NO, NOT HOOTERS!!!

Heard it on Common while working yesterday/Thursday afternoon: Hooters and The Mall Of America is closing for good.  Last day's next Sunday, the 22nd.  Goddammit.

First things first: I have kind of an obsession with stores that have been at the Megamall from the start.  (The store can't move from its original footprint.  Also, it can be renovated, but it might not count in my eyes if it, say, closed down in order to make those renovations.  Length of time is important in this case.)  Hooters was one of them.  With it being gone, what's left?  Macy's?  Nordstrom?  Cinnabon on the 1st floor?  That alpaca place that somehow stays in business?

But I am sad about what I think of as an institution closing down.  That breastaurant made me a man.  I'm joking.  Well, only half-joking.  Well, that half-joking part is perverted as hell, because going there was the first time in my life I felt good about being proud of looking at gorgeous women dressed daringly (or at least how I thought daring was at the time).  I think the first time I went to Hooters I went with my high school buddies.  My friend noticed that our (hot) waitress was stuffing a pack of cigarettes in her fanny pack, and I thought that was the hottest goddamn thing ever.

Hooters MOA overcame a flurry of sexual harassment lawsuits early in its tenure to just be the place teenage boys go to begin to get in touch with their heterosexual desires, and for parents to bring their boys to prevent them from becoming gay.  I went from time to time to ogle, of course, but there are a few servers there that I'm familiar with.  No way are we friends or anything, but I think that we are acquainted enough that whenever we see each other, we smile, and that's great.  My "relationship" with Hooters was cemented over the past several years once I decided to buy the Hooters calendar every year and, if possible, get it autographed.  It was nice to have the sexiest Hooters girls sign.  I even took the calendar to other parts of the country if I were vacationing so I could have other Hooters girls in other branches sign it.  And, of course, I came back ... well, not because of the food per se, but for the coupons that came with the calendar.  If I spend $15 when I visit this month, I get a free dessert.

I planned on going Thursday to get that free dessert, and to watch the actual start of March Madness, but now I must go.  And I probably will go that Sunday too, its final day.  Thirty-three years, man, a third of a century, and they said it wasn't making enough money.  I will miss the fuck out of that place.

You know, come to think of it ... I know the perfect place to replace Hooters -- Twin Peaks.  Same concept, they're growing (the company, not my dick), and even though the closest stores are in Fargo and Omaha, it might be time to bring one to the Twin Cities.  And who knows, maybe those Twin Peaks girls will do things beyond my wildest dreams.  No, probably not.  But a lonely hetero perv can dream, and Hooters allowed me to do that.  RIP, Hooters Megamall.

Toxic Male At Work

Friday was one of the days where I hate customer service, and cringe when I remember that I was not told there was customer service when I got hired for this job.

It didn't happen to me, but to my co-worker.  I was going to go back to my work when I overheard her being interrupted by someone over the phone.  After several seconds where she was just listening, she slammed the phone down.  That got the attention of my other co-worker, to whom she had to say that she was confronted by someone when all she was asking for was information missing from the form.  What was really bad was that he immediately called back, to which she declined the call.  And then this piece of shit called again, and again, and rightly so, she declined the call.

I hate that this happened to her, and I really hate that this prick obviously got bent out of shape over something that pretty much every other person we have dealt with has just, well, answered.  I don't know exactly what he said, but it clearly upset my co-worker, so I don't need to hear it.  I asked her to hand over this asshole's contact information so I know who I'm dealing with if I ever have to deal with him.  I mistakenly threw it away, but I remember the name, the area code, and the client he was working for.  I hope that's enough.

I wonder why people are like that.  Then I remember that, even though I want to think I would never lash out like that, I have been upset at people.  And I was upset because something didn't go my way that I thought should.  Yet in the wildest reaches of my imagination, I could never scream at anybody if someone called me in a similar situation.  How could he feel so attacked, so hurt, over being asked for more information?  The fuck is wrong with him?

The only thing I wish I could have realistically done (because I want to get this fucker fired) is asking my co-worker if I could do calls for the rest of the day.  Instead I volunteered to take something off her plate when I should have taken the task that upset her.  I hate calling too, and this toxic male is the reason why I shied away from helping her in that regard.

Ah, Men Who Aren't

So Saturday night, after working the Gopher football Game, I was hanging out with a couple dudes downtown who saw our alma mater's football Game.  They left, but I wanted to hang out a little while longer.

I was standing up scrolling through my phone.  I was the only one of this table that had three chairs; although it was busy, there were other tables around me.  One that was occupied was occupied by a lot of people.  I didn't notice that another person joined them.  He apparently wanted a chair.  He saw the one that was next to me.  And he just took it, and used it to sit down with his friends.

No, he didn't ask me.  And he should've.  Sure, I wasn't using it.  But it was obvious that it was a chair that was at a table I was at, so a quick, "Hey, you using this?" would have sufficed.  That was too much to ask of this guy, who sat his incel ass down and, I think, began scrolling through his phone.

---

It was a bear to drive down the Megamall Black Friday.  The on-ramp to the first highway I hit was backed up, the drive into The Lowry Tunnel was backed up, and my God, the traffic to park at MOA was backed up for half a mile.

I finally parked.  I'm walking in, and I hear these clomping footsteps behind me.  There's this tall White dude who has this IDGAF attitude coming up behind me.  I fling the first door open for him; he keeps it open while not saying thanks.  At this point he's about to clip my heel with his toe, so I open the second door for him.  He doesn't say thanks; he just keeps striding, almost leaving what looks to be his kids in his dust.  I sarcastically give him the thumb's up; it's only comeback I can think of to let him know what I feel about his fast, intrusive walking.

---

There has been a school of thought that video games cause violence.  That idea has been debunked by researched a long time ago, even though I think a lot of people still cling to the notion.  But there has been very small evidence that video games cause aggression.  There are some studies that note a correlation, especially in the short term.

I'm going to be so bold as to believe that video games do cause aggression, and not just in the short term.  I think that the advent of video games coincide with societal coarseness.  I believe that more people have become dicks since video games became popular.  I will go out on a limb that these two arrested development motherfuckers play them, and as a result have no manners and go about life thinking everything's about them, they don't have to wait their turn, and they do whatever they want, fuck everybody else.  A lot of people are like that now, in this country and around the world.  And that's also partially why Trump's in office -- well, that and Russian interference (which Trump asked for, which is illegal) and Musk and social media (also illegal).  And while aggression isn't the same as violence, the former can easily bleed into and beget the latter.  That would be a correlation, wouldn't it?

People scoff at calls to ban or limit video games from the youth until their brains are more fully developed.  Those calls have been proposed to curb violence.  I'm going to say it: Maybe video games should be limited as a way to curb aggression, and then that curb on aggression can lead to a curb in violence.  All things are connected to each other, and in a world that is going mad and is hellbent on screwing the little guy, maybe we need to think about doing that.  Then, maybe these supposedly "frustrated" boys will actually grow the fuck up.

I Don't Know Why I Let Her Hurt Me So

So I'm social media friends with this porn star.  We have a mutual friend.  I find her to be engaging and smart.  I also see, from the way she shoots down incels, that she doesn't suffer fools lightly, and as a fool, I was afraid that she would turn her verbal knives on me, and for something that I completely didn't intend.

With that being said, I did have the option of choosing my words carefully, even deciding not to comment on something she said.  And yet, on Facebook, I went over the breach when she posted a screenshot of a text exchange with, er, someone.  This guy started off the conversation (or at least the the first part of the conversation she showed) with something along the lines of, "Well, I'll probably get shot down, but YOLO -- would you go out with me?" to which she replied, "Well, since you started off being so insecure, you definitely will get shot down."  See, I see a lot of myself in this guy.  He needs to put up his walls even if he tries to do something positive because he is afraid, and he knows, that he will get hurt.  I think that's totally understandable.

Therefore, I ventured into her comments section and said something to the effect of, "I think he was only being humble."  For some reason I thought she wouldn't respond.  She is busy working on a film, or something.  Instead, she immediately goes, "WHAT?!"  Ah, whoops.

Just then I imagined myself at a fork in the road -- like, literally standing on the spot where one road splits into two.  I could just not respond, and so she would either let it go or think that I was being a dick who couldn't back up what I said.  On the other hand, I could respond, and either she could be understanding (or, better yet, laugh at my comment) ... or she could totally ridicule me.  Either way, there remains the possibility that she would block me.

With what I thought was a binary choice, I think I actually found a middle path that may have made things even worse.  I replied, quickly, and I thought I had something to say, something like, "So you're telling me this dude, who I assume you've never met, actually had a chance to meet or go out with or even have sex with you, but you shot him down because he expressed self-doubt that someone who is both gorgeous and in adult films would say yes?"  But I thought that I would be saying too much.  Also, I thought time was of the essence; if I didn't say something, she would cut me off at the knees.  So, as a stupid compromise, I went "I just ..." and then I threw up a shrug emoji.  And she replied, "ok weirdo."

Well, I guess I blew my chance to meet or go out with or even have sex with her, too.  But ever since it happened last night, she's been on my mind, and my brain continues to ask why that is.  I have seen her naked.  I have seen her "work."  She's bleepin' gorgeous and can go all night like an incinerator.  But I've never met her.  We have interacted through social media a few times, but I have never met her.  So why is her comment affecting me so much?  Better I put it this way: Why am I letting someone I've never met affect me so much?  It's because she's a porn star, or that she's hot, or that she was nice to me a few times before.  But still, I have to be honest: We've never met.  We are not friends.  So why does her comment to me make me so sad?  I can't be like that.  Otherwise, my day will be ruined whenever someone isn't nice to me.  Well, that actually happens now, but that's something that I shouldn't let happen to me, you know?

I'll try and get over it.  But there is one saving grace to all this.  I would think that if she snaps at someone like she did to me, she would block that person.  It's the Internet, after all, and if she didn't like what I said, it stands to reason that she would block me, for safety's sake or because she's annoyed.  But she hasn't, at least not yet.  Maybe she recognizes my name and thinks, "Whatever, he's harmless."  That probably is the best I can shoot for, and maybe, just maybe, I can think of something more clever to say to her in order to get back in her good graces.  (Gosh, look at me caring what she thinks of me again.)

Drank Three Ciders

Yep, drank three ciders yesterday/Saturday -- one from Sociable, one from Wild State, and Loon Juice.  I don't know if I've said this here on WAF, but I like ciders a hell of a lot more than beers.  Guess that makes me a lightweight or a pussy or not a man.  But I prefer to have some sweetness with my alcohol.  I like sweetness with most things.

That's all I've got to say.

Bad (And Dangerous) Driver: RUK 895

Remember when I asked myself why I don't honk or flash my lights to an asshole who cuts me off?  Yesterday/Wednesday morning is why, goddammit.

This motherfucker does a U-turn onto the right lane.  There is a huge hauler in front of him, so he starts accelerating to get around that hauler ... and in front of me, in the left lane.  I try to accelerate, but goddammit, my car just wasn't fast enough, and this monstrous big black SUV (maybe it's a GMC, I don't know) cuts in front of me.

I still remember what happened last week, so I honk my horn and I flash my lights.  Apparently, this asshole has nothing else to do at 5:30 in the morning, so he starts playing chicken with me, slowing down and changing lanes in front of me.  He finally lets me pass so I can get onto the highway.  I thought I shook him loose because he stayed on the left lane.  But as I exit the cloverleaf, the son-of-a-bitch appears up the on-ramp.  I know he had no reason to get on the highway by the way he was driving.  And as he zoomed past me, I knew he wanted to bait me.  Yeah, I dropped the issue.  I got him driving where he didn't want to, so I was in his head as much as he is in mine.  He went way down the highway, and I took the next exit.

And I hope that's the end of it, but I don't know.  I got his license plate, but because he got behind me, I'm sure he's got mine.  I didn't get a look at him, though, because that only pisses road rage drivers even more.  This goes beyond annoying and into dangerous.  I admit that I was scared driving home, and am scared that he's looking for me, not just today but for the next few days, at least.  (I'm paranoid enough to think he's already looked up my license plate and knows where I live.)  I'll drive a different route for the next week or so, just in case.

Moreover, though, I am disappointed with my car.  I really thought it would accelerate when I asked it to, but for some damn reason, when I stepped my foot on the gas, it didn't pick up speed.  Did I not press it down all the way, or is my car getting old?  Either way, it's embarrassing.  I know that I swore I wouldn't do stuff like that again, but ... well, I guess I was hoping I could recapture my masculinity on the road when I felt it was threatened.  Maybe more than the possibility that someone might go out of his way to kill me, the takeaway I am taking from this road rage incident is that my car may just be a doddering quasi-jalopy that shouldn't go above 70 miles anymore.

Still, I had to report this prick.  Hey, if this guy tags me on the road, somebody has to know who did it.

Since When Did They Care What Time I Came Home For Dinner?

God, I'm racked with so much damn guilt right now.  It was another punishing day at work for me in The Third Department.  By now I am resigned/determined to work way past my eight hours (though that may change soon; I'll discuss that some other time), and so it's been routine for me to call my parents late in the afternoon to tell them I'm coming back some time in the evening.  That was the case yesterday/Friday.  I told them 7, but I was hedging that it could be later than that.  See, it was my last day of the week at work, and I am not the type to leave a lot of work for one of my co-workers to pick up the next day.  We are leaving some work in The Third Department for the next day anyway, but I don't like it when I am faced with a ton of work that I consider to be the previous day's work because it pushes back when I get to today's work, which I also have to dedicate a lot of time to.  And since I don't like it when it's done to me, yesterday/Friday I felt like I could go a ways in order to do my part, and to leave my co-worker with something slightly more manageable so that she doesn't curse me under her breath.

Because of that, not only did I blow through eight hours of work, my set limit of ten hours of work has been obliterated often as well.  Now I'm just staying until I'm damn good and ready to leave.  And yesterday/Friday, I just kept going and going and going until I felt like my co-worker won't be pissed at how much I left for her.  That, however, caused me to stay past 7 -- like, way past 7.

I got done around a quarter to 8.  I called my parents in my car, to which Father told me I could heat up dinner myself.  No problem nowadays; I've done that several times for dinner after my folks have been home.  So I got home, turned off the alarm, and heated up the spaghetti they left for me.  And when they came home a bit later, they asked me why I didn't call to tell them I'd be later than 7.

Dammit.  I got caught up on work that I hurriedly tried to do.  But frankly, it didn't dawn on me to call because there have been several times where I would call, say I wasn't coming home until 7, I get home at around 7 ... and they have left dinner for me to heat up and help myself.  Once or twice they were going out for a walk to exercise off whatever they ate for dinner, which they had eaten before me.  More often, they were just cleaning dishes or scrolling through their phones or downstairs doing whatever they wanted to do.  I don't remember the last time they asked me why I didn't call to tell them I was going to be late, if ever.  And if they have never asked me why, I did not think it was a big deal that I came back 45 minutes after I told them I was coming home, which, again, was a time I was soft on.

Then again ... well, I think I did tell Father over the phone when I told him 7 that if I was going to be late, I'd call.  And I didn't.  And I can tell that Father was a little miffed about it, even though, like I said, I don't remember the last time he wondered why I didn't call to tell them I would be late.  I think it's water under the bridge, but knowing how passive-aggressive My Father can be, and knowing that they are leaving soon, he might think one day in the next couple weeks would be a good time to bust my balls over this, just to shore up his masculinity.

I feel so fucking guilty.  But goddamn, man, since when did they care what time I came home for dinner?

In Fear Of What's About To Happen

I don't want to pussyfoot too gingerly around everything, but I think that when I say I've been in a state of unease since November, you know what I mean.  I think most of my unexplainable anxieties and fears since then has been this existential dread over how delusional and evil other people really are, and how I'm supposed to live once this incompetence and selfishness comes into power in about ten days from now.

I truly, truly believe that there will be a new ... let's just say toxicity that will become a new way of life in America not too far from now.  People will be emboldened now that their guy is the putative leader of the free world, and so I can see assholes drive 100 mph and cut people off on the highway, insult people based on their race and sex and orientation, and make decisions nakedly driven on self-interest.  Not as if they can't already do that now, which only speaks to their fundamental stupidity: They're acting like nice boys and girls now, but once he has the power to pardon them for anything they do, fuckin' watch out!

Because of that, I'm seriously thinking of visiting ******a at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) next week.  If I see her after that, I might run into people who, uh, don't think I have a right to be left alone.  And as for the day itself, I think I will keep to myself -- just go to work, then go home and stay home.  I have to venture out at some point, but not on that day.  Seriously, too dangerous.

How Disrespected Should I Feel?

So I was at my bar for the Game last night.  Probably because it started so late -- but possibly because I would be a little later in getting there because of the concert -- there was one other guy who showed up.  And he left at halftime.  So I did too.  Hey, at least my team won.

But I noticed something, dammit.  We have our alma mater's flag finally hung up on the ceiling of the bar.  But last/Friday night, I looked up and saw that it was covered up by another flag -- a flag for The Edmonton Oilers.  What the fuck???  I don't get the team -- is there an Edmonton Oilers fan club in the Twin Cities?? -- but what really, really bothers me is that it looks as though this flag was intentionally hung right in front of ours.  It's a ceiling; that flag could be hung feet away.  But it was hung on the same ... uh, it's either a pipe or wood, whatever ... that our flag is hung on.

Why?  Somebody wants to troll me?  I have no goddamn beef with The Edmonton Oilers.  So what's the deal with this?  And obviously bar management had to at least give the OK for this cover-up.  How and why did they let this happen?  Or did they want this to happen?

The manager was there last/Friday night, but it was so damn busy that I thought it better to talk to him Tuesday.  I hope there's a good reason for this.  Otherwise, this disrespect is a line too far -- maybe.

Just Like Old Times

The sleep debt I'm accruing over sleeping only 3 1/2 hours overnight caught up with me big time yesterday/Wednesday at work.  I thought the longest hour of work was my last hour.  I was wrong.  One of my co-workers once remarked that the longest hour actually is the last one before lunch.  That makes sense; I haven't gotten my lunchtime nap in yet, so if I'm not awake coming in to work, I'll feel the fatigue worst of all then.  And I did; right before it was lunch, my eyes started to droop real, real bad and I felt my head start to fall.  I was about to pass out, right at my desk, because I was so bleepin' tired.  I was able to snap my head, and thank Buddha it was lunch time right then and there; I got to my car and within three minutes, I'm sure I was out like a light.

The last time I was so fatigued was when I was a temp for Radisson World Headquarters about two decades ago.  I thought my body maturing eliminated situations like yesterday.  I swear, that has been the most tired I've ever been at this job.  Don't want to do that again.

---

Ever since I frightened myself with my bit of road rage when I got caught off in April, I have not revved my engine at all.  Seriously.  I have seen assholes in trucks pass me by and I go, "OK, man, you do you."

But ever since I got a clean bill of my health for my car from the shop a couple weeks ago, I feel the urge to drive like a bat out of hell again.  I have listened to the angels of my better nature ... until leaving work for home yesterday/Wednesday.  Since it was early enough in the afternoon that I didn't think highway traffic had built up yet, I decided to take the fast way home.  That involves taking a right onto a long road that becomes a de facto on-ramp to the highway.

I make this turn just as oncoming traffic, from the left, got the green light from the intersection.  One of the vehicles is, of course, a black truck that is gaining ground on me even though the two lanes were going to merge into one.  I know the asshole wanted to get past me because he overestimated how much asphalt he had, so he accelerated quickly through the other lane.  But fuck that, bitch, I stepped on the gas pedal and made sure that motherfucker had to merge behind me.  Ha!  I had to step on my brake to merge into traffic, but it was worth it!

Takes me back to when I didn't think I had to baby my car.  Hope I haven't hurt it.

---

The Vampire Weekend concert I bought a ticket for was last/Wednesday night.  (Review: VW has a lot of songs I know now.  And Ezra Koenig is a unique kind of frontman, unthreatening and affable.)  They started at 8:30 and ended before 11.  Nowadays, if I had known that they would start and end that late on a school night, I wouldn't go to the concert (I said this in my last blog post), but I was dazzled over Live Nation trying to save face and offering tickets for $25 not too long ago.

I waited out the storm that passed through by taking a power nap that lasted only 90 minutes to which I set an alarm.  (Feel really alert right now, BTW.)  Thought that if it were storming all night I would actually skip the concert, but when I woke up there was a hole in the storm whereby I thought I could drive downtown and walk to the Armory without getting wet.  So I told my parents that ... I was meeting a friend ... and that I would be back by 10, or so.  I think I arrived home around 11:20.

Man, I haven't 1) lied and 2) underestimated to my folks when I would get back home by at least an hour since I just got out of college and they were worried what I was doing with my life.  Man, just like old times!

---

Yesterday/Wednesday was a blast from the past.  Those were the days!

My Fuck-Up, Embossed In Amber For All To See

So yesterday at work I had to pick up for my co-worker, who was there in The Fourth Department.  One of the things she started was an e-mail request to get accounts for some urine samples we had in the lab but hadn't gone into testing yet.  She forwarded me the response from the employer to her.  The person from the company asked for the forms that accompanied these piss samples.  My co-worker's initial e-mail to her should have had images of those forms attached, but sure, I could send them again.

That was in the morning.  In the afternoon, my co-worker forwarded another e-mail from this same person with this employer asking again for copies of these forms.  I thought I had already done so, so I don't know what the problem was.  I then checked another piece of software we use, one that tracks all forms of communication we all need to mark in order to leave a trail of what our company has done to resolve any issue that crops up with our clients.  Anyway, my entry that I e-mailed the employer copies of these forms were followed up by ... e-mails from another department noting that they e-mailed this person copies of these forms.

Why?  Then I read the note this other co-worker left: I had e-mailed the forms not to this person with the company, but to my department.  In other words, I e-mailed the copies of these forms to myself.  And then I realized that I all did when my co-worker forwarded that e-mail request to me was hit reply all ... meaning that because she sent that e-mail to me, when I replied all, I was only replying to myself.  I'm thinking on this now, and I don't know how I sent it to myself, but the bottom line is I didn't send it to the person who asked for it, and ever since I realized that, up to and including this very moment, I think I just made the dumbest fucking mistake I have ever made.

I'm still defensive about this.  I still don't know why this person didn't get the images of these forms when my co-worker first asked her.  And besides, I've never had a request like that the day after my co-worker asked for an account number.  I've got shit thrown on my lap, and sometimes I feel like I'm playing catch-up and this is something I missed, you know?.  If I had been in The Fourth Department all week, would I have fucked up like this?  I don't think so!

But what really pisses me off is this trail marked by this other person with my company.  I don't want people to know that I e-mailed myself.  That's pretty goddamn embarrassing.  But when I open up the record of how we tracked down the account for these samples, there's that note there -- "Client once again e-mailed asking for forms because Unforgivable Wetness e-mailed those images to himself."  And I can't erase that, ever, because I'd get into even more trouble trying to cover up this fuck-up.  Motherfucking Christ, I hope I don't hear another word of this bullshit.

I Did Something Yesterday That Still Terrifies Me

Goddamn my temper.

So I was driving to work yesterday/Monday.  Since I had my timing chain replaced, I've slowed down while driving -- for the most part.  But there was this van that got behind me, then changed to the lane to my left, then merged right in front of me.  Like, "Why are you gettin' that motherfucking close to me, you fucking asshole?!" close.  And I felt violated and attacked and as if my manhood was taken from me, and so I needed to take my manhood back.  So I went to the lane to our left, floored the gas pedal, and cranked my car back onto our lane and right in front of him.

But I didn't.  I did all of those things, but by the time I thought I was showing him up, he (and it had to be a he) moved one lane further to the right, and he was slowing down because he was getting onto the off ramp.  When I saw that I kind of dusted him but he was not in a position to see that I did, I stepped on the brake.  Hard.

I have had bouts of road rage like this before.  Rode my car hard many, many times -- accelerated to close to 100, then cut off the son-of-a-bitch who cut me off and slammed on the brake.  Afterwards, I always felt as though I may not have "succeeded" in showing who's boss, but I felt true to myself in taking back what was taken from me.  But not this time.  I'm not disappointed in myself.  But I am still shaking -- not exactly over what happened to me, but over what I did in response.  Yes, I've done this before.  And yet I can't believe I did this, or allowed myself to do this.

I'm getting older.  My uncle dying probably is weighing on me more than I am conscious of.  But I feel this sense of shame now because of what I put my car through.  It's getting older, and it's not as if I can afford to buy another one off the lot.  And I know that you hurt the car when you suddenly accelerate and suddenly brake.  And oh, by the way, I have new tires on it.  There's a breaking-in period of about 1,000 miles where you should go easy on them, and I sure as hell didn't yesterday morning.  Now, if my car is ruined after this one rush of blood to the head, then this model needs to be recalled for being a piece of shit.  But I can't let this happen again.  And I certainly can't allow this hard driving because of my road rage contribute to a pattern that will ultimately kill my car.

I am under no illusion that I will do what I have pledged to do in this blog post.  This prick (and by the way, the car that almost sideswiped me was a minivan from, I think, a company called Royal Transportation [there was a decal on this fucking vehicle], which I believe is a public assistance transportation company for those who cannot drive themselves, so I believe the driver was someone who was hastily trained in driving) could be riding my ass again this morning.  I am not absolving this piece of shit for what he did to me; I have never had someone merge in front of me so closely.  But that van's gone and I still have my car which I totally abused because this red mist descended in front of my eyes again.  People suck at driving, but I have to walk the line because getting revenge means I destroy the vessel that gives me mobility in this world.

Still have this aching suspicion that I've hurt this car past some irreversible point just because of what happened, though.  In the meantime, I think I will try and drive slowly -- and, Lord willing, let things go while I'm driving.  Just don't know if I will.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#0: Timberwolves (Last Week: -2).  A 3-1 Week.  Lost in Overtime at Boston, but took care of Orlando (on the road) and Portland and The Bastard Buffalo Braves/San Diego Clippers (at home).  That last Game vs. the Clips was kind of dicey, but they managed to stave them off by a 109-105 score.  That keeps them up on The Bastard Seattle SuperSonics for best record in the West, albeit by half a Game.  This team continues to amaze us and, recklessly, makes us wonder what they can do in the playoffs.  A championship -- egad, am I still saying that could happen with the Timberwolves?? -- is still a fantasy for now, but they keep the top spot in the WMNSS.

This Week: At Detroit, then home to The Bastard Vancouver Grizzlies and said Bastard Sonics.  I was offered a ticket by my friend to the Game versus Memphis, but that Game starts at 9.  Really, 9 p.m. local time?  I don't think a Game should start any later than 8:30 p.m.  If I were younger, that would not be a deterrent, but because of principle (as well as needing to get up to work in the morning), my old ass had to decline.  Damn, TV can just say they can play that late?!  Shit. ...

#-1: Gopher women's basketball (Last Week: -5).  This is the achievement I expected out of this club with new Head Coach Dawn Plitzuweit.  They swept both matchups they had this screening Week, routing Michigan in Ann Arbor Tuesday evening, then coming home and barely squeaking by Nebraska yesterday/Sunday afternoon, 62-58, courtesy of a very late Three from Amaya Battle.

That puts this team at 3-2 in the B1G and 13-3 overall.  More importantly, Charlie Creme of ESPN.com, in his latest Bracketology (which was run on the 12th), had the Golden Gophers in the Play-In.  In other words, this team isn't in the "real" tournament -- yet.  It is for this reason alone that I have these players behind the Wolves for the top spot in the survey and not above negative numbers.  That might, and maybe should, change now that they've racked up two Wins.  And they might just be getting started: They're at Indiana Wednesday night and host Michigan St. Saturday afternoon.

#-2: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -4).  This is an instance where the Monday-Sunday screening Week format for 2024 helps a local squad.  The Gopher men's hockey club is able to cut off their Loss to Colorado College on the 7th and get three Wins instead, a payback 6-2 victory over the Tigers on Monday and a sweep of Robert Morris (in their final non-conference series of the season) over the weekend, all at home.  Unfortunately, according to the latest PairWise, the U. ranks 12th, dangerously on the bubble.  They need to rack up some Wins soon.  They host Ohio St. for a pair this weekend.

#-3: Gopher men's basketball (Last Week: 0).  In their only Game this Week, they lost at Indiana by 12, but hey, what are you gonna do?  They are markedly improved from the previous two iterations, and Ben Johnson is doing a good (maybe not excellent) job of keeping in-state talent at the U.

This Week they host Iowa and visit Michigan St.  These two, believe it or not, are winnable Games.

#-4: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -1).  I cannot recall another regular season series that turned out to be such a humiliating disaster for the Gopher women icers than this past weekend where top-ranked Ohio St. came into Ridder Arena and didn't just sweep the Goofers but outright dehumanized them.  They lost by scores of 7-0 and 6-1.  I don't think that program has ever lost a two-Game series at home by a combined 13-1 ever.  And this is Minnesota we're talking about here.  They're the first program to ever build a hockey arena just for its women's hockey program.  And the Buckeyes just waltzed in here and took it over.

This is sad but true: Minnesota is no longer one of the leading blue bloods in top-flight women's college hockey.  It's Wisconsin and Ohio St. (led by Nadine Muzerall, a U. alum, by the way), and then there's everyone else.  This weekend proved that Minnesota is no longer in the inner circle, and I think that's a goddamn embarrassment.  (Hey, can Mark Coyle pony up enough money to bring her here?)

They're at Bemidji St. for two, but I don't know why I'm covering this squad because they're not fucking going anywhere this Year, or any other Year, for that matter.

#-Infinity: Wild (Last Week: -3).  It is exceedingly rare that I give out an in-season -Infinity, but motherfucking goddamn, the Mild certainly deserved it after the shit performance they pulled this screening Week.  They lost every single fucking contest this Week, all four of them, and that's bad enough.  But they also lost both ends of a home-and-home to The Bastard North Stars, and I fucking hate that we act like such goddamn cucks to The That Was Stolen From Us.  WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING PRICE, ASSHOLES?!?!?!  (And I say that not only to the Mild players but also to the Mild fanbase.)  They then proceeded to lose in Overtime to Philadelphia and then got fucking mauled by The Bastard Winnipeg Jets (hey, are they leaving Phoenix or what?) by fuckin' 6-0.  And those last two Losses were at home!!!

These guys weren't too far away from a playoff spot, believe it or not.  Now they're eight Points behind, and by the way they played this screening Week, they don't deserve it.  Yeah-yeah-yeah, Parise & Suter, and all the injuries, blah-blah-blah; the bottom line is that there is very, very little pride being exerted by most members of this godforsaken squad.  I'll go further than that: I totally believe that this passivity is organization-wide and it's because they embrace the name of the Wild and don't give two shits about the history of the North Stars.  They bring back the name and fight for its logo and colors (yeah, they use North Stars colors, but they still plaster that fucking shit-ass creature logo with it) and history, and they wouldn't go through shit like they just did.  Man, fuck this organization.

Four more tilts this Week -- home to the Islanders then away to both Florida clubs and The Bastard Hartford Whalers.  Great; four more Losses to pile on.  Might as well tank, right, boys?

Addendum To: All The Times I Said I Just Had The Worst Day At Work Ever? I Lied -- Yesterday Was The Worst Day At Work Ever

Yeah, as bad as Monday was, yesterday/Tuesday was worse.  Why?  Because my boss decided to blindside me with a move fully intended to prevent me from racking up the overtime.

My co-worker was one of the first people I saw at my desk at The Fourth Department.  I didn't expect her there; she should only be back there to fill in one of the three positions that are regularly filled back there, and they were all, you know, filled.  That's when she told me that she was "helping me out."

I suspected as much, but she confirmed what I thought could have happened when I came in in the morning: That my boss saw that I was working more than he thinks I should be and he was going to put a stop to it.  I should be more generous and say that she was there to "help me out," but there was an obvious ulterior motive on his part, which I am still, frankly, pissed about.

But let me go back to what specifically happened in the morning.  A little later into the day, my boss flitted in and told me his "plan": My co-worker is going to come in when I come in first thing in the morning and we are going to do Fourth Department work together for a couple hours.  This is supposed to happen Tuesdays and Fridays.  What work she did ... well, that was the most immediate of the things that I hated about this move.  What I was going to do first was all the stuff I communicated out Monday.  Any answers I got from clients overnight I was going to look at, process, and send over to the lab.  That is stuff I have always felt was best done by one person.  And now I have another person coming in to "help me out?"  I don't mean any disrespect to her; she's only doing what our boss told her to do.  But I was at a loss as to how she could help.  I actually had to think for a bit before deciding that she should be doing the new work (stuff I didn't touch and therefore wouldn't, frankly, fuck me up).  I was afraid that me telling her to do that wasn't enough to last her two hours.  Hell, I was too busy trying to catch up with my own work, but it felt as though she wasn't just waiting for me.

First of all, I am very upset that my boss pulled this move without giving me a head's-up.  I could have better planned on to what to do if I knew beforehand.  I know that something similar has been going on when it comes to parceling out work when my supervisor started stepping in.  But plopping my co-worker next to me and essentially ordering that we start working together when I didn't have the faintest goddamn clue about this was, tbh, a dick move.  The mental switching of tracks alone took time and mental energy that I needed to do the job at hand, and I didn't like that I needed to stop and think of things I don't think I needed to stop and think for.

Mondays are a shitshow.  There is so much work that is piled up from the weekend that that day is the busiest and heaviest.  It just is.  So yes, it stands to reason that any spillover work into Tuesday could be shouldered by another person.  With that being said, there could, and I want to emphasize could, be a second person to do the work on Mondays instead of Tuesdays.  (And by the way, I don't get why I might need to be brought in to help on Fridays.)

And with that being said, I want to say that, while I appreciate her help, and she did help, I didn't need my co-worker's help yesterday/Tuesday.  I left a few minutes short of eight hours yesterday/Tuesday.  In that quick spiel in the morning, my boss actually encouraged me to leave early.  For some fucking reason he threw out an hour early.  That would have meant I "should" have left at 4:30.  He went ballistic once he saw that I worked ten hours on Monday, and so I do not want to venture a guess at all as to how he feels about me doing "only" eight hours yesterday/Tuesday.

Anyway, if it were just myself yesterday/Tuesday, would I have stayed late?  Yes.  Hey, it's just the work in The Fourth Department.  I remember being stressed and overwhelmed when I started off.  But you know what?  I got used to it.  Like I have said many times before, I hate change until I adapt.  Also like I have said many times before, this position has gotten way easier for me once I knew how most of the processes are supposed to work and remembered to whom I need to talk to to get the information I need.  That is the vast majority of the work, and the source of my throw-my-hands-up frustration when I started this position.  That is over and done with.  This job isn't hard.  It's long, but it's not hard.  And I wonder if my boss understands that I hold this distinction -- or cares.

So I guess I need to get real and get down to the brass tacks of this: I have come to enjoy the extra money I get from working in The Fourth Department.  Let me state this: I do not milk my time here.  Despite what I know my boss believes, I am busting my fucking ass every goddamn hour back there trying to get the work done as best as possible -- but yes, I take my breaks and my lunchtime, too.  My co-worker and supervisor get the work done sooner.  As I have said many times here in WAF before, I don't know how the fuck they do it, but I know that I like how I do my job, and I am proud of my work, and I sure as shit will not change ... and, I will get paid for it.

And I think that's the crux of this matter to my boss.  He is under enormous pressure not to give me OT, and OT is what I have been racking up for many months now.  So he imposes this move.  It may be to "help me out," but I think my boss and I both know that if he weren't under so much pressure to cut costs, he would let me do things my way.  So, what he is doing to force me to take stuff off of my plate represents, to me, another change.  And not only do I hate change, but I hate this type of change, the type that is also going to take money out of my wallet.  I have gotten used to doing this position all by my lonesome.  Frankly, I relish it now.  (More on this on my next blog post.)  I have gotten used to the long hours and the commensurate pay that goes along with it (although I should check my pay stub today at work to be sure I am getting paid for all the hours I have worked).  That is being taken away from me.  And while it is a massive blow to my pride and my manhood, I really don't appreciate the "obvious ulterior motive" I have been talking about all this time: To make sure I work only 40 hours and therefore not be paid time-and-a-half.

The time to "help me out," frankly, was back when started in The Fourth Department, when I was so angry at this job that I wanted to launch my head into the monitors because I was staying ten hours at work.  But that didn't come.  I was left to fend for myself, and while I was and am stressed out, I finally did fend for myself.  And now he's unhappy that I have settled upon my way of doing it.  I guess one could say that he was waiting for me to understand the job to the point where he thinks I should be doing it all under eight hours.  To which I say: Bullshit, if you think you can do the job that fast you are either doing a shitty job or I've been praying to the wrong god all this time.

I have nothing to apologize for.  So frankly, I am afraid my temper is going to get the best of me.  This overtime situation is coming to the fore.  This is my last day of the week in The Fourth Department.  From here on out, I am doing this only half of the week -- another change from what I am used to (although, to be fair, I was told in advance this was the plan all along).  That will allow my boss to tell me to leave early on a Thursday or Friday, presumably, just so I don't work overtime anymore.  I am really going to chafe if/when he tells me that, and on top of this bullshit move he pulled on me yesterday/Tuesday (I stammered out an, "Yeah, I understand," and I shouldn't have said that, but I wanted to not pitch a fit right there and scream, "You just fucking pulled this out of nowhere, man, and I don't appreciate it" instead), I really might snap at him.  I might say, "If you think I'm working so slow back here, maybe you should be honest with me and tell me I'm not working back here any longer.  How's that?!"  I hate how he is now nosing in on this cozy situation I have finally figured out for myself.  He ain't fucking leaving me alone, and that is costing me both my autonomy and my paycheck.

---

Partly because of the work in The Fourth Department and partly because I am mourning the impending part-time change (or change back) away from The Fourth Department, I am going to one of my favorite speakeasies after work today/Wednesday, regardless of how stressful the day is or isn't.  After all the bullshit I got and will get piled on me, I think I am entitled to a drink or two.

Finally Gave Up At Work

Maybe it was the forms that came in Wednesday night that did me in.  There have been a lot of changes going on with the company, and that has rejiggered when I can expect the work to come in from the lab.  Wednesday night, for some odd reason, new work came in at the end of the workday.  Now, it wasn't really the end of my workday, since I once again was saddled with so much stuff to do.  But that new stuff was the final straw.  I couldn't get to that stuff if I wanted to leave at a not-insane hour.  In fact, I was told that new work wasn't going to come in that late into the afternoon.

So, partly to vent and partly to cover my ass, I forwarded the new work to both my supervisor and my boss.  I basically said to them, "What the hell is this?  I can't do this shit this late in the day, are you kidding me?"  And I don't know if they agreed with me, or even thought through my argument.  The cynic in me believes that both of them just noted when I sent that e-mail, which was an hour after I should have left for the day.  And that goes back to my boss' incessant haranguing (though not recently, to be fair) about me racking up overtime in The Fourth Department.

That may have been behind my supervisor telling me when I got in to work yesterday/Thursday morning that she was going to look over my shoulder and ask me questions about how I lay out my day.  This was the "meddling" I feared and hated when my boss started asking me questions about why am I racking up so much OT.  But this week has been a damn bear, with all this work coming in at all part of the day, plus these calls I have to field and work from previous days that had also piled up.  All these changes (which may be the result of the volume of work coming into the building but also may stem from personnel shortage issues) have made this week more of a torture chamber to fight through than any week before.  I did my self-imposed maximum of ten hours Monday and Wednesday.  And the ripple effects of needing to stay late to get work done on Monday, which meant that I had to come back on Tuesday to clean up that stuff, which pushes me tackling the new stuff to later on Tuesday and maybe even Wednesday ... you get what I mean ... all of that made me afraid that this is The New Normal.  And I am such a prideful, or pig-headed, man that I continued to say, "That's fine!  I can do it all by myself -- so long as you leave me alone and pay me for all the work I have to do!"

Till now.  The surge in workload has become a pain in the ass.  And the shifting down of an hour meant that, if I have to stay my self-imposed maximum of ten hours, I need to stay till 7:30.  I did that Monday and I missed the First Half of Monday Night Football.  I did that yesterday/Wednesday, went to Taco Bell to grab dinner, and was lucky to come home in time to see all of the season premiere of The Amazing Race.  I'm not exercising after work as I did, and could do, if I were working The Main Department (which, truth be told, I haven't worked in weeks, if not months).  And I'm tired as hell.  Is this The New Normal?  As much as I need the damn money, I don't know if I can take OT, at least this much OT, anymore.  And besides, my boss's bosses are telling him to tell me to stop staying late.  I hate dictates from on high, but it looks as though they've finally decided to put an end to accruing this much overtime and fattening up my paychecks.

My supervisor remains an angel in my times of strife.  I fully believe she empathizes with me and understands the stress and anxiety of The Fourth Department, especially when you're getting hit from all directions at once.  But she has gotten orders from my boss to get me out of work in eight hours, so, after asking me questions about what I do when and verifying that I'm not slacking off or anything, she's going to step in and do the new work for me early in the afternoon.  If I weren't so frazzled as I am, I would consider this a threat to my ego.  Frankly, though, right now I feel kind of relieved.  The workload of new forms yesterday/Thursday was in no way ridiculous.  I could have handled it all by myself.  But like the other days all week, I had old stuff to resolve and a bunch of phone calls I needed to handle.  I wasn't going to get to the new stuff until well into the afternoon.  It was so bad yesterday that, truthfully, I don't think I could have gotten to all the new forms by ten hours.  But thankfully, my supervisor did the bulk of it.

With that being said, I did nine hours.  It's not ten, like it was Monday or Wednesday, but it ain't eight, which I presume is my boss' goal.  There was a trickle of new stuff that came in late in the afternoon, after my supervisor left, and I believe I had to do them, so I have a ready-made excuse for staying over.  Combine that with all the other correspondence I needed to tie up and the usual end-of-day work to make sure there were no loose ends, and it was 6:30.  I don't know if my boss is going to be OK with that.  What I do know is that the old me would have gone ballistic that somebody was budding in to my territory, but right now, as I type this, I realize that I surrendered and volunteered for more help.  And I am not worrying about my pride or my manhood or even my wallet that I'll do it again.

The Week Where I Get My Manhood Fuckin' Taken From Me

So I sent that e-mail to my boss, right?  Well, my boss replied to me as soon as he got in that Thursday morning and I read the goddamn thing as soon as I got in an hour later than he got in.  You know what he said?  "Good -- I'm gonna put you on a plan!"  And he wrote down a list of benchmarks of decreasing amounts of overtime starting this week.  Fuck.

He has never done something like this, specifically write up a plan to fix something that he says I do wrong.  This is very micro-managing of him, and the fact that he is micro-managing me now really upsets me.  More than that, I feel as attacked -- no, more so -- now with this "plan" than I did with his initial e-mail dressing me down for just doing my work.  Because I am doing my work -- to the best of my ability, and yet as fast as I can do it while paying attention to detail and trying not to screw it up.  It's impossible on most days not to go over eight hours.  I don't know how the other two do it, but if they are finishing within eight hours, they may not (and again, I mean no disrespect) do it as well as I do.  I take pride in my work, and that takes time.  Never more time than need be, but many times it takes more than a typical day.  And my boss is attacking me for it, and thinking it all can be done in a way that doesn't force the company to pay me OT for my honest work.

I think, deep down, what I hate most about this stems from the first step in implementing this "plan": My supervisor is supposed to talk to me about what I can do to shorten my day.  She is the one who taught me everything I know in The Fourth Department, and I still go to her when I have questions I can't answer, which on some days is more than once.  I think I follow what she has taught me.  Anything else is a matter of style and does not, in any way, lengthen my time at work.  So what else can she teach me?  And is there really anything I have forgotten that she needs to re-train me in?  At the risk of sounding arrogant, I say no.  But she is still, at the direction of her/our boss, going to nitpick over my approach and routine and style, and that pisses me off the most.  As long as the work gets done, I don't think anyone has the right to leer over my shoulder and criticize me for how I do it.  And anything she does call me out on I think will really upset me.  It's a "back off, leave me alone" type of deal.  I hope I don't lash out at her, but I think that's going to happen, and now I have to watch my temper at someone who is also just doing her job over something over which I already feel very defensive.

So I will have to deal with that bullshit.  In the meantime, my boss tossed out the possibility that there just may be work that I don't have to do at the end of the day.  I find it irresponsible to just leave work because I'm approaching eight hours.  The information needs to be asked for, and once it's given, it needs to be sent to the lab, posthaste.  There are clients who want to know what's going on, and that's money.  I'm making sure they're happy.  I'm doing my job.  Leaving it for the next day will not make those clients happy.  Moreover, knowing the pile of work that comes in every day, work that carries over from the previous day pushes the work that comes in the morning to the afternoon, and the work that comes in the afternoon gets pushed to the next day.  Again, if this is not a problem with the other two, well ... maybe they're better at this shit than I am.  Maybe I need to find another line of work.  Because fuck knows why I need to be subjected to this humiliation I'm about to walk into.

God, I fucking hate this job.

Monday morning, while I was sitting up on the side of the bed, I sneezed, and apparently I sneezed so, uh, robustly that the snot reached my mirror, which was about a yard away.  And it wasn't just one drop of snot, big as it is; I sprayed it over a good area on the mirror.  And I think that's cool, and a sign of my virility.  I still got it, even though I have never sprayed snot a yard away onto my mirror before!

Wish I could do that when I cum.

Part Of The Lights Kind Of Gone Down

Don't exactly know what hit me, but I got tired by around 10:30 last night.  So I went to bed; if I can't go to sleep, I'll do the things I needed to do in the evening, such as pick up all my receipts and use the lime juice for the cocktail I was planning on drinking then, but if I fall asleep, woo-hoo, I'll have a good night's sleep.

The latter happened.  The good night was ruined by the Mild losing to The Bastard North Stars, but I expected that to happen.  So it's 6 in the morning and I'm wide awake, and I remember that I can catch the early EPL Match on my satellite radio.  I get up and, on the way to the radio, I turn on my space heater because it's a little chilly here in Minnesota ... and it doesn't turn on.  After making sure I had the heater turned on, it appears as though the outlet isn't working.  Can't turn on my SiriusXM receiver either because the outlet it's plugged into isn't working either, which pisses me off because this will be one of the few times I can remember waking up on a Saturday of all damn days early enough to listen to daybreak soccer and can't.

I was worried that I would have to learn how to change an outlet or something.  But I then realized I should check the rest of the house.  I just needed to turn to my right; the radio isn't working.  The lights in my bathroom aren't working, either, as is everything in the computer room, including my main modem.  This is why I have to use my alternate wi-fi.

Don't know why this happens, but very occasionally it does.  I remember it was really bad a couple decades ago.  In the summer, a storm was so bad that it knocked out power in our house.  After a few hours or overnight, the power came back on ... in some parts of the house, but not the middle of it, of all things.  The kitchen lights and, I want to say, the lights right below the kitchen, in the den/game room wouldn't turn on.  That lasted a week.  The utility actually had to come to the neighborhood and do something before everything would turn back up.

I have gone online to report an outage.  I am going out for the day.  I hope that when I come back, everything will be restored.  Don't know what I'll do if it isn't.

Now Everything Looks Like A Nail To Me

OK, so we had a snowstorm overnight.  It wasn't as bad as the previous overnight snowstorm, which forced me to plow in the morning, get to work an hour late, and forced both of my co-workers (who comprised a whole department) to stay home.  It wasn't forecast to be as bad, either, but I think because so many underestimated the previous snowstorm, we all swung the other way and over-anticipated and over-prepared for this one.

So, when I went out and surveyed the driveway, I saw that, while it was sort-of deep, contrary to the weather forecasts, the snow was light and fluffy.  And while I had to gun my car, I was able to back out of the driveway and get to work, albeit slowly and five minutes late.  The snow lightened up from then on, and I thought it wouldn't be so bad as to necessitate the use of the snowblower, but the city got the plowers to pitch the snow off the street and onto the base of the driveway.  I tried gunning my car onto my driveway, and I got it past that barrier and just onto my driveway, but I couldn't get it up any farther.  So, even though I eventually measured the snowfall at less than four inches, I backed my car back out because, turns out, I had to use the snowblower.

Whatever I have said in the past about my snowblower being unreliable, forget it.  It started up fine, it worked fine, it plowed like a beast, and my driveway is clear.  The end-of-driveway snow?  Not an obstacle at all for my blower.  The residual snow that was on my driveway that got icy because of the days of melting and freezing?  Well, some of it is still there, but I know that I was able to slide under some of it and pitch it through my blower's chute and onto either my front yard or the neighbor's front yard.

And yes, I felt like a man again.  Even moreso than I do after all the other times I plowed my driveway , because it took me just about an hour to clear it this time.  Light and fluffy snow is faster to get through, I guess.  Now that I believe my snowblower to be reliable, I do not regret at all using it when I could have, conceivably, just shoveled it all away.  I might use it for the next snowfall even if we get only a couple inches.  Why shovel when I can plow?  It's so much faster and easier on my body.  But maybe that would be overkill.  See, when you get a hammer, everything around you looks like a nail.

I Could've Escorted This Redheaded Babe, But Nope

So I worked a Twins Game for the network for the first time in years, and maybe even a decade (or more) early in the fall.  This was in the middle of the Twinks' freefall from the top of the Division to out of playoff contention.  Anyway, I was just overjoyed I could work for the network in this capacity again.  The baseball team is perennially skinflint, but watching a Game there, and getting paid to watch, is something I hope never to take for granted.

Anyway, when I get to the compound, I see someone who is running alongside me.  For the first time in a long time, it's a woman.  More than that, she's gorgeous.  Good lord.  And she's a redhead, and if I haven't told you yet, I have a weak spot for redheads.  (I have a weak sport for all beautiful women, but I digress again.)

She wasn't snobbish or standoffish.  Actually, she is kind of an extrovert.  I don't do much chit-chatting, but we got to Target Field really early because we were told to, and so during runs to get groceries and coffee, we had a lot of downtime, so we got to talking.  It's something that helps the day go by, and she was quite engaging, but yes, I was talking to her because she's fucking hot.

As I got to know her, though her, uh, quirks came out.  I kind of noticed this first when she wanted to take pictures of the booth the production had for the Game.  She wanted me to take pictures of her -- partially because she just wanted them, but partially because she has dreams of being a field reporter, and sports is one avenue she wants to work in.  No worries, I snapped a photo.  And then another.  And then a dozen more.  And then dozens more.  She asked if I wanted pictures.  I am in no way going to be a field reporter in this lifetime, but to mark the occasion, yes, I asked her to take photos of me.

After snapping, oh, 60 pictures, we went down to the field to make sure we knew how to get there in case we needed to get down there in-Game.  We were at a place not too many people are, so snap-snap-snap we took of each other on our phones.  It was there that she got really, really picky about how she was posed and how the shot was composed.  She was really apologetic about it -- "You know, you're gonna kill me since we already took a few dozen photos, but ..." -- but we soldiered on until she was satisfied.

Later I learned more of her backstory.  She was raised by her grandparents more than her parents.  No shame in that.  But then she got cagey about her age.  I think I was trying to give her advice about breaking into the business I said I was still trying to break into but, just between you and me, have largely given up on.  She's, and I quote, "In her twenties," and I could tell, but I didn't think she needed to be so vague.

---

I thought that was the end of that, and I probably would only see her again when she's doing some local Game on public access.  But for a Vikings Game during the regular season, I saw that she was running.  I have no idea how she latched onto this network, but I saw her beautiful face and smile again.  She was out on the field and I was working in the truck, though, so no small talk.  No matter.  We both had jobs to do.

After the Game, one of her fellow runners, and someone with whom I have worked with a lot over the years, found me in the break room while I was sitting down with a post-Game meal.  He was looking for me because she wanted someone to escort her to her parking ramp, and he wondered if I could do it.  Now, it makes total sense for a woman in downtown Minneapolis to ask for an escort; men are toxic, and you don't know what could happen to a solitary woman downtown.  But ... I usually stay after because 1) I want to eat free food and 2) to wait so the post-Game crowd can clear out of the area.  I hate waiting in a ramp to get out.  Hell, I did that at the end of the Twins Game.  Sorry, won't do that again.  Well, when she came up to ask me herself if I could escort her, I didn't say that.  Instead, I said that I want to eat and wait, and when I'm ready I'll text her -- we exchanged numbers while working the Twins Game -- and if she still needs an escort, let's do it.

I usually stay 90 minutes, two hours after the Vikings Game is over.  It's me time.  But because The Redhead asked, I got done after an hour.  I texted her, "Do you still need someone?"  Never heard back.  After a while, I assumed she found another escort, so I texted her again, "OK, it seems as though you're good.  I'll see you around."  And that was that.

---

But it didn't occur to me that she could work the Vikings again.  And on Sunday she did.  But this time she didn't ask for an escort at the end of the Game.  She didn't even see me until after the Game was over.

When I do have time to myself, I go to a personal bathroom and poop before I leave.  On my way up a couple levels, I saw The Redhead.  I thought she had been released to go home, but apparently she was still working.  I don't think she saw me; she was walking down the corridor but I was at the door leading up to the single bathroom.  When she passed me by, I thought, just for one second, to holler out, "Hey, if you need an escort to your car tonight, I can do it!"  But I thought better of it.  If she needed an escort, she'd ask me.  And quite frankly, I did kind of "reject" her that first time, so maybe she didn't think it'd make sense to ask me again, even though this time I totally would've done it.  So I looked at her fiery red hair and said nothing.

Maybe that was the last time I'd ever see The Redhead.  If so, there is a missed connection I might beat myself up over, from time to time, until I hit the dirt.  Take it, Pharcyde: