“Greg, do you file taxes?”
Holy fuck. I gotta get a new job.
Sweet mother of god, this same person just walked into the office with roach coach chinese. It smells like someone dumped ammonia into a bucket, put a gout-ridden foot into the bucket, peed on that and finally dumped some general tso’s in. Imma throw up.
That kid looks just as happy as any third-generation trustafarian rolling about in a $900 stroller with anti-lock brakes and satellite radio. Myself, and everyone I know, were pushed around in these things in the late seventies. We came out just fine. Yeah, just fine.
The only super power I wanted as a kid was the ability to stop time. Ok, I also wanted to fly, wanted x-ray vision and wanted to be invisible. But, stopping time was tops on my list. If you could stop time you could do whatever you wanted: see boobies, drive fast cars, steal a bunch of money, punch a jerk in the face, whatever you wanted. The possibilities are really limitless.
I decided today that I still kinda want this power. Mostly because some assface just said this to me:
“So, when are you gonna leave this dead end job?”
Well asshole, I’ve submitted a shitload of grad school applications, but when I get rejected from all of them I’m not really sure what I’m going to do. But, thanks for asking in the rudest way possible. You fucking idiot.
But, I’m getting off track here. I was talking about super powers. Basically, if I had the ability to stop time, I would’ve done so, picked this harpie up, put her in a trash can and walked away. Maybe I would have waited until I caught her walking really fast. Then I could have stopped time, positioned her directly in front of a wall and restarted time. People walking into walls is always funny.
While my primary motivation for wanting this power, petty vengence as opposed to a sophomoric bacchanalia, has changed a bit…I still want this shit.
So, I get to work with some interesting people. Most of them are strong evidence in the case against natural selection. Frankly if such a thing existed, most of them wouldn’t have survived beyond their teens. One of my favorites, and a shining example of all things wonderful about my workplace, is a spunky gal who goes by the self-ascribed nickname of Bootsy*.
She stole my heart when she threw a party a couple years ago. The party flier was a thing of beauty. It featured sexy glamour shots of the host and asked attendees to bring “donations”. The donations part is funny because this wasn’t a fundraiser. Well, it wasn’t a fundraiser for anything other than Bootsy. I can’t really express how awesome this flier was. I should have scanned it and started a web site devoted to this flier. I should have gotten it airbrushed onto a license plate for the car I don’t own and gotten it tattooed on my ass. It was that good.
I’m writing about Bootsy today because one of my favorite quotes from her is the following:
“Oh, I am a personal trainer. I do it out of my house.”
Now, I guess I should mention that Bootsy is a good 20 pounds over weight. And not 20 pounds over some crazy bullshit ideal of a rail-thin woman. She’s 20 pounds over what a healthy person of her age should probably weigh. Also, as a personal trainer, she makes some interesting food choices. Today, I watched her make a tuna salad (I could smell the spackle of mayonnaise) sandwich on Wonderbread. This thing was piled high with arterie clogging goodness. I guess that wouldn’t have been so bad, but 20 minutes later when I went back into the lunch room she was preparing another vile sandwich.
Bootsy, my hat is off to you, your flier and your misguided thoughts on health and nutrition.
*I changed this just a bit for obvious reasons, and because I’m not 100% sure what the actual nickname is.
