give it to me straight

My mom called me at work one day and said a family friend's boss's son needed an assistant for three businesses he was juggling. The family friend put in a great word for me (and they respect her so her recommendation is gold) and he agreed to meet with me. Bam. Just like that. The work seemed decent and best of all, no more working with the public. The only drawback was the pay wasn't great and there were no benefits. But I kept leaning toward no more working with the public.

I kept thinking how it all worked out so well. An office job with recommendation from an insider. And I had a day off from working coming up so I could take that day to do the interview and it wouldn't interfere with my current job. Perfect.

I met the man at his father's restaurant. It was empty because they weren't open for lunch yet. The man, M, was short and overweight, a roly poly kind of guy with a round, young face and closely cropped gray hair. His cheeks and chin jutted out when he smiled. His skin was shiny and ruddy around his hazel eyes. He did not walk but waddled. He wore a shirt and jeans and dirty white sneakers.

We sat down and he told me a little about his businesses. He has three and he also deals with his family's personal finances. His family is rich and they have several sources of income and I guessed he needed someone to help him keep everything in order.

It was apparent from the beginning of our conversation that M wasn't articulate but he was extremely southern. He spoke with a grating country cadence and often raised his voice toward the end of his sentences. He paused several times as if he were trying to collect words from his head before he said them. He mentioned the job didn't necessarily have a title since I would be doing a little of everything. I wasn't worried about job titles, only the duties. Fortunately, they were duties I had done during previous jobs or duties I felt confident I could do if given the proper instruction. It wasn't neurobiology we were dealing with here. I was going to be faxing and using Excel and taking out the trash.

He asked me to tell him about myself and I did and then he sat back, his squat, chapped face stretched into a mischievous grin. He stared up at the florescent lights, again trying to find his words.

"So, tell me this...hm...so basically...well, let me tell you where I'm coming from...what my concern is...it seems to me like you're going from A to Z. You went to college to be an artist and you've got this degree. And now you wanna be a secretary. You see what I'm sayin'?"

I basically explained the best I could, downplaying my crazy, that I had a change of heart after I graduated and wasn't sure if I wanted to pursue art and decided to change my direction. He said he encountered a similar situation after he graduated from college so he understood but he was concerned, if I took the job, I would pack up and leave after two months or so. I assured him I wouldn't do that. I pointed out I've been at my current job for three years now. And if I didn't get that job, I'd probably have to stick with it for another three years because these opportunities rarely come along.

In some ways, I could understand his concern or just curiosity over why I made such a radical change. But in other ways, it made me feel bad, as if he were implying that I was downgrading myself or that the job was beneath me. First of all, nothing is beneath me. The job might be beneath my education but not beneath me. I'm just not uppity like that. And I told him I enjoy being organized and doing office work. It's easy and I don't have to deal with the public and it wouldn't be so stressful that I couldn't work on my writing or even pick up art again on the side.

The problem with my job now is that it's so stressful and dealing with the public gives me such bad anxiety that I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted at the end of the day and have no creative output within me.  I wasn't necessarily aiming to move up as far as a job goes, but just to find something to lower my stress levels.  And that seemed like the kind of job to do it.

And then he said if I were hired, he'd have to get into the mindset of a man doing the job because he envisioned a woman filling the position. I was slightly irritated by that but it wasn't a deal breaker.

The deal breaker came a week later.

do not allow back

This is embarrassing to write about but we're all family, right?  I've talked about all my other mishaps, be they spiritual, physical, and social.  Might as well talk about my professional snafus, too.

When I was seventeen, I quit my job as a florist assistant after dealing with dead people, nearly wrecking the company van (on several occasions), and inhaling second hand smoke from my soot-stained boss.  I quickly moved on to be a cashier at a pharmacy.  Things went swimmingly for six months until I sold cigarettes to an underage girl.  The girl worked with the Alabama Alcoholic Beverage Control Board and several agents quickly swooped in and told my supervisor.  I was fired on the spot.

Now, let me explain.

I was fat, pimply, and insecure.  I didn't have a voice.  I didn't like to "confront" people.  The girl did look too young but I was too scared to say anything.  I felt a rush of nervousness hit me, a bad feeling, but I ignored it because I didn't want to come off as rude or suspicious of her.  Yeah, it was my job to be suspicious and check her age but I didn't think of it in those terms.  I just thought of it as one person dealing with another.

And it was a huge mistake.  All these years later, it still embarrasses me.  No one likes to talk about how they were fired but I was fired for doing something illegal.  I look back on it now and I feel dumb.  All I had to do was ask for an ID but I couldn't even muster the courage to do that.  And because I couldn't ask a simple question, I was fired and it made my life spin in a different direction.

Cut to a few weeks ago.  A former coworker from my current job called me up and told me he had gotten a position as an assistant supervisor at that same pharmacy.  He said there was another assistant manager position open in another city and he said I should try for it.  I immediately thought of my termination and wondered if I could be hired there again.  I didn't want to express that to him, though, because it was embarrassing.  So, I shrugged off his offer and made lame excuses and said I wasn't sure if it was right for me.

The job did sound pretty good, though.  More money.  More hours.  I just had to face that shame again.  I finally expressed my concern to him and he said he'd speak to his store manager to see if I could be hired again.

Two days later, he sent me a text message saying I was on the "do not allow back" list.  I wasn't necessarily shocked but just knowing it was official was disappointing.  There was the smallest part of me that held out hope.  But that hope was squashed, just like it always is.  Just knowing I'm on a naughty list somewhere makes me feel dirty.  Filled with more shame.

It's bad enough that the dumb, huge mistake I made ten years ago still embarrasses me, it's also still holding me back from better opportunities.  I didn't even ask for the opportunity.  In fact, I avoided it  'cause I didn't think it would work out.  Naturally, it didn't.  But it was like the universe had to bring my bad decisions back around to me, another reminder of mistakes and failures, of setbacks and shame.

A week or so later, I walked into that pharmacy to pick up a couple of things.  I had just come from work and I had on a dress shirt and tie.  A man with an unkempt beard and a limp came up to me and asked, "Do you work here?"

"No, I don't," I replied.  "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, it's okay," he said as he hobbled away.  "Sorry for asking."

I wasn't talking to you, mister.

zombie vomit bag

"I have heard it said love endures all things, now I know that it's true, 
stronger than the grave, death can't put it out, here I am, the walking dead, 
still next to you..."
-Showbread, George Romero will be at our Wedding

We decorated Valentine bags at work so everyone could put goodies in them.  Everyone decorated their bags with sticker hearts and puff paint, which is all well and good but I wanted to do something a bit different.

 I designed my bag around the Showbread song George Romero will be at our Wedding.  It's about a zombie who vomits up a wedding ring and realizes he ate his wife.  He eventually finds her, zombified, and they stay together, despite them both being dead.  It's about how love can overcome all things, even death.  It's actually a really meaningful message beneath all the entrails. 

I wanted to draw a vomiting zombie on the bag but then I thought I'd put Photoshop to good use and designed the zombie dude in the program and printed him out.  I taped him to the bag, which gave a nice 3D effect.  And instead of just drawing vomit, I made it interactive so you can spin the vomit around.

 I also created a QR code which links to the song and on the back of the bag, I printed the song lyrics.  So you've got your physical, visual, and auditory interaction, which I thought was pretty neat.

Here's what the bag looks like.

avoidance

I admit I've never been the best at social relations but throughout the years, I think I've come a long way from being painfully shy in front of everyone to being able to crack jokes with strangers on occasion.  As much as I've progressed, I realize I still have roadblocks, like when people converse with me on subjects I don't give a crap about.

How do you squirm your way out of inane topics?  Do you pretend there's an emergency on the other end of your "vibrating" phone call?

"This debt ceiling discussion is fascinating but my son got his penis stuck in the swimming pool filter.  Again.  The doctor said he could circumcise himself the next time this happens!"

Do you feign a bathroom emergency and politely excuse yourself from the topic at hand? 

"My apologies.  I'd love to hear about the grooming habits of your ferret but I've got to go to the john and pinch off a loaf."

Or, as I've been forced to do, do you stand there and take your punishment?

People are always talking to me about their kids or home improvement projects and frankly, I don't give a crap about either.  It comes from place of a lack of commonalities between me and the people I interact with on a daily basis.  I'm weird and I'm into weird stuff.  I don't have kids.  I don't like kids.  And I don't like HGTV so the chitchat about your electrical sockets gets lost on me.

And if the topics are boring, their unbearable, like when people want to tell me about dead animals.

Being an animal lover, I don't want to hear horrific encounters people have had with furry creatures, like how their pet goats were violently ripped apart by a pack of wild coyotes or how their fluffy new kitten crawled into their dad's engine and the mess it made when he started it up that morning or how they hit a deer with their car and it's leg got caught in the carburetor and it was dragged three miles until the tendon finally snapped, leaving the poor thing wailing and writhing in the road.  And then they finish off with h a sensitive, "At least it didn't ruin my paint job."

Every time someone starts up with a dead pet or abused animal, the ASPCA commercial starts rolling in my head and the Sarah Mclachlan soundtrack drowns out stories of slaughtered shetland ponies or drowned puppy dogs.

As I've said before, my job isn't physically hard.  But the mental exertion of pretending to be engaged in conversation with customers wears down on me.  To protect my sanity, I usually tune them out and employ the usual head nods and verbal cues to continue their stories.  All the while, I'm wondering when they will stop, or if they ever will.  Is this my hell?  Replacing the inferno with insufferable stories of potted plants and parenthood?  I just don't have the energy.

It's sad to admit I often evade these types of people.  If I see them coming (or in some cases, hear them, because their incessant laughing is so booming), I hide behind fixtures or walk in the opposite direction.  I've even ducked into a fitting room like I'm dodging a grenade and waited there, holding my breath until I hear them pass.

Now imagine having to do this dance daily.  And imagine getting caught like a fly in a spiderweb of stupid stories, tightly bound by social niceties, squirming on the inside but knowing it's futile.  You stand there and give up, laugh out loud and let the poison infect and numb your skull.  

english is my second language

While at work a couple of months ago, my high school AP English teacher came in to shop.  I walked up to her, excited to tell her about my newly acquired passion for writing.  I haven't seen her since I graduated high school in 2004 and thought she'd be happy to hear about my venturing into her field of expertise.

After we caught up for a bit, I told her I liked to write now and she smiled a small smile and I told her I was even published in my college's literary journal.  Not a huge deal but it was something.  A good start.  I might have made a misstep, however, because I said her class helped me enjoy writing and I thought my writing grew while under her guidance.  I even bragged a bit and said I thought I wrote some pretty good essays during the times I had her in 11th and 12th grade.

She smiled again and mentioned my science teacher's daughter, who was one grade above me.

"Yes, I still remember her essays.  She was one of the best students I ever had."

I didn't understand why she chose to compliment some random girl who had nothing to do with me but I pressed on and casually asked her if she would like to read some of my writing.  She was retired by this time and so I thought not only would she have the time to read it but I hoped she'd be interested to see how I've grown as a writer.

Instead, she let out a sigh.

homewrecker

Several days ago, work girlfriend (WG) told me she and her fiance got into a big blowup...over me!  She said her fiance picked up her phone and noticed a text message sent by me and he got jealous.

I mean, I can't help she wants deez nuts, ya know what I'm sayin'?

Just kidding.  But he wasn't happy about us sending each other text messages and she actually stood up for me and said she's known me longer than him and I'm her favorite person to work with and he was just going to have to deal with it.

I was surprised.

But his unhappiness must have affected her to some degree because the texting has decreased.  And since the holiday hours are over, we don't work the same shifts and therefore don't have lunch with each other anymore.    

I actually don't mind.  Her constant texting got in the way of me writing and working out and stuff so it's a bit of a welcome relief.  The only problem is I'm hesitant to text her anything at all, even if it's work related, because I don't know when her fiance is with her and if he's going to pick up her phone and get upset.  I definitely don't want to be the cause of their problems...but I have to admit it's interesting to have my name on lovers' lips.

For so long, I've walked around impervious to passion, my solitary status set in stone.  I was not the object of infatuation or jealousy.  And now I kind of am.

But things are definitely changing.  The mutual enjoyment of each other is slowly fading. 

I expected it, knew it was only a matter of time since she "announced" her engagement.

I'm fine with it.  There's plenty of deez nuts to go around.

job limbo

Last March, a co-worker of mine walked up to me with the biggest smile on her face.

"Heeey, what's up?" I asked, unnerved.

"I have a question for you and I want you to keep this between us."

"Okay..."

"I know I'm not supposed to do this but I am starting up a business and I want to take you with me."

"SIGN ME UP," I said. I didn't know what the business was. It could have involved me fisting dwarves on the Internet for the website humantootsiepop.com. I was up for it.

She smiled even wider. "Excellent!"

victor/victim (i love to complain)

The co-worker who played the race card all the time also called me out the other day.  I said something about how he and the other co-worker who moonlights as a preacher had all the luck with customers.  They always ran into receptive individuals who treated them warmly while I got stuck with the disgruntled, disheveled, and diarrhea prone.

He smiled and said, "Come on, man.  You play the victim."

His words struck me like a slap to the face because that's what my counselor said to me when I was in college.  At the time, I thought my counselor was full of crap and didn't understand what I was going through.  And here was this guy, having only known me for a couple of weeks, giving me the same diagnosis.  He already had me pegged.  Am I that transparent? 

Maybe I am.  Maybe I do play the victim and it's something I've subconsciously done and I never realized it and yet it's plain to everyone else.

It's painful to see myself like that but it's also necessary if I want to correct it.  In some ways, I feel I've made peace with my pain.  We are all hurting.  We didn't choose to be born but yet we were thrust into this cruel world.  We are all victims but some are just more vocal about it.  No one's pain is more important or unjustified than anyone else's but we continually negate other people's negative feelings.  Sure, I agree some people do have it worse than others.  I've said multiple times that I don't even have it that bad.  But does that mean I should strap on a smile and act like everything is fine?

I think there's a fine line between being grateful and being gross about it.  At the end of the day, if we and our families are safe and can feed and clothe and house ourselves, we really have nothing to complain about.  And yet, we all complain.  And then we get annoyed when other people complain.  How many of us really examine our situations and realize we have it better than probably 90% of the planet and then and immediately put an end to our own rants?  I'd venture to guess not many, including those who complain about others who complain.  It's all relative, really.

I complain to vent.  Sometimes, it's how I get through the day.  It doesn't mean I'm not grateful for what I have.  It doesn't mean I think I have the worst life ever.  But sometimes I get pissed off about things and I need to express that.  I express myself.  I complain.  I piss and moan.  It's what I do.  It's what feels good.  And I'm darn good at it.  But it's not all I'm about.  If I had something good to express, I'd express that, too.  It just so happens I haven't had much good to express lately.

And just because someone seems like they have it all together, don't make the mistake of thinking they actually do.  My outside world might seem fine, but on the inside, it's on fire.  It's not so much a physical suffering but an emotional/spiritual one that not a lot of people outside of my blog have access to.  It's that silent and unseen slicing that gets a lot of people.  It's the hurt hidden in plain view.  It's the fear of the consequences of complaining.  We are taught to get up and get over it.  Quit yer cryin'!  Stop yer complainin'!  There's starving children in Africa, for God's sake!  We should be grateful we can breathe, they say, even if we're inhaling hell.

Ultimately, I think a lot of us can be less whiny, including me.  And a lot of us can be more compassionate as well.

I've tried to be more accepting of the nature of my being.  Some people are just more unfortunate than others but with bad luck.  Some are unfortunate but the odds are in their favor.  Some people are naturally happy and some are born bleeding.  Yep, I'm the hemophiliac.  I've made a conscious effort to stop blaming God for my troubles.  It's conceited to think he'd single me out and send a mack truck full of crap barreling into me.  At best, he loves me.  At worst, he doesn't care.  Either way, it's not helping my condition.  What is love without action?  If I don't know about it, does it really count?  Not in my opinion.

I'm just trying to learn to take the blows and keep it moving.  And I complain to get some of the pain off my chest.  It helps and I don't care.  I don't have to justify  myself to anyone 'cause no one knows the extent of my imbalanced brain.  But I try to justify myself anyway.  And I vent to people because I want them to know I'm not a victim and bad stuff really does happen to me.  I point out specific examples, sometimes as they happen, to show them I'm not making it up or playing a role.

But am I trying to convince them or myself?  

vent-ricles

Feel free to skip this as it has no significance other than me ranting about retail and who really gives a crap?

my lorazepam says i'm happy for you

"We'll never be the same, never feel this way again
I'd give you anything but you want pain
 little water please, I taste you all over my teeth..."
-Jimmy Eat World, Just Tonight...

"She'll break your heart like she broke mine
bipolar, baby, make up your mind..."
-Forever the Sickest Kids, Bipolar, Baby

Wednesday at work, I had lunch with work girlfriend (WG) as we tend to do when we work the same shift.  Everything was fine and well until we clocked in to go back to work and a coworker walked toward us.  The coworker pointed to WG's hands and said, "Why are you hiding that?"

I looked over to see what the coworker was talking about and WG, who conveniently had her left hand covered with her right, uncovered lefty and held it up.

The coworker looked at me and said, "He did a good job, didn't he?"

Confused, I didn't reply.  I just looked at WG.  She held her left hand closer to me and pointed to a shiny silver ring.

"What's...that?" I asked, still confused.

"I'm engaged," WG said.

And my reaction went a little something like this:

"Da fuck?"

black fried day

I'm full of cake and milk and malice so bear with me.

Thanksgiving wasn't as terrible as I anticipated.  We usually all congregate at my dad's mother's house, as per tradition.  But, through the years, every time one of my male cousins reaches sexual maturity, he knocks up some girl and then has to visit her relatives for the holidays.  This has led to a decreased number of relatives who come over.  Fine by me.  This year, it was mostly my sister and me and our cousin and his boyfriend.  We all sat in the living room while the relatives with children sat in the kitchen and the older relatives sat in the dining room.

My sister and cousin mostly talked about drinking.  I don't drink so I didn't have much to add to the conversation.  And as much as I might have residual ill feelings toward my sister, she's quite the comedian.  My cousin's boyfriend really took a shine to her with her quick wit and sardonic delivery.  I'm telling you guys, she's more cynical than I am.  But she's funny so she can get away with it.  I just sat back with my lemon pie and listened.

At one point, some random toddler waddled in and went over to where my sister was sitting and just stared at her.  Shannon visibly tensed up as the little girl bore a hole in her head with her inquisitive eyes.

"Who is that?" I whispered to her.

"I don't know but she's freaking me out."  Then, she got up away from the girl, cringed, then sat closer to me.  The little girl kept staring.  Shannon kept freaking.

I'm telling you guys, she' dislikes kids more than I do.  She's a bitchier, female version of me.  I can respect that.

Black Friday wasn't as bad as anticipated, either.  Had to be there at 6AM instead of the usual 3:30AM.  I did have an irrational fear of sudden diarrhea, though, based on the enormous amount of fried turkey and greasy mac and cheese I ate the day before.  Fortunately, I made it through without any oozing.  The five shots of Pepto I did before I went to bed and the five more after I woke up might have helped me out with that. 

Surprisingly, I also didn't have many rude customers.  Although, I did have a few gray hairs who came up to me and said something along the lines of, "Excuse me.  I have two shopping carts and three shopping bags filled to the brim with clothing and there's approximately twenty people in line behind me but could you tell me the price of each piece of clothing as you scan it thanks!"

And I'm all like:

But I did have time for a cold pop.

chap flap

A few days ago, at work, a female coworker (FC) came up to me to get more change for her register.  I'd guess she's in her 50s but I think her smoking has played a part in her looks.  For all I know, she could be 36 but her face is a spiderweb of wrinkles underneath a dull gray bob of hair.  Her bright blue eyes are bloodshot inside a ring of thick clumped mascara.  She always smells of coffee and cigarettes, which probably contributes to her brown teeth.  She's also from Arizona so she's not a stuffy Southern prude so I know I can have fun with her.

FC:  "So, I bought some men's sleep pants the other day."

me:  "Oh yeah?"

FC:  "Yeah."  She waved her hands over her crotch.

me:  "Problem?"

FC:  "Well, I forgot about that front flap.  I'll have to sew that up.  It's chilly."

me:  "Oh, yeah.  A little breezy there?"

FC:  "Yeah!"

me:  "Chapped lips?"

FC:  "Huh?"

me:  "Nothing." 

halloween and stuff

Happy Halloween, boils and ghouls.  I carved a pumpkin on Sunday...or I attempted to.  It turned out crap 'cause I tried to get fancy with it by shading and highlighting and...no.  Carving isn't as easy as it might seem at first.  Maybe if I had a couple of pumpkins to practice with, I could have gotten the hang of it but my hand started cramping so I just gave up.  Anyway, here's some pictures of the gutting process.

Our stray cat who adopted us wanted to help.  "Here, gimme that knife.  Let me show you how to do it."

staycation and aftermath

Went back to work Monday after my wonderful week-long holiday.  It was fantastic.  I didn't do a thing and have no regrets.  I did, however, eat a ton of crap.  Over the course of seven days, I ended up eating a pumpkin cheesecake, a pumpkin cupcake, another pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin cheesecake ice cream, pumpkin spice cake donuts, pumpkin spice latte, and a pumpkin spiced danish.  Now, my reasoning is pretty simple.  All the pumpkin-flavored items are seasonal.  If I didn't snatch up that goodness, I'd have to wait until next year.  I was literally eating that stuff like it was going out of style...because it was.

I also enjoyed watching AMC's Fearfest, which included a Friday the 13th marathon and random horror movies.  I also Netflixed the Saw movies and played some Resident Evil 6.  Also, the premiere of American Horror Story: Asylum and freaking The Walking Dead!  It was all about the gore and the gluttony and it was great.

It was just nice to relax and enjoy waking up late and going to bed late and being lazy.  I didn't even shave.  I've been wanting to grow a beard for a while now, mostly because I never have before and wanted to see if I could pull one off.  No Shave November is next month and I thought I'd participate but I also wanted to get a couple of week's head start.  I thought if I grew a pre-beard now, it wouldn't look so shabby when Thanksgiving came around. 

And then I went back to work and any energy I had managed to recover last week was gone within the first 15 minutes.  But everyone liked the facial hair.  I expected negative reactions but they were actually overwhelmingly positive.

Work girlfriend's jaw dropped and she gasped.  I thought it was out of disgust but she later told me it was because she thought I looked really attractive, to the point she couldn't look at me without getting a little excited.  That was a good little confidence booster.  And let me just add really quick, because I've already said I didn't want to really mention her anymore, she text blasted my phone the week I was gone.  It was actually kind of annoying.  It's like, go text your boyfriend.  I'm unavailable over here, being awesome growing a beard and blowing heads off zombies.  Back off my dick, ya know?

Anyway.

So, work sucks.  I came back with an IDGAF attitude, which probably wasn't the best because I had to train two new girls my first day back.  Work is gearing up for the Christmas rush so they've hired a bunch of losers to stand at the counter and struggle to make change for the next two months and I'm over it.

It was also brought to my attention that a lot of drama went down while I was gone.  I'm starting to believe that, while there's always going to be some sort of drama anywhere you go, it seems to be more concentrated in small towns.  Forgive me if I'm wrong but I just think that drama, much like pregnancy, is prolific simply because there's nothing better to do.  It's like, we can either go into the woods for a quick poke or start a rumor about Leona and her body pillow.

I just feel like, why can't we all get along?  What do you get from lying or telling half-truths or flat out making crap up?  We all hate our jobs and we all hate the customers so why can't we come together to counteract our putrid patrons?

I'm just tired of the same crap and feel like I can't trust anyone there.  They're all so sneaky and it's unfortunate they spend their energy being destructive.  I understand I'm one cynical mofo but I don't go around tearing people down every chance I get.  So, basically, everyone can suck it.

Man, I love October.    

p.a.p.p.

"It's like a splash of water to my face when I suddenly realize
that you could never find a place for me in your eyes
and I don't know why I keep thinking
one day I'll turn around, I'll see your hand reach out
I'm only fooling myself..."
-Kate Voegele, Only Fooling Myself

Work girlfriend blew me off twice in a matter of minutes.  On Tuesday, I said I'd wait an hour after work today so we could hang out when she got off and she said that was good and let me get excited and then said she had other plans.  I told her we could hang out some other time.

Later on, she said she'd wait an hour after she was done with work that day until I got off so we could have some frozen yogurt at a new place that opened up in town.  I got excited again and then a few minutes later she said she had take care of some things and couldn't wait until I was done with my shift.

If she's got plans, that's fine.  I just don't get why she said she'd hang and then take it back.

Yet, last week, she asked if we could do lunch together since we were put on the same shift, which is a rarity.  I said I would but then realized I didn't have to work that day after all (the whole jury duty thing messed up my schedule) but I told her I would go into town and do lunch with her anyway since I already said I would.  I really didn't feel like going into town on my day off but I went anyway.  I didn't take it back.

It was such a small thing but it confirmed to me that she won't go out of her way to see me like I would to see her.  That makes me want to withdraw, to cut off whatever relationship beyond work we have.

It feels kind of silly.

Her boyfriend goes away for work a lot so I think I'm her substitute boyfriend until he gets back.  It's like she's split her boyfriend into two physical beings.  I'm the fun, flirty part of the relationship.  He's the sex and intimacy.  And I understand that we all have our favorites at work and we all play a part and fill a role but she interacts with me outside of work, too.  She texts me throughout the day on an almost daily basis.  She's even told me that she talks about me to her friends all the time.  And in a sightly stunning revelation the other day, she casually mentioned it was her ex-ex-boyfriend's birthday and I said as a joke, "Oh, you still remember?  Still got feelings for him?"

"Yeah," she said.  "I mean, I wouldn't run off with him but sometimes, yeah."

"Hey, now, you're only supposed to have feelings for one guy.  Me!"

She looked at me and smiled and said, "Well, sometimes."

"Really?  I was just kidding.  I meant your real boyfriend."

"Come on, Bran, don't make me blush!"

I'm going to start a campaign called People Against Penis Placeholding, or P.A.P.P. for short.  Kind of like Mothers Against Drunk Driving (M.A.D.D.) but more important.  Please girls, don't do this to guys.  It's hurtful.

I'm starting to see she likes to talk to me or be around me when it's easy for her.  But she wont' bother when it takes effort.  And that hurts.  And it reaffirms my belief that I invest more into people than they invest in me.  And that's why I don't even have relationships with people.  That's why I seem cold and distant.  It's because I don't want to get pulled into something and then torn out of it.

I have to admit, she roped me good.

Makes me want to withdraw from everyone.

I know it's such a small thing but this is the kind of behavior I've gotten from girls...and people in general...all my life.  I'm never special enough to be someone's number one.  I'm the backup.  I'm the guy people talk to when everyone else is busy.  I'm the last resort.  And that's cool.  I accept that.  It's just not fun to be reminded of it, especially by someone you might like slightly more than a friend.

All these little incidences have added up to the point of zero tolerance and all present and future violations against my heart means you're out!  I just don't have the time or temperament to feel crappy over a non-existent thing.  She can sleep easy because she has someone waiting for her when she gets home.  She's got her choice of men, taking something away from a guy who never had anything at all.

I never wanted to be the kind of guy who griped about...girls.  I don't do relationships.  I don't do liking people.  I don't do heart.  That's not me.  And this is a good example of why.  My circuits are sparking and I don't want to talk about her anymore.

of god and football

"On the East Coast, football is a cultural experience. In the Midwest, it's a form of cannibalism. On the West Coast, it's a tourist attraction. And in the South, football is a religion."
-Marino Casem

Football is in full swing around my way.  At work, we are allowed to wear football regalia on the weekends.  I see co-workers and customers alike wearing their favorite team colors, washes of red and white or blue and orange.  It's how they show their loyalty.  They also express their team pride vocally by switching the usual salutations with team mottos "War Eagle" and "Roll Tide" as they pass each other in the store.  I just stand there and shrug.  I don't understand their passion for the pigskin at all.

I'm not a sports guy.  I don't like playing sports and I don't like watching sports.  Of course, I try to be neutral and understand that I won't always share the same interests as these people and so I try not to hold it against anyone.  However,  my tolerance for the consistent in-your-face fanaticism is low.  I don't go around pushing my passion for zombies onto others and I wish they'd keep their football frenzy to themselves.  I'm constantly asked what team I root for and I always respond by saying I don't care about football.  I get weird looks in return, expressions that ask how I could live here and not be in love with the sport.

One day, a lady bought a toddler-sized Alabama team jersey.  As I bagged it up, I wondered what the jersey meant to the lady and what it meant to the toddler.  He doesn't realize the gravity of the garment he's going to wear.  He doesn't understand what it represents or how much it means to those who put it on him.  What if he grows up to root for the other team?  What if he grows up to dislike football all together? 

It's kind of the same with religion.

We raise our children in the church and in the football stands and teach them to yell out "Amen"/"Hallelujah" and "Roll Tide"/"War Eagle" but do these children ever know what it all means outside of their parents' and pastors' influence?  Can they separate what they've been told from what they want to learn?  And how do you introduce God and football into a child's life without making it seem like it's only way to live?

Many Christians would argue that God and Jesus is the only way to live.  I'm not disagreeing.  But there are people out there who do disagree and what if your child is one of those people?  Don't they have the right to believe or not believe what they want?  And the more you push God onto someone, the harder they will push back, even to the point where they might give up on God entirely.

I've seen it happen with me and with others.

But how do you really learn about God?  Someone has to teach you, right?  But what if the one who teaches you has it wrong?  And what if the one who taught them had it wrong?  It further complicates matters when we are taught not to question God and his mysterious ways.  But I think it's vital to question.  We don't want to be handed salvation.  We don't want to be told we are wrong or evil and given vague instructions on how to fix it.  We want to know for ourselves, to feel in our hearts that we are moving toward something divine and not delegated.

Through questioning, we see why things are the way they are.  We can develop a deeper appreciation for them and can explain ourselves when faced with questions and opposing viewpoints.  It's good to not only be enlightened, but educated about it as well.   

But that's hard when all you have to rely on is a collection of books written by man (who put their own spin on the word of God, surely) and a slew of individuals who consider themselves fit to decipher damnation.  No one knows for sure who or what God is, although we've tried.  We've conceived this image with these rules and systems of rewards and punishments.  But God is not what man conceives.  Where is God buried in the b.s.?  How do we dig our way through a Christianity perverted by man and get to the heart of Jesus?  Who do we turn to to guide us in the right direction and when is it possible to come up with our own conclusions?  And when we do, how do we know we got it right?  Will we pass down our erroneous prayers the way they were passed down to us?

We sit on the bleachers and in the pews and see the wave approaching, the clusters of undulating bodies standing and throwing their hands up in praise and sitting down in unison and soon we find ourselves swept up in the sea of bodies, standing and sitting because we think we're supposed to.  It's what we were taught.  We go along with it because it's all a part of the game.  It's how we show we believe.  We reach up and touch the excitement, the thrill, the electricity and we feel united.  But you begin to wonder if it helps the players at all.  With the bright lights and ever looming threat of being tackled, does the quarterback even notice us in the stands? 

Do we do it for his benefit or our own? 

summons

I got a letter in the mail the other day.  Jury summons next Monday.  I was intrigued at first but when I realized it wasn't an invitation to view a taping of Judge Judy, I was dismayed.  I had actually planned on taking some time off from work during the week I was set up for jury duty so that messed it up.

My parents told me I probably wouldn't be able to get out of it so I accepted my fate and talked to a few co-workers about it.  One said she has easily gotten out of it twice.  She said they give you three exemptions but you must go on the fourth and each subsequent summons.

So, I gave it some thought and considered calling to tell them it would be a hardship on me and my job since re-scheduling vacation time would be difficult for my job.  But the longer I thought about it, I became more reluctant.

Depending on the case, jury duty could be interesting.  Or with my luck, it could be hell.  But, being as paranoid as I am, if I only have three chances to get out of it, I don't know if I want to waste it by just saying it would be a hardship when it really isn't.  I just don't want to do it.  But what if the next three times they call me, I really can't serve?  What if I'm in the hospital or in rehab or crossing the border with a colon full of cocaine at the time?  Of course, I might never be called again but I don't want to chance it.  If I can do it, might as well.

And it gives me at least another day away from work, or even more if I am selected.  Hey, that's a mini vacation right there!

It's sad when you dislike your work so much you'd rather do jury duty just to get a break from the job for a while.

I re-scheduled my vacation for next month.  I have time off that won't roll over to next year so I have to use it up or it'll be gone.  I'll get a whole week.  I'm pretty stoked about it.  I thought about going back to Savannah, GA for a few days.  I just never travel, never get out, never explore.  Mostly because I'm lazy but also because I just don't know where I'd go.  There's a great big world out there ready to be seen and walked on and photographed but I don't know where to start.  It could be good to start in the last place I left.  It would be nice to go back and take a look at all the places I used to go when I was an art student there, except this time I won't have the overwhelming pressure of art projects and prick professors hovering over me.

Or I could just save the money and stay at home and treat myself to a pizza. 

I haven't decided yet.

gerontophobia

After the episode with the old man, I realized he instilled in me a fear of other old men.  Any time an elderly man came into my department, the heat in my chest increased.  I was both annoyed and frightened and felt pressured to drop everything and engage them in a friendly welcome.  Some were receptive while others gave me dirty looks and interrupted my "hello" with a grouchy "I'm just looking!"

I couldn't win.  I say hello and get ignored or don't say hello and I'm being a jerk.

For a long time after the incident, my anxiety grew exponentially any time I saw gray hair and liver spots.  And in my town, that's basically the only people who inhabit the area.  So I was anxious a lot.

It all culminated with the return of the original a-hole himself.  I was quietly folding a stack of shirts on my counter when I looked up and saw him.  No joke, my cheeks flushed a hot red and my chest literally burned.  I wasn't sure it was him at first but as he got closer to me, I recognized his hunched back, glasses, the same red cap he wore during his first verbal assault, and the scowl on his face.

Damn it.

As he got closer to me, I breathed in deeply.  "Hello, how are you, sir?"  My voice was deadpan, icy yet respectful.

"I'm fine, how are you?"

"Good," I said as I focused my attention back onto the stack of shirts I was folding.  Was it possible he didn't remember me?  Did the old man disease that ate his manners also devour his memories?  No, I wasn't that lucky.

I wasn't sure what to do.  Help him out or call someone?  No, screw that.  I was going to call someone.  I told myself I would if I ever crossed him or anyone like him again.  Fortunately, my devout Christian coworker came into my department, holding up the same coat I sold the man.

"Hey, Brannon," she said in her monotone Lurch-in-a-tunnel voice.  "This gentleman says he wants to exchange the coat."

"That's the man who verbally abused me and I don't want to deal with him," I said.

"Okay, I'll deal with him," she said.  "Can you watch my department for me?"

"Gladly."

After the man left, I spoke with my coworker again.

"How was he?"

"He was...he was okay," she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.  "He was appreciative of your help last time."

"Was he being sarcastic?"

"Uh, no, I was."

"Oh."

"He said you made too much of a fuss over the sleeves."

So, he remembered me all right.  It was bad enough he haunted my head but why did I have to be reminded of him?  Why, out of all the people I interact with on a daily basis, does he have to come back and bring up the incident all over again, especially to someone else?  I didn't want to be made to look bad in front of her.

"Actually, he did," I said and proceeded to explain to her what happened.

"Well, he's from the old school," she said.  "He comes from a time when people popped out of the aisles to sell people suits because they worked on commission and that's how they ate."

I understood all that but I almost felt like she was defending him.  I know she probably wasn't, most likely trying to soothe my feelings over the guy by just explaining his thought process.  It still rubbed me the wrong way a little bit.  But I got over it after a time because I knew it was probably my screwed up perspective making me take it the wrong way.  I tend to do that.  Shocking, I know, since I'm usually so good with people.

I've got another customer follow up for you as well.  Remember the guy and his mother with the homemade tattoos coming in and buying dress shirts?  Well, the mom came back in the other day and once again jutted her shiny blue slider cell phone in my face and said, "My son wants to talk to you again.  I got him the same shirt he already has."

I got on the phone with him and he said he wanted the same size shirt but in a different color.  "Yeah, man, hey, hey, I dun got four shirts that same color, bud.  I need anothern.  What other colors y'all got?"

I told him we didn't have any other colors in his size.  But like last time, he had to check for himself.

"Hey, hey, man, hey, uh, hey, can I come up in there barefoot?"

Oh sweet gravy.

"Barefoot?  I, uh, I don't know."  I wasn't sure about the dress code for customers.  I mean, I definitely do my share of complaining about them but they at least come in clothed.  They usually have stains on them or holes in them and sometimes they contain the occasionally turd or two but they're always clothed.  In my nearly four years of working there, I never had that question come up.  A majority of people (not all) wear shoes out in public, even if it's their ratty old bedroom shoes.

"Well, hey partner, hey, uh, hey, hey, I came up in there a couple of weeks ago and wudn't wearin' any so I'm gonna try it again."

"Well, okay," I said.  I had no idea how to respond.

Sure enough, he came in with his milky white feet exposed to the elements and our carpet.  And sure enough, he couldn't find another shirt.

"I guess I'll just have to return this and wait until you get more in stock," he said.

"Sorry about that."

"Hey, bud, hey, hey, it ain't no problem.  Hey."  At least he was nice.

When he left, another old man came into my department.  Still reeling from revisiting the the grouchy geezer, I walked up to this new man.

"Hey, sir, how are...."

"I'm just browsing!" he said, and waved me away.

I went back to my stack of shirts.

graphic tease

While at work, a man came through my department.  He was in his fifties, salt and pepper hair underneath a worn red Alabama football team hat, his eyeglasses shining under the florescent lights.

"Hey, it's pastor John," he said into the phone.  "Just calling to check in on you..."  His voice trailed off as he walked away from me.  I turned around and watched him.

A pastor.

I haven't had the best experiences with pastors in the past at work and I wondered if this guy would be different.  In fact, I was counting on it.  So, when he eventually left the store, I turned to God.


"God, here's a sign for me," I silently prayed.  I had given up on God giving me straightforward reassurance through a peaceful feeling or a calming voice swirling through the concha of my ear so I hoped for signs, obvious objects that would soothe my skepticism.  A quote.  A song.  A person.  A pastor.

"Please God, just let that man come back.  Use him," I said.  I prayed the man would feel some overwhelming need to come to me, to tell me that I will be okay.  God would use him as my sign, my assurance.  "I'll give it five minutes.  Please, have him come back within five minutes to let me know you're with me."

I watched the clock and counted down the minutes.  I felt stupid doing this but people witnessed miracles every day so would it really be that out of the ordinary for this pastor to come back to give me a sign I've been so desperate for for so long now?  The best part was no one would know.  It would be between me and God.  My own little miracle in the men's department.

Five minutes passed.  He didn't show.

I was a little disappointed but I wasn't all that surprised.  I know it was a silly request and it's not like my faith was resting on whether or not the pastor showed up.  But, hey, never hurt's to ask, right?  I thought I'd give it a shot.

I grabbed a bunch of strewn shirts and went back to my counter to fold them.  I zoned out as I stacked the perfectly folded shirts and when I looked up, the pastor was coming toward me.

My heart swelled.  He was coming back after all, just a little later than I laid out.  We were playing on God's time.  That was fine by me, as long as I received my affirmation.

As he got closer, I couldn't keep the smile from blooming across my face.  I looked up to greet him and he walked right past me.

My heart shrank back to its original shriveled prune size.

I stood among the graphic tees and witnessed God's graphic tease, dangling hope in front of me and pulling it away, constantly pulling it away, magnifying the hurt swirling inside me.  Like I said, I know it was a silly prayer and kind of a dumb thing to ask but it was one thing to let the man just walk away the first time and never see him again but having him come back in my sight only to walk away again just felt cruel.

I wished I hadn't even brought it up.  I did it on myself.  Stupid prayers on a whim that turned into more of a hassle than they were worth.  I should have put the pastor out of my mind and went on about my day without bringing myself down.      

It's the way God and I roll these days.  I ask for guidance and get gutted.  I ask for good days and receive depression.  It's in those moments that it doesn't feel like the actions and circumstances that I encounter are due to free will.  It feels like God is directly linked to my lacerations.  Are those my signs?  I don't know if I should be relieved that God is finally presenting himself or dismayed that he's proving his existence by eviscerating me.

I know I have it wrong.  My perspective is off.  I'm making too much of a not-so-close encounter with an unaware man of God.  I'm making too much of God's lack of involvement in my life.  Doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt.  

He keeps holding onto my head, keeping me at arm's length so I can't reach around his waist and hold tight.  I struggle, fighting to have faith in him and all I can feel is that hand, pushing away, rejecting me, maybe testing me, maybe seeing how long it'll take before the fight finally falls out of me.

It won't be much longer.

fifty shades of what women want

At the behest of my work girlfriend (who I will refer to as WG for short), I read Fifty Shades of Grey.  I didn't really want to but she kept insisting and I thought it could be something new we could discuss.  We've never talked about books before so I was looking forward to an intellectual exchange regarding fictional characters and their motivations.

But as I read, I kept pointing out problems I had with the book.  Christian Grey was too perfect, too mysterious.  Anastasia Steele was too innocent, too inexperienced.  Early on in the book, she said she didn't know why she was falling for him.

"That doesn't make any sense," I mentioned to WG.  "He's super rich.  He's super handsome.  He's graceful and just distant enough to leave her wanting more.  That's reason enough to fall in love with him.  Any girl would.  Heck,  I think I'd fall in love with him, too."

WG laughed.  "Well, he does have some physical flaws, though.  He's not perfect."

"Oh, yeah?  What?  Is his penis so large he can't find comfortable underwear?  What a tortured soul!'

She laughed again.  Ah, such a nice sound.

"So, what is so appealing about him?"

"I don't know," she said, her kohl-lined eyes wandering off to the ceiling, pondering.  "I guess I just like that he's dark."

"I'm dark," I said.  Hello, I was dead for three years.

"No you're not," she said with a smirk.  "You're just emo.  And you choose to be that way."

Ah, not such a nice sound.  She really knows how to stab a guy right in the face.

"He had a really dark childhood," she added.

"You don't know about my upbringing.  It could have been dark, too."  It wasn't.

"Not like his," she countered.

"You don't know what I've been through!"  Nothing.

I just wasn't that impressed with the book.  I'll admit I jump on literally bandwagons.  I read the Twilight series and The Hunger Games series and I always tried to enjoy the books for what they were instead of what they were hyped to be.  And they were both all right.  But this one I just couldn't seem to get into like the others.  I guess I can understand it's popularity because it's so provocative but honestly, it wasn't as filthy as I imagined, which was admittedly another reason I wanted to read it.  I wanted to see how raunchy it really got.  Maybe I'm just a sick mofo but it seemed a little tame to me.  It's possible things get more extreme in the other two books but I think the first one walked the fine line between kinky sex and all out smut, just enough to titillate and not alienate, which is why it worked so well.  So I give her props for that but the writing is pretty amateur.