Good Samaritans are in Danger

My rent-to-own furniture store is located within a mall in the downtown area of my city.  I have a special staff parking pass that allows me to leave my vehicle in the staff parking area all day without risk of a ticket.  In order to get to work, I park around in the back lot and walk through the parking garage to take the elevator up to the main floor. 

This morning, as I walked through the parking garage, I heard a low, mournful sound.

"..ooohooohooohooohooooo…"

I stopped and listened.  There was silence.  Then it came again:

"…ooohooohooohooo…"

"Hello? "  I said.  It was quiet for a few moments, the only sound being that of the ventilation system kicking in.  I was about to continue on my way when I heard it again.

"…aaaahaaahaaahooohooohooohooo…"

It sounded kind of like an old man crying, or moaning in pain.  It was coming from a dark corner behind a parked jeep.  I crept toward the sound, nerves on edge.

"…uhhuhhuhhhoooohooohooohooooohoooooo…"

"Hello?  Is someone there?  Are you hurt?" 

There was no response. 

As I got closer to where the sound had come from, I noticed a half-open door in the corner that probably led to some kind of storage area.  I was beginning to get very nervous, convinced that there was some poor elderly man, possibly a vagrant, who had gone into the storage area to sleep and inadvertently knocked a huge pile of irresponsibly stored pointy metal onto himself.  Now the poor man could be pinned hopelessly beneath the wreckage, likely bleeding profusely, and probably close to death.  I was his only hope. 

Boldly, I strode towards the storage door, certain that I would rescue this poor man and save his life.  My picture would be in the paper.  The mayor would give me the key to the city, and I would humbly accept.  I would be asked to go on tour, giving inspirational speeches to high school students on the merits of giving of yourself, of bravery, of being a Good Samaritan.  I was about to be a hero.

I grasped the door handle and pulled.

The biggest, fattest, mangiest pigeon I have ever seen swooped out of the darkness and attacked my face, moaning all the while in his creepy old-man voice.  I screamed and ran, dreams of fame and glory shattered in one feathered instant.

I am now convinced that there is a legion of giant, radioactive evil pigeons seeking to take over humanity, one Good Samaritan at a time.  They will lure us, one by one, into situations of apparent heroism which we cannot resist, only to hawk poisonous radioactive mercury loogies into our eyes.  No one is safe.  I will never offer to help another person again.

Well, except for babies.  I would still offer my heroic services to a baby in need.  If I was walking down the street and a baby came up to me and was like "Hey lady, my stroller has a flat tire.  Could you help a baby out?"  I'd be all like "Sure, child.  I can change that tire for you, no problem."  Because it's a baby, and therefore would be unlikely to possess the physical strength to viciously attack me with its rattle while I was working on the stroller.  Heck, I'd even buy the baby a bottle of milk if it was hungry.  I would, however, draw the line at changing a strange baby's poopy diaper.  I mean, babies are cute and all, but you just don't know where they've BEEN!

Alligator Mike and the Sign Thief

I'm writing as my husband and I watch WWE Smackdown.  What kind of a name is Dolph, anyway?  Who names their kid that?

~The Sign Thief

This morning as I was waiting for the light to change so I could pull into my store's parking lot, a hunched and withered old man with a rolling walker was crossing the street in front of my car.  I noticed that he had one of my store's "It's all Free for One Month" flyers in his walker basket.  Then I realized that the flyer was in one of the clear plastic stands that are usually on our front counter, which was odd.  I wondered if maybe, since the sign was positioned in such a way as to be visible to all the people driving down the street, if one of my co-workers had given it to him in an effort to get some free advertising or something.  When I got in the store, Alex and Jessie both leaped up from their seats and exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! You just missed the funniest thing ever!"
"Did it have something to do with an old guy with a walker and one of our signs?" I asked.
"YES!"
Apparently, this befuddled gentleman shuffled into our store a few minutes after we opened.  He scuffed his way past the TVs and up to the front counter.  Jessie greeted him, and he asked "What time is it?" In a querulous voice.  He was told it was ten to nine.  He paused for a moment to check his watch, and then he began muttering about how his watch is fast and he's always early for everything, like the bus.  He made an agonizingly slow loop around the store, muttering to himself all the while about the time.  They thought he was about to leave, but instead, he began a second slow, shuffling loop.  Then he stopped in front of one of our TVs, looked down, and picked up the "Free for a month" sign in its plastic stand.
"Oh!"  he said,  "Free for a month!  Oh!  I could really use one of these!  This is just what I'm looking for!"
Then he put the sign in his walker basket, made an about-turn, double-time shuffled over to the front door, had a minor moment of panic when his walker wheels got stuck in the doorjamb, and ambled off down the sidewalk with the stolen sign.
Alex and Jessie decided they would let him keep the sign, since he worked so hard to get it.  We are all wondering if he will return it at the end of the month, when it's no longer "free".


~Aligator Mike


A couple of hours later, I had the pleasure of having a conversation with a very odd man.  Some customers walked in while I was in the bathroom, and when I came out, there were two ladies at our front counter talking to someone, and a man standing by himself watching a movie on one of our TVs.  I wasn't sure if he was with the two ladies or not, so I went over to see if he needed anything.  He turned around at my greeting, and I knew right away he was going to be 'one of those'.  He was wearing a "Breathe Right" nasal strip that was only stuck to his nose in the exact middle.  The sides were sticking straight out and had to be in the way of his vision.  His ball cap proclaimed:  "Cold Breath or High Gas Prices?  Screw it, I'll walk!"  I am now going to recreate the conversation I had with this frighteningly strange man to the best of my recollection.  I hope it makes more sense to you than it did to me.

Me:  "Hey, did you need a hand over here?"

Guy:  "No, I'm just with them."  (waves vaguely in the direction of the two ladies at the front counter)  "Hey, what movie is this?"

Me:  "This is Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief."

Guy:  "Oh, Percy Jackson and who?"

Me:  "The Lightning Thief."

Guy:  "Oh... Is this a fiction, or a non-fiction?"

Me:  (Looks at screen, sees a satyr battling a minotaur.)  "It's definitely fiction."

Guy:  "(sadly) Oh, okay. (excitedly)  Oh wait, did you say it's fiction?"

Me:  "Yes."

Guy:  "Oh!  Hey, do you know what the best way is to kill a minotaur?"

Me:  "Actually, no."

Guy:  "Here's a question for you then.  If it's fiction, why don't they just summon Godzilla to kill the minotaur?"

Me:  (nervous laugh)  "You know, you think that would be the solution to EVERY movie."

Guy:  "Yeah!  I mean, if I can summon an alligator, they can summon Godzilla."

Me:  (takes a few cautious steps back)  "Uh, yeah."

Guy:  "I love Godzilla.  I think he's fascinating.  I always say he's the king.  Other people, when I ask them 'do you know who the king is?' they say 'Elvis' or 'Jesus' but I always say 'Godzilla.' "

Me:  "... okay..."

Guy:  (picks at his Breathe-Right strip that is now somehow sticking to his glasses)  "Yeah, people always get mad when I say Godzilla is the king, but he will always be the king to me."  (re-sticks the Breathe-Right strip to his nose)

Me:  "Oh."

Guy:  "Do you want to see me summon an alligator?  I love alligators.  I find them fascinating." (the ends of the Breathe-Right strip unstick themselves from the sides of his nose again)

Me:  "Sure, why not."

Guy:  (reaches into front pocket of ratty black t-shirt and produces a small plush alligator)  "This is my alligator.  His name is Mike."

Me:  "Oh.  Hi Mike."

Guy:  "Mike goes everywhere with me.  He's really helpful when I'm at the hospital with my mom.  But he thinks he's people though."

Me:  " Oh yeah."

Guy:  "Every time I have a cappuccino at Starbucks, Mike just dives right in."

Me:  (nervous laugh)  "really."

Guy:  "He gets foam all over his nose.  But I always wipe it off again."

Me:  (says nothing and searches desperately for some means of escape, notices Alex and Jessie are both laughing and refusing to bail me out)

Guy:  (starts digging around in his coat pockets)  I'm going to show you a picture of Mike's cousin.  Whenever anybody gives Mike a hard time, I show them Mike's cousin.

Me:  "uh, well actually..."

Guy:  (pulls out cell phone and shows me a picture of a REAL alligator.)  "That's Mike's cousin.  After people see this, they don't bug Mike anymore."

Me:  "So Mike's cousin is the one who takes care of business."  (trying very hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation up to this point)

Guy:  (pushes more buttons on his cell phone)  "That's right.  Here's a picture of me and Mike watching Hell's Kitchen.  (Shows me a picture of six identical plush alligators tucked under a blanket, snouts out.)  I love Gordon Ramsay.  I find him to be fascinating."

Me:  "Yeah, he's a good chef."  (looks around again for escape)

Guy:  "Do you have any idea how much money Gordon Ramsay lost in the recession?  He trades stocks.  He lost a lot of money.  I hear Gordon Ramsay is really a nice guy when you meet him in person.  He's only mean around the food."  (beeping buttons on the phone) "Here's a picture of my niece on her Harley showing me the finger."  (shows picture of voluptuous, outraged blonde on a bike who is probably NOT his niece and doesn't appreciate having her picture taken by this weirdo)

Me:  "Oh... um... okay..."

Guy:  "Do you have a weak stomach?"  (stares at me expectantly)

Me:  "uhh.... well...."

Guy:  "(sadly)Oh, okay.  Well here's a really rare picture."  (beep beep beep)  "This is my dad in his war uniform from [some random war] back in [whatever the hell year it was]"

Me:  "Oh... cool..."

Guy:  "And that's not actually even the picture!  That's a picture of a picture!"

Me:  "Oh, I see."

Guy:  "That is REALLY RARE."  (Beep boop bip)  "Hey you know that comic book store down on Third Street?"

Me:  "Well actually I should probably get back to work..."  (glancing around frantically for help)

Guy:  (thrusts phone in my face again, showing me a picture of a Godzilla statue)  "It's Godzilla!  The guy let me take a picture of him!  See what's on his tail?  See that?  Do you know what that is?"

Me:  "Uh... a Starbucks coffee sleeve?"

Guy:  "It's a Starbucks Coffee Sleeve!  I put that on his tail before I took the picture!  I love Godzilla.  He's the king."

Me:  "...right..."

Guy:  "That picture that I asked you if you had a weak stomach before I showed you?  Do you know about the Nile Crocodiles?"

Me:  "...no...?"

Guy:  "They are the most vicious crocodile out of all the crocodiles.  When guys go in there, they have to go in big groups of like six, for protection and safety you know, but this guy was trying to prove something, and he went in all by himself, and the crocodile attacked him and tore his arm right off.  There was blood everywhere.  That's why I asked you if you had a weak stomach."

Me:  "right."

Guy:  "I love crocodiles.  I find them fascinating."

Me:  "that's great."

Guy:  (beep beep beep)  "Here's a picture of some flowers I bought for my mom when she was in the hospital.  But of course, Mike had to get in the picture."  (shows picture of some blurry colours in the background that might be flowers, Mike, and a thumb.)

Me:  "that's nice."

Guy:  "Yeah.  Mike thinks he's people.  He always has to be right in the middle of everything."  (fatherly chuckle)

Me:  "I see."

Guy's Wife:  "Let's go, honey."

Guy:  (walks out without saying anything more)


So that was my morning!  I guess when you work in a store downtown, all the crazies come to visit you and play show-and-tell, or steal your stuff.  I still am not entirely sure if the Godzilla-Worshiper was for real, or if maybe he's just an odd guy who likes to see how far he can get before someone either punches him in the nose or runs away screaming in terror.  Thankfully after alligator man and his family left, we were blessed with a relatively calm and uneventful afternoon.  It gave me a lot of time to consider whether or not I too should accept Godzilla as my personal savior.


Peace, yo.

The Everlasting Snow

I felt like a timing genius this morning.  I'm at a new job in a new city in a new house, and I'm still learning how long my morning routine takes me, as well as how long it takes me to drive to work from my house.  I figured I had it all figured out this morning and I was excited to be able to stroll in to work four minutes before my shift started, so I would have time to walk in, put my lunch in the fridge and clock in.  Yes, I was quite pleased with myself indeed, until I opened my front door to find a thick blanket of evil snow taunting me shamelessly with its fluffy white wetness.  I ended up delayed with an eight minute vehicular snow excavation and was four minutes late.  Darn you, snow.  Darn you to heck.

And let me just say that brushing a pile of snow off the roof of your car, only to have the wind schlop it right back in your face and down your neck, (yeah I said schlop, so sue me) is NOT my idea of a good morning.  The best part of waking up is NOT being wet and cold and miserable.  And it's not Folgers in your cup either.  That stuff tastes like they used dirty underwear as a flavor additive.
 
So my husband, Andrew, is back from the hospital today.  He was in yesterday morning having a very minor surgery and now he is home lounging on the couch all hopped up on codeine.  Today while I was at work he BBM'd me asking me to pick him up some popsicles on my way home.  I mentioned it to my boss, Alex.  She just laughed at me and said "My husband is a giant ten-year-old too."  Andrew is currently devouring an orange popsicle on the sofa with what appears to be childlike glee.  This gives me an odd sense of motherly peace.

My confidence in my cube-van-driving abilities is waning quickly.  I have been working at this rent-to-own furniture company since November, and at first when I realized that I would actually have to personally drive a cube van and manhandle furniture, I was nervous.  Until my first attempt at backing the big truck into a parking spot.  I did it perfectly the first time, with no instruction whatsoever from Jessie the Cube Van Man (my only non-managerial co-worker) and I was elated.  This should be no problem, I thought.  I'm officially a Cube Van Driver.  But today set me back a few notches.  The snow on the roads was thick, slushy, and vengeful.  It was dark.  Our truck was completely out of window washer fluid.  And I was a completely irrational ball of nerves.  I really dislike driving in the snow, since in my very first car during my very first month of ownership I fishtailed my way into a ditch.  So today I ended up driving the truck like a dementia patient.  After the ordeal was over, Jessie looked at me for a long moment and said "We need to get you more practice with driving this thing."  I dread tomorrow.

On a happier note, I'm sitting here eating some delicious low-fat pretzel sticks.  I'm holding them like cigarettes and pretending to smoke them as I type.  I imagine I look hella cool.  (In case any of my three blog readers wants to experience the pretzel-stick-awesomeness that is Kitiara, I warn you: Don't stick your pretzirette between your lips and let it hang there like a dangerous rogue cowboy for any extended period of time.  It will absorb all the moisture in your lips and fuse itself to your skin, and when you try to dislodge it, There Will Be Blood.)

And no, I have not attempted to actually light my pretzirettes.  Yet.

Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion: Episode 3,  There Will Be A Lingering Stench Of Burned Hair In My Apartment!

The Inaugural Blog Post

Well I'm not getting any younger.

I have been meaning to start blogging again. I used to enjoy it very much.  Then I stopped, because real life got in the way.  Now I guess I'm ready for a bit of whimsy and wordsmithing.  (Is wordsmithing even a word? Wordforging? Wordplay?)

So, since I'm now at the ripe old age of 26, married, have settled into a full-time job at a rent-to-own company, and I'm not getting any younger, I'm going to once again join the wild world of blogging.

Nobody reads blogs anyway, right?

Ideally, my goal in having a blog is to encourage myself to write.  Practicing is key, and I practice my writing precious little.   I will doubtless end up with a mess of random, manic, incomprehensible drivel, but it's the thought that counts.  So I have signed up for Blogger.  So far I have spent three hours working on this first blog. Two and-a-half hours trying to decide on a template and theme, of course.  Procrastination is key! I believe I said that already.  Now I've got some funky purple swirls, which will no doubt prove to be irresistibly attractive to faeries, psychics, and epileptic penguins.  If at least a few people enjoy my insanity and frustration and rants, I will be a happy woman!

My apologies in advance, to all past, present and future followers of the New and Improved Everlasting Question.  It's only going to get worse from here.