslept 100% of the time.”

“What’s your point?”

“Just that maybe you should say that you ALWAYS over sleep.”

“But I don’t. It literally never happens.”

“Except for today,”

“Right.”

“and yesterday.”

“I can’t believe it, myself.”

“You think you’ll over sleep tomorrow?”

“I doubt it, why do you ask?”

“Just seems like maybe there’s a pattern developing here.”

“I don’t see how. I haven’t overslept in 20 years.”

“Except for today,”

“Right.”

“and yesterday.”

“I guess.”

“Do you want me to give you a call in the morning?”

“Why would you do that?”

“To make sure you’re up.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I never over sleep.”

“Except for today,”

“Right.”

“and yesterday.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly.”

 

Is That a Pickle?

Oh my god, a pickle.”

And it was. It was a pickle. Just like it said it would be on the menu. So amazing.

Criminals Commit Crimes

I was at the coffee shop, enjoying an afternoon of working from home, and someone who I assume works in law enforcement (do they issue walkie-talkies to detectives) starting answering questions his wife was asking him about some case. I say “case,” because I only started paying attention in the middle of the conversation, and I don’t know why else you talk about fingerprints and catching people and points of entry and all those other Law & Order (I’m old school, fuck CSIkinds of things if you’re not somehow involved in a a criminal investigation, or “case,” as the Jerry Orbachs of the world (former stars of musical theater, cartoon candlestick voice actors, guys with prostate cancer) used to say.*

Anyway, what I’m driving at is something of a public service announcement, because I learned something very valuable from the real life Lennie Briscoe. Let’s see if you learn the same lesson I did from what the real life Lumiere (you get that Jerry Orbach was the voice of the candlestick in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, right?) had to say. “He was a viable suspect right out of the gate. Sexual offender.“ 

So, class, what have we learned? That’s right. Do not get convicted of a sexual crime. They will try to blame you for every crime that happens within a 20 mile radius of where you live. Especially if they’re investigating a break in and your fingerprints are all over the outside of the the house and on the window that served as the point of entry. And possibly if there’s an eyewitness. And video evidence. So I guess what I’m saying is don’t commit crimes. Because after the first one, it’ll be easier for them to track you down when you commit the second one.

Stay in school.

 

 

*Note: I have no idea if Jerry Orbach ever uttered the word “case” as it relates to a criminal investigation. I can say whatever I want here.

How to Get Ahead

Miles came into work at his regular time, 9:08 AM. When he got there, same as every morning, Greg was already at his desk in the cubicle next to Miles’. When Miles left at 5:02 the evening before, Greg was still there, clacking away at his keyboard, filling in some spreadsheet or other. This was the way it had been every day since Greg started with the company six years prior. Miles had already been with the company eight years when Greg showed up, but he’d had all the ambition and drive sucked out of him by the end of the first week. He’d seen the way people walked around the office. Heads hung low, not even noticing if their shirts were untucked, just slogging along going through the motions until Friday finally came around when the box of donuts that the boss “surprised” them with every Friday turned into the highlight of the week. Forty hours is all you’re going to get, Greg decided early on. But there was Greg, day after day, smiling at everyone who walked by. Always wearing a tie, even though nothing fancier than a collared shirt was required. “Man, how long are you going to keep doing this?” Miles checked every few weeks.

“As long as it takes,” Greg always replied, without looking away from his monitor.

“As long as it takes for what?”

“As long as it takes to move up,” Greg said, like it was the only obvious answer.

“Greg, how long have you worked here?”

“It was six years in June,” he said.

“Greg, in six years, have you ever heard of anyone getting promoted?”

“Hey,” Greg said, looking away from his computer and right at Miles, but continuing to type, “Figure I’m gonna get mine sooner or later,” he said before moving onto the next row on his form.

“Jesus,” Miles said before walking away.

“Hey, bring me back a glazed,” Greg called after him, not necessarily caring whether or not he heard.

Thanks, Weekend Workers

It either takes big balls or a small mind to point out the gross injustice of a waiter having to work on a Sunday when you’re the guy sitting there expecting to be served. When the man at the bar asked my favorite baristo/bartender/waiter what he was doing working on a Sunday, my favorite baristo/bartender/waiter said, “And the Lord said you will work today.” I imagine he’s also doing it for the money. Not a ton of money, mind you, but enough to get by on.

I know we have weekends because labor unions worked to get them for their members and labor unions worked to get weekends for their members because they thought folks, both Jews (Saturdays) and Christians (Sundays) should get some time off to observe their faith, but lets be honest–not everyone can have the weekends off. Someone has to work, because the weekend is when folks get their groceries for the week, and when they get their oil changed. It’s when they go house hunting, and when they drink heavily to take their minds off the horrible monotonous, though life sustaining existence they have to endure Monday through Friday. As a person whose most convenient opportunity to accomplish the above is Saturday and Sunday, I’m grateful that the business owners have realized that they can make lots of money by accommodating godless heathens like myself. I would think everyone else should be glad, too, because if all businesses were closed an extra 14% of the week, they could employ 14% fewer people. That would be bad.

Another thing that would be bad, if families were left with no options other than to sit around and stare at each other all day on Sunday, it wouldn’t be long before people were setting their houses on fire or throwing their teenagers down the stairs just to break up the monotony by getting the fire department to show up or taking a trip to the emergency room. Anything to avoid 16 solid hours of meaningful conversation or book reading or whatever else it is people do when they can’t go out and have fun.

 

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