Assholes Everywhere

Man, it must be the weather or something, because I am running into assholes today.

Got my car washed just now.  The guy who's getting his before me seems to be persnickety, exacting prick.  He was really riding the workers, telling them where to go and what to do.  At a couple points he actually took one of the tools they use, the air gun, and went to his car to blow some stuff out of it.  If I were working there and I saw that, I would absolutely lose it.  He then got into it with one of the co-workers; he first demanded that one of his floor mats gets washed instead of cleaned, to which the worker made him pay another two dollars.  Then, triggered by something I didn't see, this worker let this guy have it.  I think he said something to the equivalent of, "If you hate how we wash your car, don't come here ever again."  And then on the way out he was telling another guy to wipe down the inside of a couple doors again.  And it's not as if this a-hole had a Maserati or '60s muscle car or something.  He has an SUV.  With a baby seat in the back.  How precious is your car?

And right now I am at ... a coffeeshop I should be going to more often.  Maybe not on this day, however, because some creep just jogged down here, sat at a table kitty-corner from mine, and is playing these short videos with the sound up and with no headphones.  I hate people like that.  I'm trying to be loud and obnoxious -- coughing without covering my mouth, for example.  Haven't gotten this asshole to scram yet.

I am running into assholes today, but I am not the asshole.

I'll Have The Prettiest Mask At Work!

So it is proper etiquette in Asian countries to wear a mask in public during pandemics.  That's not the case here; as we've been told here, wearing a mask is useless to everyone who is healthy because 1) it won't help, especially when it comes to COVID-19, and 2) wearing a mask is taking away from someone who really needs to use it, such as health care workers tending to actually sick people.  Nevertheless, it is considered rude not to do so in Asian countries.  For all I know, things are different there; they have borne the brunt of a few epidemics, and maybe surgical masks do make a difference.  There was one webpage I glanced at that said that masks in public are less useful to prevent infection than they are a social cue, a sign to others in your community that they're taking their health, and the health of strangers, seriously ... and you should do the same.

I was told not to use the endless supply of gloves at work.  Fine.  I read a page where people working in non-infectious settings don't get any extra benefit by wearing gloves.  But yesterday during dinner, unprompted, my parents asked if I needed gloves and a mask.  I could use gloves, to which that night they gave me, uh, three.  I should tell them that I need, like, way more than that, since I have to go through, like, three of them a day.

When I came home this afternoon (an abbreviated workday followed by a Quarter Pounder that nourished my soul at Mickey D's followed by a trip to the cemetery to see my Grandmother and uncle that was not to be because it started to rain and also the mausoleum appears to be closed so I might not have been able to see my uncle's ashes) Mother pointed me to something she's knitting.  She's retired, so she knits.  A lot.  And she knitted this beautiful, multi-colored mask.  She asked me to try it on; after she's done, she says she's going to get cloth inserts so I could wear it at work and dispose those inserts.

To be clear, I really, really doubt I'm going to wear this mask at work.  Gloves make me feel safer, but a mask does not.  Moreover, we're in the Western Hemisphere, so I'm going to get weird-ass looks from the folks in the lab, and that's without mentioning that this crocheted mask is in a multitude of colors.  But you know what?  I'm going to carry it in my bag anyway.  Mother probably doesn't understand what I feel I need at work, but she did this for my anyway.  She shows she loves me and cares for me.  And I can't be mad at that.

Was Bad At Work, Twice

One was a rule I probably broke.  The other one was just a breach of etiquette.

I had to print out some tax forms.  Yes, I'm sure that's not allowed at work.  But goddammit, I need to do my taxes, the country nor the state is going to delay filing (at least for now), and libraries are now closed.  I have no choice.  And if that's enough of a reason to fire me, well ... that would be my fault.

OK, on to something a tad lighter.  While I was up preparing applications, I farted.  It snuck up on me, so to speak.  I was just standing up, doing my thing and then, "Poof!"  And I did it loudly.  (I'm sure I pissed off one of my co-workers, but I think my OCD over COVID-19 today pissed her off, too.)  I was blindsided by my own fart, so there was no way to cover it up -- no, "He did it!" or, "I just slid my shoe against the rubber mat!"  I just tried to play it off as if I didn't hear it.  But I did.  And she did.  And everybody in the fucking building probably did.

Yep, if I get fired tomorrow ... yeah, maybe that would be my fault, too.

Person Who Should Be Fired: That Bitch At The Movie Theater Last Night

Ugh!  I know I shouldn't use the word "bitch" anymore, but my God, I've used it so often I really, really want to use it because it is so accurate to use that word for this narcissistic girl -- white, shorter than me, glasses, fat -- who has shitty customer service skills.  I know I cannot keep going on and on and on about shitty service, but goddamn, I hate it when people in positions like her won't say thank you.  Yes, it's important to me!  Yes, I think it's important, period!

But this fucking idiot (guess I'm finding words to describe her besides "bitch") hit the sweet spot of both rude and shallow.  It was going downhill when she answered my question about whether the theater had small sizes with a terse and quiet "No."  But her ill-mannered cherry on top was when I asked for my receipt.  Like some anti-social psycho, she printed it, ripped it off the dispenser, folded it, slapped it right in front of the popcorn I hadn't yet picked up (handing things is important to me, OK?), then started talking to her co-workers while I was still at the cash registered.  Oh, how rude.  Oh, what a rude cunt (yes, I know I really shouldn't say that, but women aren't that protected of a class of people to the point where I can't use a gender-specific insult, please??).

My only recourse is to not go back.  Maybe I can go on the website and complain about this asshole.  Or go on Yelp.  Yeah, Yelp is where everybody complains about everything.

OK.  So I was at a meeting just now, and there was someone who came in late, didn't say anything during the meeting, and then just left.  That's weird and, frankly, somewhat rude.

But no, I guess I shouldn't have waved goodbye to her sarcastically as she walked away.  I think the other people in the group saw me.  And now I'm afraid they think that my reaction to her is weirder than her actions.

If not rude, I thought it was a little strange.  But I couldn't help but react to that.  I always react to people when they do something that I consider rude.  Maybe, however, I should stop because 1) other people don't seem to care and 2) it makes me look weird, unfortunately and weirdly.

I should look into that.

(sigh) don't know how to act socially sometimes, or many times.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Sunday, December 3:

• I spent a lot of money for this period, but I seem to have receipts for many of my transactions.  I just need to go back to Saturday, December 2, when I went to the University of Minnesota's volleyball team's second-round NCAA Tournament game at Maturi Pavilion.  I regularly buy an NCAA tournament program even though 1) it's overpriced and 2) I go through it once at most.  This program is sealed in plastic, and I haven't even opened it yet.  I bought it anyway.  With a hot dog and small Coke: $16.50.
• Back to Wednesday, November 29 ... went to The Barn to see the U. men's basketball team.  Hot dog and small Coke (no program; I think they sold them all by the time I got there) equals: $8.50.
• To drown my sorrows over the loss, I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) for tips, coffee, and (in a coincidence that I would have preferred not to happen; I mean, she's great, but I felt pressure to get a lapdance and I had gotten one from her recently) a dance from Jade: $40.
• Monday, November 27: ***e* said that she was out of money for gifts for her kids, and she was wondering if she could come over to my house and, uh, make some money.  I accepted.  I needed that.  Cost: $120.
• On Saturday the 25th, after working out, I remembered that Blue Sun Soda Shop was running one of the periodical sales for their Whistler pops, so I went before the Golden Gopher volleyball game.  One bottle, minus deposit: $1.06.
• The game.  Lost to Penn St.  Hot dog, small Coke (again, like with the men's b-ball contest, so many people were there that they ran out of programs): $8.50.
• After the loss I drowned my sorrows at Glam Doll.  The person there gave me one donut and my pour-over coffee for free.  Aw!!!  The other donut plus tip and it came out to steal at Glam Doll Donuts: $1.75.
• Thanksgiving ... before pigging out on turkey, I did my annual tradition of exercising at the community center, which is open for 2 1/2 hours each morning.  Seems strange that it would be open on Thanksgiving only for that long.  Either extend it to, like, four hours or don't open at all, you know?  Anyway, I realized that my monthly pass expired, so I bought another month on this day: $15.
• Wednesday the 22nd -- stopped by the Mall Of America after work, and it's that time of year again: the Salvation Army bell ringers and their kettles.  I forgot that they seem to be out in force earlier and earlier every season.  On my rush to get in, I couldn't find a quarter, so I gave instead the only coin I could grab out of my back pocket: 5 cents.
• Because I had the next day off, I went out on the town in the evening.  I first went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Got a dance from Kelsey, which is weird because the last time I saw her there, I asked for an LD, but she blew me off and sat with someone else instead.  She kind of apologized when she approached me, saying that she promised that guy a dance first.  Uh, OK.  It's nothing spectacular, but we haven't been getting along, so I offered a seat as a peace offering.  With coffee and tips: $30.
• Sunday, November 19: As I was working the Vikings game I had to run to the hotel to get a suitcase.  When the bellhop loaded the luggage I was about to take off, but then I remembered that bellhops usually get tipped for stuff like that.  I'm so bad when it comes to etiquette.  So before I climbed back into the SUV I went back and gave the guy: $2.
• After the game I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) for coffee, tips and a dance with Katie, who is one of the veterans who still dances there from time to time.  She said there was a party in my town that she was working.  I went the house on the night she said the party was going to be held, but I didn't see anything.  Total: $30.
• On Saturday the 18th I was watching my alma mater's last regular-season game downtown.  With tip the meal came to: $713.

Good through December 3.

I'm Confused

So a relative died this week, suddenly.  He wasn't close, and we weren't close.  In fact, I don't know I ever spoke to him at all.  But the service was today (Saturday), and I thought either my parents and/or I should go anyway.  Shoot, it was my folks who told me this news over dinner earlier in the week.

Naturally, because I thought it was the right thing to do (and I might be throwing too much information at you, but I learned these "manners" through watching 80's sitcoms and not my parents), I said in response to this surprise news that maybe I should go to this service.  But Mother didn't think it was a good idea.  I mean, really did not think it was a good idea.  She was shaking her head to my thought as if she was being possessed.  Father, meanwhile, did not say anything, and he looked like he really wanted to.

See, I have been able to cast my parents into buckets, psychological roles for a while now.  But during this dinner things flipped on their heads.  Usually it's Father acting like My Fucking Father, nagging on me to go back to school and find a good job, goals he thinks I could do with the push of a button when IRL finding both is difficult and fraught with danger.  Mother has her blow-ups, but usually she's the calm, tame one, the parent who approaches things basically by saying "no big deal."  So it was very odd that My Fucking Mother took the initiative on what appears to be a very easy decision regarding a somber event while Father took a back seat, following instead of leading.  This dynamic was the one I saw my folks operate on when I was a child; I loved, even adored my meek dad while I feared and thus loathed my imperious mother.

Anyway, I was not happy with her "recommendation" that I don't go.  So I went around their backs and texted my brother, who is ... well, how do I protect his privacy ... was in on the plans on the service.  I gave my condolences and asked if I could come.  He did not answer me for a couple days, so on Thursday evening (after consulting my sister and worrying that I'm just bothering him at this point) I texted him again.  He said he'd give me the address.

My brother never did give me the address, so I figured he was too busy arranging plans or too sad to remember to get back to me.  I understand.  But this morning, I heard the front door open.  My parents are usually up this time of day, but they don't leave the house.

Through my bedroom door Father calls me.  When I come out I see him in a way I rarely do: In a suit.  He needed a tie, but the black suit and white shirt was the same get-up I had thrown into my car while my parents were away yesterday (Friday) evening in case my brother did send me the address of the service.  I was totally prepared to disobey my parents' orders, leave wearing my t-shirt and shorts, change somewhere out in public and pay my respects to them, then change back before going home.  But now they are going and I am not?

Now I am confused, completely confused.  I assumed ... no, I thought that when Mother shook her head no, not only was I not to go but they weren't going to go, either.  But now they were going to do the right thing and go without me, the one who originally was going to do the right thing?  Did they change their mind, or was this their plan all along?

And what about my brother?  He obviously was busy, but if my parents were going to go to the service he should have remembered that I asked to come over.  Why wouldn't he give me the difference?

My most paranoid reasoning: I would be a distraction to the service or, worse, be so poisonous a presence that they did not want me there at all.  Who would I be a distraction or poison to?  My parents?  My brother?  The family?  I have no idea who wouldn't want me there.  Like I said, I don't know if I even spoke to this guy.  I just wanted to be a nice guy and pay my respects.  And I wasn't allowed to do that.  I was so blindsided that they were going that I didn't even ask if I could go.  Maybe I should have.  But Mother told me not to come, and so it may be was pointless to ask.

Whatever, man.  It's over now.

Allergies Made For An Awful Day At Work Friday

(My previous blog I talked about how I was writing this and because of a few buttons I pushed I erased all of it.  I still don't know how the fuck I did that; I should figure that out.  But here's my attempt to recreate that.  Unfortunately I remember little of what I wrote, and what I'm typing instead I'm not enthused about.)

I don't know what happened Friday.  My allergies have been bad this spring, but nothing like Friday.  I know now that allergies can occur during mostly cloudy days, but I assumed my symptoms would be as manageable as they had been the previous six mostly cloudy days.  Moreover, as much as I complain about the fexofenedine and Zyrtec I continue to take, I haven't had allergy attacks so bad that I was virtually enslaved and incapacitated the whole day in a long, long time.

Not anymore.

Maybe I should have known something was wrong the night before, when I took off all of my clothes and hopped into bed and sneezed.  I went to bed naked because Father apparently believed the mostly cloudy day was too cool, so he turned on the heat.  Turning on the heat brings the air outside, possibly containing pollen overnight and probably capturing pollen that had burst at dawn, into the house to heat the air inside.

I was OK when I woke up, but I took out a tissue and put it on the passenger's seat on my way to work.  Felt the sniffles, but that was no big deal.  But then I got to work and the fucking allergies blindsided me: The sinus buildup, like the top of my nose was going to blow; the drips of snot leaking out of my nose if I tipped my head down; the incessant blowing of my nose every five -- no, two -- minutes; and what pisses me off most of all, and probably pissed off all my fellow graders, the constant need to get up and get tissues from the room's tissue box.  Seriously, of the 100 sheets in the box, I used 80 of them Friday.  I used it so much that I emptied the fucking thing and had to ask someone for a replacement.  How embarrassing.

I don't know what happened, but the allergy attack I went through Friday was the worst all season, all of last season, and probably all of the season before.  To prevent a repeat of that, Saturday morning, after I woke up around 7 after giving up trying to see the Bruins-Penguins playoff hockey game online because our Internet was fucking up around 9 o'clock, I went down to Father's computer room, opened his drawer, found his old bottle of Nasonex and took several hits up my nose.  I was prescribed this a couple years ago, and to this day it's the only temporary allergy medication that completely got rid of all my symptoms.  I could totally get addicted to it.  I didn't use it this morning because today has been a wash-out.  But I hope to remember to snort some before the beginning of the day tomorrow.  I cannot have a repeat of what happened Friday, for my sake and the sake of the people who had to deal with me.

---

I should say this.  In the middle of this really bad day I initiated a really weird incident.  It's partly because of the allergies that overtook me, but it's also partly because I think a guy was being a douche.

After another allergy attack early in the afternoon, I got up and left the room, just to take a break.  Went to the break room to read papers that weren't there when I dropped by in the morning and still weren't there.  So I thought that maybe I should wash my hands and face; that might wash the allergies off of me.

But as I was turning towards where the bathroom is, I see another guy from the other end of the hallway turn just before me.  I was kind of bummed that I wouldn't be able to piss by myself, alone in my thoughts, but hey, there are hundreds of people working here now, it was bound to happen.

What I did not expect was the guy not holding the door open for me as I was coming in behind him.  How rude of this guy!  He broke the unspoken but obvious niceness code all people, or at least all Minnesotans, know, and most do.  I wasn't asking for a doorman; I was expecting a hand out, even for a millisecond, to stop the door's momentum from closing.  That way that gives me a chance to catch it before it slams in my face.  Besides, that way I at least the stranger in front of me is looking out for my well-being.  I mean, how hard could that be?  Apparently this asshole can't even do that.

Let me say that if I wasn't suffering from allergies that day, I wouldn't be so agitated about it at that moment. I think I'd be a little agitated, but I would keep patient and understand that I have work I need to do.  But I was suffering so badly that this "slamming the door on me" felt like an indignity that I needed to avenge for.  How, I don't know, I just felt like he needed to understand my umbrage towards him.

Suddenly, several men entered the bathroom after us.  It was like the The Truman Show, where everywhere Truman went people were sent to make sure he wasn't left alone.  It was weird.  Moreover, one of the guys that came in was another supervisor in my room -- and he started up a conversation with the asshole who wouldn't hold the door open for me.  Shit, they know each other!  That complicates my plan to show him I hate him.

After I washed my hands I went to get the towels.  There is only one dispenser, so obviously with so many guys there they're going to all grab for it.  Somehow, we all got done pissing and washing our hands so that there was a line to get the towels.  That kind of threw me for a loop.  The Asshole was taking so much time talking with the supervisor guy that he wound up right behind me.

Follow me here: I usually grab three towels at a time, dry them, then grab another three.  Because hey, you can never dry your hands enough.  After I grabbed the second set The Asshole grabbed his.  I step aside because I'm being nice enough for him and the guys behind me to get to the towel dispenser.  But for some fucking reason The Asshole just crowds above the trash can to wash his hands.  That set me off, and all I could do to register my fury was to throw my crumpled-up wad of towels right by his head into the trash.

What I did next even I can't explain, but my hate for him was the source of my, uh, weird behavior.  Although The Asshole was behind me, one of the people who came in after us somehow wound up ahead of me in this conga line to the towels.  He opened the door, but it was closing by the time I threw those towels in the trash and turned towards it.  Remember that I was dealing with allergies.  I was kind of paranoid Friday about spreading allergies to the people around me.  Even though I just washed my hands, I had thought it prudent that, if possible, I would take a towel to grasp every handle I open.  That may be a little, um, anal, but I really don't need the conscience of a bunch of people getting sick when everybody remembers that I was sneezing and sniffling up a storm.

Now, remember that this is a line of people waiting to get to the towel dispenser and then leaving the bathroom.  My next natural step was to leave, but the door is closed, and I don't have a towel.  So I just ... froze.  And then I, uh, stepped away and out of line.  No, I still don't exactly know why I did that.  But you can imagine the queue of people behind me just waiting for me to leave the bathroom and make some room in the bathroom, and just not doing it.  They must be like, "What the fuck is his problem?"  Well, the problem is the guy behind me and the guy who just left ahead of me both pissed me off because neither of them would hold the door open for me.

So I should have backed up my weird action by grabbing a towel to hold open the door.  I could at least justify not moving my ass if I did that instead.  But I lost my track of thought and felt the people there wanting me to leave the bathroom, so I, like, came back in the line ... behind The Asshole.  And, once again, he threw the door open only far enough for his entitled ass to come through.  So, with a gritted teeth and harrumph coming through my flared nostrils, I open the door not with my still-allergy-ridden hand but my foot.  And I didn't just gently open it; I basically did a roundhouse kick to throw the fucking door open.  I may have doubled down on my weird behavior in the eyes of the guys behind me.  But while I couldn't justify weirdly backing away, I can say that I was really pissed off at The Asshole for not holding the door open for me a second time.  Hell, there were a bunch of people behind me.  If he didn't want to do it for me, at least do it for them.

I saw The Asshole get a drink of water from the fountain.  I just walked in a huff and, after I turned the corner, I muttered under my breath, "Asshole."  I didn't want to scream it, but I wanted to say it loud enough for someone to hear.  In retrospect, maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do, because one of those people who may have heard it is The Asshole's friend, the supervisor in the room I work in.

Epilogue: I think The Asshole, a skinny guy with grey hair and wearing high-waisted shorts, was walking behind me and couple other people in our room during afternoon break and rudely went around us even though there was a lot of traffic going both ways.  One of the people I was stuck behind was the guy who was talking with The Asshole as both were peeing.

Oh, and the supervisor might have said some in appropriate things during work.  There is one woman who keeps asking for help from him, and one time she and another woman both raised their hands.  He and a fellow supervisor both rushed to both of them to answer their questions, but neither could decide which one to help.  So this guy said, "Doesn't matter, they're both good-looking."  And he continued to flirt with this one woman all day.  Come to think of it, he's done this since the project began.

RIP, Toothbrush

I will blog my thoughts on my three days in Kansas City soon, but I want to point something I did before I came back home that I planned on doing for a long time: I decided to throw away my toothbrush in the corporate suite bathroom and not bring it back with me.

Not a momentous occasion, I know.  I'm sentimental that weird way.  That toothbrush has been in my mouth for, oh, the past half-year, maybe longer.  I keep around my toothbrushes because I can't bear to let them go, even though everybody recommends you get them replaced every, what, three or four months?

This one was kind of special.  It was a shit toothbrush, not those Oral-B ones you get for free after your visit to the dentist.  This was one a hotel gave me.  Don't remember the year, but it was the year I visited New Orleans for the Professional Baseball Employment Opportunities Job Fair, that racket where moon-eyed college grads decide they're going to not only pay their dues by working for little to no money but also actually paying money to look for available positions at this fair, mostly internships or sales jobs.  I loved it because I was young and stupid.

Anyway, one evening I came back from sitting around and waiting to see if I was going to get interviews at the convention center to my hotel room and can't find my toothbrush.  Damn maid must've thrown it in the trash.  So I call down to the great front desk clerks (I'm not quite sure which hotel it was -- could've been either a Marriott or a Radisson -- but I know the customer service was excellent) and ask for a toothbrush, which they delivered.  But upon closer inspection of the bathroom I saw something rolled up in toilet paper and stuck in one of the spare toilet paper rolls.  That's where the maid put my toothbrush, and she was nice enough to roll it up so no dust got on it.

So I now had two toothbrushes.  I didn't want to throw away the one the hotel gave me, so I went back to my old toothbrush and stuck the new toothbrush for a later time.  That must have been, oh, about a decade ago.

I don't exactly remember where I kept the hotel toothbrush.  But after I had to dispose of my previous toothbrush, I came upon it and decided that it was time to use it.  Part of my hesitancy was that this was a very, very basic toothbrush.  It was really a bunch of bristles jammed into one end of a flat, white plastic stick.  The handle wasn't long and it wasn't curved, like many "advanced" toothbrushes are these days.  No colors, no bristles organized into a diamond shape that would make it easier to negotiate through the contours of your mouth or some bullshit.  And no kidding, literally after a few days the bristles already began to fray.  At the end of its life it sprayed like the shape of a clamshell.

I used that toothbrush well past its usefulness date.  But did it get the job done?  Could a longer, colored toothbrush with a bend in the middle do the job better?  Probably.  But it was good enough.  For many things in my life I'm perfectly happy with "good enough."  But even I knew I couldn't brush with bent bristles forever.  That, along with an admittedly bizarre mindset that I should lessen the load I carried in the bag I brought with me down to K.C. (even though I brought way more stuff back up to Minnesota, like a souvenir cup from Arthur Bryant's and that week's copies of the local alternative weekly, the Pitch), convinced me well before my trip last week that I would say farewell with this toothbrush, this humble little toothbrush I got from a hotel, the day I left for home.

And so I did.  Guess I should have brushed my teeth each night to properly say goodbye.  I think I did two of those nights ... well, definitely one of those nights, and I know that night wasn't Wednesday, the first night, and I know that because ... well, I just know.  But it was either Thursday and/or Friday nights I put that toothpaste on that old toothbrush and stuck it in my mouth in order to get all the food particles and plaque out of me.  I did not use toothpaste Saturday around noontime, when I had to check out of my room, because I simply did not have the time.  But, in what I hope was one last sign of respect, I wet the faded bristles and made a cursory, half-ass brush through my mouth.  One last time for the toothbrush to say goodbye to my teeth.

After I gave it a quick rinse I didn't toss it in the wastebasket. I laid the head in first, against the plastic bag whose sides weren't fully pulled apart so they were still stuck kind of in the middle of the plastic receptacle, and then I softly let go of the other end.  And I remember it sliding down one inch, two inches at the most, before resting alongside the not-completely-open plastic bag.  I think it slid just under of the pieces of toilet paper I used to wipe my ass.

And then I said goodbye.  The toothbrush that came into my life in New Orleans I laid to rest in Kansas City.  Its residence was in Minneapolis, but it's fitting that it "lived" and "died" away from the place it grew up, and in differing cities at that.

My heart's sinking just thinking about that humble toothbrush.  Don't laugh.

I Was Really Bothered Yesterday

So it all started when I went to the library with the intention of just vegging out.  I was lucky to get a desk in the quiet room with nobody around me.  But just in case, I started from the end of the row where the guy was, alternated what should be an empty desk with a potentially filled one, then went to the other end of the row to plant my computer and bookbag.  That way, if there was another person who wanted to come in, he would see that there was a perfect space in that row for him or her to work while leaving an empty desk to his/her left and right while also giving me and this other guy space as well.

That is how it's supposed to work.  But this asshole who came just after me was too stupid to understand such social mores.  He plops into the desk right to my left -- and gives me a nod as if to say, "What's up?" while he does it.  Dude, I ain't your friend -- move your ass to the desk to the left and give me some fucking privacy!!  Now I have to worry about this guy stealing my shit.  I was going to get a coffee, now I don't think so.

And the final straw came when yet another guy came into the quiet room and took the desk just to my right.  Now I'm surrounded by two dudes who won't leave me alone.  And this asshole actually nodded to the guy who sat on my left before he sat down, like it was their plan to piss me off.  And that I was.  I just wanted to listen to a couple basketball games over the afternoon and not spend anything.  But I was so upset that I packed up my things and left.  I decided to go to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the games instead.  Sure, I'll have to spend money I don't have.  But you have to understand I was feeling panicky, desperate and, most of all, screwed by my plans being ruined by these two dicks who wouldn't leave me alone.  And if my plans were all fucked up, why not just fucking run up my credit card bill by drinking away my bitterness?

---

Before I left I looked up directions to the nearest BWW online.  It's three miles away from the library, but it wound its way through side streets.  And yet I felt confident I could get there without a hitch, even though I've never been there nor the streets that get me there.

And once I found myself driving on a street that I did not remember seeing on the online map, I turned around.  And then when I saw that the road I was supposed to be on was the road I was on, I fucking turned back.  And then the road name I needed (which I saw when I flipped a bitch) appeared again; for some goddamn reason I was on the right road, but the name switched, then switched back.

That's annoying enough.  What's even more upsetting is that I often do this to myself, doubling back and realizing I was right in the first place so I had to reverse my reverse, so to speak.  That wastes a lot of time, which was particularly crucial today; there were several games which were concluding, specifically the very last Georgetown-Syracuse matchup as members of the Big East (the Hoyas routed the Orange, but witnessing the end of the great rivalry was the reason I wanted to see it, not to see a close game).  If I didn't do a U-turn, I probably would have had time to get into the restaurant and see it.  But since I was driving in circles for three minutes, I caught the end only on my satellite radio.  At least I caught the end -- thank Buddha for satellite radio -- but it's not like seeing it as it happens.

But do you know what pissed me off most of all?  My gas gauge.  At the beginning of the day I was at the notch below full.  But because of all the left turns I took, by the time I reached Buffalo Wild Wings I was closer to the next notch below, which is half full.  Now, it's not as jumpy as my previous car, a Jeep, nor is it as bad as it had been a few months back when I had to have the fuel damper and some O-rings in the engine replaced.  But for the past year it's been very movable, going down or up depending on how fast I am going and which way I turn.  Now there have been times where the gauge has been low but after I straighten up and drive slower, the needle moves up a bit.  But all this moving proves to me that the gas gauge is no longer showing me how much gas is actually in the car.  Moreover and more immediate, it's a bummer to see that I drove about 16 miles, yet the gauge is showing me I used up a third of my gas.  That's fucked up, even if it's not entirely true.

---

So I get to BWW, pissed off after the shitty trip I had.  Customer service was great; hostess invited me in, said that if I wanted any TV changed to a game I wanted to watch I could (first time anyone has offered to do that -- great touch), and my waitress alerted me to the fact that I have to renew my driver's license by my birthday.  I totally would not have noticed if she did not tell me.  So I am kind of glad I got there.

But I was still bothered there, too.  I go in to look for a place at the bar.  There were three at the very end, but they're oriented away from many of the TV's I wanted to see.  I was going to grit my teeth and bite the bullet and sit, but then I two other guys swooped in to take them.  Fuck!

Then they didn't; they moved to a table.  But before I went over there to claim a stool I saw the reason they may have eschewed the bar for a table: The guy at the end was noticeably twitchy, like he was of limited mental capability.  Oh, great.  So I went to the other end of the bar because I thought I saw a few stools open ... nope, some guy staked his claim to the one right in the middle.  Shit, I had to take a table.

My initial trepidation of this guy was right on the money.  First of all, he had motor skill issues, namely facial expressions that would not stop, his arms jutting all over the place, and when he got up (which he did several times in the two-plus hours I was there) he walked haltingly, with his head back, his chest out, and with one of his feet dragging.

Moreover, several times during my stay there he broke into a chant from watching the Iowa-Nebraska college basketball game, which was on the big TV at the restaurant and whose sound was the one we heard.  For some reason he would stand up out of his chair and scream, without consistent melody or cadence, "Here we go Hawkeyes, here we go!  Here we go ... Cornhuskers ... go get the ball!" or something like that, I was trying to ignore him.  It was starting to get really creepy and annoying when he would step away from his chair and do it at the table next to him, or across the bar area.

Oh, and he was wearing a kilt, too.  Now that's just fucking weird.

OK, maybe I should be a little more understanding.  But many of the other customers were not understanding.  I didn't see any of them immediately bolt for the door, but I think several there left a little earlier than they planned because of this guy.  Who is he?  A mentally challenged relative of one of the people who work there?  A guy planted there so his Personal Care Assistant could run errands and/or just get away from this guy and feel secure in knowing he's in a safe place?

I stayed as long as I could, but this guy was bothering the shit out of me, so I left.

---

I guess I was bothered that I was late to the Class AA Final of the Boys' State High School Hockey Tournament, and that I chose from a scalper a lower level seat that put me in the end of the Edina zone right next to the Edina student section, not a club seat that might have put me right on center ice, where I like it.  But I only spent ten bucks.  Plus, during a time out I looked up and saw that virtually every single seat was taken.  And then I realized that I'm glad I chose to come, despite being rejected for a press credential (more on that some other time).  Eighteen-thousand-plus people, all there to watch a high school hockey game.  It's one of the best things that makes Minnesota Minnesota.  So I guess I can't complain too much.

---

Something that really bothers me, for real, however: My car fucking started to buck on me on red lights again.  Fucking car can't take the damp weather we've been having.  And it's been good the past couple weeks.  I was afraid of driving it today, and I thought about just staying home and walking to oatmeal and coffee.  But I didn't really have the money to spend for oatmeal and coffee, and so I braved it.

Well, it wasn't idling roughly, but the ride was not smooth.  Now, when I try to accelerate from a complete stop, the gas pedal is unresponsive.  This is an issue with the distributor cap and rotor, plus the spark plugs and ignition wires.  But I've replaced (and fucking paid for) all those fucking things, twice, in the past 18 months.  Fuckin' A, I'll just blame it on the moisture.

Home Improvement?

So the renovation of the house continues in earnest.  It doesn't just stop with redoing Grandmother's bedroom and spackling a new coat of paint over everything; My Father finally got around to doing something he had planned on for over a year and finally removed the kitchen cabinets, the kitchen counter, the sink and the stove last weekend.  What I didn't know was that he would also replace the cabinets, the counter and the sink in the upstairs bathroom, aka my bathroom, as well.

I knew this not because he told me.  No, we don't do the communication thing in this family.  Instead, I was woken up to the sound of unfamiliar voices speaking in unfamiliar tongues outside of my bedroom door, followed by loud banging and, soon, electric saws.  And that's when I came out -- after about, oh, an hour -- to see the kitchen practically laid bare.  If I'm correct, they then went into my bathroom last Sunday and ripped the shit out of that, too.

They started installing some of the new counters last weekend.  The new stove was also put in last Sunday (I think), and the new bathroom counter and sink was put in yesterday.  Unfortunately, they are not done yet.  There is stone to be tiled up around the kitchen still, I guess, and the faucet in the bathroom is not hooked up yet.  Moreover, Father decided to take out the bathroom mirror either Saturday or Friday.

This transition has been a little rough.  Without the kitchen faucet, we cannot clean the dishes the way we used to.  Mother has resorted to using the basin in the laundry room to clean up after dinner, and we all use the fucking bathtub to wash our hands when we're ready to eat.  Without the sink in the bedroom, I have been forced to also use the tub to brush my teeth -- but only sometimes; I find it to be so, uh, primitive that I will go downstairs and use the master bathroom sink to brush my teeth (but again, only sometimes; don't tell my folks, but I don't brush every day!).

The day they took out the bathroom sink (last Saturday?) they turned off the water as well, so I had to go downstairs that night to shower.  Man, what an experience.  A shower stall in and of itself is small.  Moreover, the linoleum tile was either warped or installed (by Father) incorrectly; it bows out, cutting the scarce square footage for me to shower even further.  The lip of the shower was very, very small, and I'm sure water hitting the floor bounced out of the shower stall.  Finally, for some fucking reason the curtain did not stretch from wall to wall.  There was enough of a gap that I had to decide which end I would leave open.  (I finally decided on the end opposite the shower head, to minimize any water coming out through the side.)  Thankfully I only had to do that for one night; Father reconnected the lines the next day.

And that's my main issue with this.  Could the kitchen and bathroom use a new look?  I guess.  I'll be honest: Two of the stove coils weren't working, the kitchen cabinets were well-worn and beat up after a botched polishing job, and the bathroom cabinet was pretty fucking old.  But I could still use them.  Were they rotting and getting eaten up by termites?  No.  See, that's when I would replace those cabinets.  (And by the way, I wouldn't've replaced the stove because I don't cook.)  Don't get me wrong -- what have been installed, some dark apple-wood color ... stuff looks great.  Was it necessary?  It may be the laziness talking, but no.

So why are my parents (actually My Father; I don't know the role Mother has in all of this mess) renovating the kitchen and upstairs bathroom when they really should work on their bathroom, the downstairs bathroom?  The shower could use a major overhaul, if not a complete teardown.  And did I mention that their sink, the one I prefer to use when I brush my teeth, has a handle that spins a complete 360?  I did it once while brushing and I was afraid I made the sink spit out scalding hot water permanently.  (They could take out the toilet too; it has a knack for leaking water.)  It sucks, man.  Plus, why not give themselves a better bathroom?  Forget about me!  But I don't know if gutting the master bath is part of their plans.

I can't wait for this to be over.  Father took out my mirror as well, so I have no idea how I look naked.  One thing has changed: The counter is taller now, which means I can't lift up and rest my foot on the edge of it when I need to trim my toenails.  I was overdue for a trim (toes and fingers), but I had to do it, yes, in the tub.  The light (and that hasn't been taken out yet, though it is as old as the mirror [and I forgot to mention the medicine cabinet that goes with that mirror] and looks very out of place with the modern cabinetry) is behind my back, so I was casting a shadow on the toes that I needed to clip.  I'm pretty sure I did a shitty job.

Oh, I pine for the day I can brush my teeth and clean my cups upstairs!  No living like my parents probably did when they were young kids in China and Vietnam.

Dealing With Strangers Today

Maybe it's not a big deal, but if I reach out my hand after I asked for a paper funnel beyond my reach, wouldn't you hand it to me instead of lying it on the counter?  You left me hangin' like a bitch.

And oh, sir, I apologize.  Yes, that guy behind you, the one who followed you to the window when normal people would stay behind, ATM-style, was insane.  I didn't mean to ignore you; I wanted to overhear what he said to the box office guy because I wanted to know if he was going to watch the same movie I was going to watch.  If he did, brother, I was right behind you out the door.  Again, sorry.

Black Friday Fail

In my previous post I said I was dreading Black Friday -- and I was right. My day/night/afternoon didn't even have to see me get out of bed before it got off on the wrong foot.

I slept an hour before 4 in the morning. I'm usually up, but the two places I had to go open their doors at 5 and 6 a.m., just when I'm about to go to bed. And since I had to work that morning, I needed to get in as much pass-out time as I could. Which was an hour. And the alarm didn't wake me -- my Grandmother, Buddha bless her, did. She burst through my bedroom door. She had turned the hallway light on, so when she startled me awake, she looked like the Virgin Mary, scaring the shit out of me.

She said she thought I had already left. I didn't, and now I wish I hadn't agreed to do this for my parents. Closed my door again and just laid back in my bed, quietly stewing over what I was about to do and feeling so tired I wish I was dead. I only wanted to pity myself for a few minutes before I got up out of bed, but my Grandmother, ever vigilant, walked up to my closed door and said, "You've got to get up." To which I replied, "OK, Grandmother, I'll get up when I want to!!!"

I heard about Black Friday bringing out the worst in people, and I didn't have to be awake to prove it was true.

I rolled out at about 20 after, got to Target a half-hour before opening, a little later than I wanted to. Couldn't believe there were so many cars at 4:30 in the morning. Then I got to the parking lot and drove up to the line; it was long already. I had to drive past the line, then park and walk past the line, to appreciate how long it was. I estimate I was the 250th person in line. Longest line I've ever been in, even longer than the rides at Disneyland.

The kid who got in line just in front of me told me he was at Herberger's, which opened their stores at 3. He was fighting with a woman for a comforter and she hit him right across the face. I feared this: Black Friday violence. I remember the poor Wal-Mart worker who last year was trampled to death by these sick humans. Sick humans like this bitch who hit this poor kid. Sick humans ... like us. Like me. Fighting for cheap stuff you want with other people doesn't change a person; it reveals who that person really is.

(I didn't tell him, but when I saw the kid pulling ahead of me in the race for the end of the line, I thought, just for a second, "I have to cut in front of this fucker.")

Actually, he and the two people ahead of him were really nice -- comiserating on Black Friday horror stories, what Target will do, what we want to buy, etc. I was a dick; when one of them asked me what I was going to buy, I declined to tell her. I'm a dick. Talking with them killed time and made me forget it was in the twenties in the wee hours of the morning.

There was no trampling when the clock struck 5, thank Buddha. But I did start race-walking once I got inside. Target did a great job preparing us while we were queuing, giving us a reusable bag with a map of where to find their door-buster deals. And the corner is where the 32" LCD TV my parents want was.

I quickened my pace once I got to the hall where the TV's were. I saw carts with one, even two TV's. My parents wanted two TV's, and when I got there, I saw two TV's.

Is there a limit?

Is there a limit? ... No, there is no limit.

And then I heard someone behind me: "He can't take two TV's."

And here I was, at the Janus point. What was he going to do? Was I going to ignore him because it's every man for himself at Black Friday? And then I had a practical question: How the hell was I going to carry two flat-screens to the register without a cart? I really wanted to try, but in the end I decided I didn't want to get this stranger pissed at me to the point where he'd cold-cock me while I was dragging both TV's down the aisle and take both of mine. So I gave one of them up.

And then another guy, right behind him, with a cart, says, "Aw, I needed a TV."

Fuck, what do I have to not piss you people off? And I don't even fucking know either of you! And now My Fucking Mother will ask me why didn't I get two fucking TV's, and I'll have to lie to her, but she'll have none of it. Goddammit, if you want these TV's so fucking bad you'll endanger your life to some stranger you'd probably get along with under any other social interaction, go fucking do it yourself!!!

Anyway, bought the TV for $250. Sweet deal, but are Westinghouses good?

---

Had to go to Menards too. They opened at 6, about 45 minutes after I got done with Target. Fortunately or unfortunately, it was across the street from Target.

Should I go home and dump the TV? I didn't want anyone who didn't get a TV to stalk me all the way to Menards (in case they too were going there) and do some bad shit to me or my car. But I saw this line grow when there was none at 4:30. I couldn't do it in case the dozen items My Father wanted me to get for him were gone.

The line was shorter when I hopped in; about #125, I guesstimated. The guy behind me was thin, old with white hair, and wearing camo. For much of the 35 minutes we were in line he was kneeling and gazing off into the distance, as if he was hearing Custer's cavalry coming.

I really didn't think there would be a line for Menards. I mean, it's Menards, a hardware store. Why would anyone want to pour into a hardware store for stuff at 6? But I guess a deal's a deal. Which meant that this queue was more dangerous. Target customers are kids on their skateboards who want to buy Call Of Duty, or moms who want a new set of linens. Menards customers are men. Men and lesbians. The woman in front of me, the one I made very small talk by ragging on a car that was making a lot of shitty noises as it drove past us, had a really, really masculine voice. If we were fighting over a cordless drill, she would've poked my eyes out with her dick.

The line grew exponentially behind me. There was an edge to the parking lot that was fairly close to me, and the tail hit it soon after I lined up. Then a Menards employee came out and probably forced the line to snake somewhere around the corner to make more space. And yet the line grew further and further. Lines are long, but when it gets so long that it bends, that's when you go, "Damn, this is a long line!" Yes, I understand that a long that remains straight infinitely is by definition long. But when it reaches natural obstacles that in turn shape it, that means it's too long and has to be contained and controlled. Like this one had to be.

Menards was not proactive; there were no bags or directions to hot items. Moreover, Target did a clever job of forcing the beginning of the line to go behind this huge wall and an extended row of planters. Menards had set up several posts with crime scene tape, but it ended several dozen people ahead of me. That's important to note because, shortly before the doors opened, I noticed several people waiting at the front of the parking lot but not headed to the end of the line. No! They're going to cut in line!!

And they did once the clock hit six. Well, I vividly remember a couple of bitches going around the last stantion and joining us. They put their heads down as if hoping none of us would notice. But we all did, stupid. Only a few us catcalled them: "Hey! You cut in line! Go back to the end of the line! Be a grown-up!" I was not one of the catcallers. But in a different mood than the one I was at then, I could've.

This time I really needed a shopping cart. There was some pushing and shoving. When I saw those two cunts that cut in line grab a cart from an employee, another guy rushed right in and took it from them, saying something to the effect of, "You cut in line, you don't get this cart!" They got another one anyway. It made little difference, and yet I agree with the principle of what he did. Fairness, that's all. But in that ephemeral act of Black Friday Justice, I saw the dark side of me, a side I know I've shown to the world often, a side I was ready to wield as a weapon if provoked for something as little and as stupid as the last pair of fucking dark socks. There were so many goddamn people in the store, by God, that I could've been ten times as worse as those two rude women or that vindictive man. That anger, that acceptance of the use of force to get what I want, that is in me. That is me. And I hated seeing the monster side of me reflected in that little exchange.

Men don't want to ask for directions, yet they generally don't want to shop longer than they have to. Those two facts don't reconcile, and that's brought into sharp relief on Black Friday. You either are left alone to get your shit, or you get out as soon as you fucking can, but not both, not today. So I did what I think many of the guys (and lesbians) did; I just went up to the first worker I saw and asked him or her where this product is. Once I got that, I went up to another employee and asked where the next item in my shopping list is. I still couldn't get anywhere fast because of the crush of rabid consumers; hell, waiting in line to check out took about 40 minutes -- but I really would've gone postal if I didn't ask for directions. Maybe I should do that more often.

By the way, a nice young woman piling in line for one of the checkout registers handed me the box of plastic food containers, the last item on my Menards list. There can be civilization amid the chaos if you find it.

There were at least four lines leading to the checkout lanes. How can people shop at this place Black Friday morning? But everything went well, and no one tried to steal the knockoff Snuggies and puffer coats out of my cart while I wasn't looking.

Look, the first time I do anything I anticipate with loathing because I fear the unknown. Once I face all the bad things that could happen I feel prepared for the next time I do it. But not this. I got some great deals, but there's nothing, and I mean nothing, that would interest me so much that I feel I would have to line up early in the morning to buy it. And fend my way through other people -- and potential get into a fight with someone -- just so I could get my hands on some material goods.

I do this for my parents, but for no other reason. And they can clean up my room if one of these Black Fridays I wind up murdered by a guy who really wanted those $2 slippers for his wife.

I Don't Know If I Blogged About This Creep Before, But I Must Now

There's this professor who works on the same floor as I do. Always struck me as weird; the few times I pass by him he has this disinterested, slightly bemused look, like he knows something you don't and he wants to tease you with it. During the summer he wore jean shorts -- never a sign of a sane man. And the only time he's even acknowledged me was when I got off the elevator and started walking behind him. He looked behind me with this, "What the fuck?" look and said, "Hey." I said, "What's up?" in my passive-agressive defensive way.

Well, today I just took my usual potty break, except I didn't need to defecate. Just as I start washing my hands this creepy fucker comes in. Now, I think I've described some of this men's room before, so forgive me if I describe the urinals again. There are two of them, right inbetween the two bathroom stalls and the two sinks. I was washing my hands at the sink next to the urinal. Now, you'd think he'd go to the urinal further away from me and the sink. Turns out, he didn't. I didn't know he did that while I was washing my hands; however, just the thought that he was right next to me, violating all unspoken yet clear rules of men's bathroom etiquette, squicked me out.

I kept thinking things to do based on this asshole. Should I wash my hands faster? Would it seem like I was scared of him if I did? Three towels like I usually do or two? And can I use a towel to turn off the water, like health experts say you should do, especially now given the cold weather and the unexpected attack from H1N1 swine flu?

I just did my thing as usual, taking time to wash my hands thoroughly and getting three towels, all the while trying to act like he doesn't scare me. But this guy, he washes his fingers for, like, a second at the sink I didn't use -- the one next to me at the towel dispenser -- then reaches for the towels just as I was grabbing my customary third towel. Whoa, Invade Space Guy, wait your turn! He takes just one towel, wipes his hands for a millisecond, then cuts past me to leave.

Maybe I'm overreacting. As someone last month told me, If this angers me, what exactly is my trigger? Well, I need to think about it, but if I have to answer right now, it's just that this guy bugs the shit out of me.

And I'll have to see him again and again and again and again. ...