Thursday, March 18, 2004

It's official. My editor doesn't know I exist.

Went to work at 9:00a.m. today and idly wasted my time reading the paper and "researching" the Elephant Man. Rick greeted me and I greeted him back with a, "Hey Jim." Became all paranoid that he was secretly seething inside after he moved me Milton-style from one cubicle to another, which had neither a stapler nor scissors. He ignored me the rest of the time.

Went to Edo for lunch. Had a chicken teriyaki rice bowl. Was watched by a mentally retarded old woman with a buzz cut. She kept smiling at me while I ate and read Sophie's World ... to avoid her stare. I looked up. She was still smiling. I was this close to expecting her to lick her lips as she drooled uncontrollably.

Got off work at 12 and got on the bus, which hit a green sedan occupied by some butch lesbians. All you could hear was this LOUD thump and the smashing of glass. Good thing that old lady was there to absorb my sideways impact (no, not that old lady, another one. There's quite a few in this town o' lost souls). Everyone got off the bus and walked to the next bus stop. I looked at the woman in the car, her crewcut lesbian lover waving people away, shouting, "She aw-right. Gon' head down naw." Her head was twitching in time with the corners of her mouth. My first reaction was, "Did the bus give her Parkinson's?" But my assumptions were proven false when, mid-twitch, she gave attitude to passerbys: "I's alright! *eye roll*"

Wanted to interview her and call Rick, but then said, Fuck it, I don't care.

Hopped on the following bus. The lesbian lover was on it, probably going to get help. Then a stench overwhelmed me. It was a mix of day-old urine and ... week-old urine (which is more concentrated due to the evaporation process). It was coming from the man who was making a 20 minute conversation out of the car accident: "You know what this means, doncha? That's 9 points off her license."

"Oh, well isn't that sad?" answered the old woman in the knitted white cap and floral print scarf.

And there's me, trying not to breathe and vomit through my nose. I even had an imaginary conversation with him in my mind to pass the time and ignore the smell: "Sir, have you no access to lavatory facilities?" only to step coolly off the bus and get on with m'day. I vouched not to do that; didn't want him to smear himself all over me in revenge *shudder*. The smell also came from the fat guy with the woolly beard and torn jacket with hanging zipper. He had these massive glasses on, which made him look surprised in every which direction his head was turned. He also had the mental capacity of a 10 year old: "Oh no! Whatever shall we do?!"

I hate to be judgmental (okay, I confess, I don't), but it would be really nice if Hamilton was equipped with these automatic watersprays in the bus shelters like in Las Vegas. But rather than use them to cool off occupants, it will be chlorinated for our disinfectant needs. And Johnson & Johnson will join as a corporate sponsor, handing out free bottles of Febreeze for everyone in dire need of a smell-juvenation.

So ... that was my day.

Insofar, miserable.

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