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| There are days. And then there are other days. The other days are the ones where you walk into work wired and proceed to terrify customer after customer, for no particular reason at all other than you feel good.
On the other hand, it makes you think a little too much. Like what you should do if someone comes to the drive-through and just sits at the big menu like a doofus. The obvious solution, of course, is to lean halfway out the window, wave wildly and scream, "C'mawn up! Ah'll gitcha ohdah!" Another is to wait patiently and snipe them at the last moment by repeating half of their order back and informing them, in a very grief-stricken manner, that no, you do not serve wienie-flavored coffee, nor do you have potato chip muffins on this particularly fine day.
Of course, you get into a groove. You roll along, and customer after customer falls prey to your diabolical "dat's how ah roll" approach. The outcome of such a groove is that you simply stand, staring blankly, when you squeal out a greeting to a customer (something along the lines of, "Good morning, good morning, it's great to talk the whole night through!") and they respond with, "It certainly is!"
At this point you've been bested. Your thunder is stolen. Your hammer of the gods is molten. Your feathers are plucked. You're tarred. You're tarred and feathered. The wind in your metaphorical sails has shifted, and you now discover that it's crossing your T and you need to do some fancy maneuvering to get back into the fight. What do you do? They're obviously immune to quips and idiotic salutations. Witty comeback? No good; you've already stood there staring in complete awe at the fact that you don't have a comeback, and even if you could think one up, it would be too late and you might as well just say, "So's your face!" and be done with it.
The only solution is to go about making the person's order. Ring them up. Then inform them solemnly that "that'll be forty. Dollars, I mean."
Silence.
Awkward staring.
Then you swoop! The kill is ready, so how can you not? Smiling, you fork over the drink and say, "Jay kay! Jay kay, everyone, it's just a dollar eighty-six. Have a good one!"
And then you turn around and your boss is standing behind you, looking at you as if you have a third arm- which you instantly check to find, and discover to your great relief that no, you do not, in fact, have a third arm protruding from any place on your body, much less an embarassing place, like your crotch. Man. That would be weird.
Another glorious day in the legion!
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Well all's not well,
But I'm told that it'll all be quite nice.
"You'll be drowned in boots like Mafia,
But your feet will still float like Christ's."
And, I'll be damned, they were right!
I'm drowning upside down
My feet afloat like Christ's
I'm in heaven trying to figure out which stack
They're going to stuff us atheists into
And when Peter and his monkey laugh
And i laugh with them (I'm not sure what at)
They point and say, "We'll keep you in the back
Polishing halos, baking manna and gas."
Well some guy comes in looking a bit like everyone I ever seen
He moves just like crisco disco, breath 100% listerine.
He says, looking at something else,
But directing everything to me:
"Every time anyone gets on their knees to pray,
Well, it makes my telephone ring."
"Should we distrust the man because his manners are not our manners, and that his skin is dark?"
I am liking The Last of the Mohicans (so far). James Fenimore Cooper, while a bit slow (as authors of that period always are) nevertheless weaves a tapestry that is vivid which entirely seduces the imagination. There is a lot to be said for a man who conveys a sentiment without saying, "I thought him a disgusting man." That always irks me about a lot of authors; too much fact, not enough heart. While literature surrounding Cooper's time were extremely factual- back when reading was a heavy-duty hobby- they still managed to step away from describing things objectively and then finishing with a flourish by adding something negative. Instead, he steps out of his way to describe what he doesn't like in a distasteful way; he writes as he sees, and I like it that way.
This brought to you by a conversation ranging from Cooper to Dostoevsky to Kipling to Whiman to Heinlein to Herbert with an English professor from LSUA. Good stuff. Let's just say... I've got a pretty manly reading list to dig into now, including War and Peace.
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| A lull in the flow of customers can be good. In fact, it always is, because it gives you time to clean the prep area, bake some goods, and just generally get things ready for the next rush.
But a dead shop sucks.
So today's dead period found me sitting on the couch reading the only magazine in the basket that wasn't geared towards educating CENLA kids, celebrities, stock options or who got married and who got dead in the lovely towns of Ball, Pineville, Tioga, etc.: Cigar Aficionado.
I didn't actually know that was the title until I was done looking at it. Until then I was just thinking to myself, "Wow, there are a lot of multi-page cigar ads in here. I bet they're ridiculously expensive." I was right, of course; how cheap can a "gourmet" cigar be?
So about halfway through the magazine (it was a good read, but there was actually very little of anything that had to do with cigars in the whole thing), I get to this article about William Shatner. This made sense, since William Shatner was on the cover, larger than life and smiling his way around a stogie of considerable manliness. So I'm sitting, reading and thinking, "Damn, is he really 75?" when I am interrupted from across the store.
It's a coworker.
Good kid (woman/lady, actually), but... different.
"Hey Jason. You're... religious, right?" Apparently, being religious is a horrible disease that we should all be uncomfortable bringing up.
"Sure," I say. "I'm very religious. Why, last night I sacrificed an infant to the Right Guard god, and this morning I did a very merry jig to the god of agricultural fertility; I'm not a farmer, but I do like my produce."
Pause.
Silence.
A customer clears her throat and laughs at me, but not with me.
The coworker fidgets, as do the other four that were hanging around waiting for the inventory/supplies to arrive.
Silence some more.
Then one of the other new guys there, who is not remarkably intelligent, pipes up and says, "So... that's, like, voodoo and buddhism and stuff, right?"
Jason: 1
Coworkers: 0
It's on, now, hos.
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| Everything is Illuminated is a great movie. I especially liked the fact that Eugene Hutz (of Gogol Bordello infamy) played a very significant role in it. And did an awesome job at that. You go, Eugene. Because we all know that the best way to stick it to the man in true gypsy punk fashion is to costar in a movie by Liev Schreiber beside Elijah Wood.
And now for moving picture show! Please, you watch.
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