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September 23, 2004
Control.
I'm washing my hands in the men's bathroom, and a guy comes in to use the urinal. Looks like he just got out of, or is just about to go into a meeting, as he's got a sheaf of papers and a clipboard in hand.
I don't normally eye guys while they pee, but I notice in the mirror that he doesn't put the papers down.
Instead, he unzips, whips it out, and browses his Power Point presentation while whizzing. Holding it with both hands and turning the pages just as easy as you please.
I dried my hands and went back to the office. Maybe I watch too many movies, but the last time I'd seen anyone do that, it was Ben Kingsley in Sexy Beast. Granted, he was a sociopathic gangster, so I now give the Power Point Micturator a wide berth when I see him in the hallway.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:29 AM | Comments (0)
September 21, 2004
Does not inspire confidence.
Walking from my car to the office, and there's a Volvo wagon coasting slowly.
Behind the wheel, a man in his forties wearing green scrubs, a surgical mask hanging around his neck. Riding shotgun, a woman in her thirties, also in green scrubs.
He's driving about 5 miles an hour, and they're both craning their necks, scanning the landscape for God only knows what.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:24 AM | Comments (0)
September 16, 2004
"What do you think *you're* looking at?"
On my way to work, waiting in line for a smoothie at Jamba Juice.
There's a mom in her late thirties with an 11-year-old boy in tow. A beefy guy in his mid-twenties, shifting his weight from foot to foot to pass the time. Assorted young Black and Hispanic teens running the register, cleaning up and blending fruit, ice and juice in blenders that roar like 747s.
A Latina in her early twenties comes in wearing purple velour track pants slung low over her hips, a floppy purple hat, and a black mesh crop top over a purple tank top. She's heavily made up for 9:28 a.m., and the purple lotus tattoo over her iliac crest was only slightly more prominent than the fuchsia rhinestone thong riding above her waist.
I took her in, and went back to reading the news on my Treo. Looking at her was more than I felt like dealing with before breakfast.
If it was a comic strip, I'd have drawn dashed lines between the google eyes of the beefy guy and her ass.
Miss Thing made conversation with her friend running the register, who seemed to marvel at her, even though I could see her thinking, "I could never..."
The mother handed her son a Citrus Squeeze with an immunity boost, but the boy's eyes were elsewhere. She got his attention -- and that of every other male in the room -- when she jerked his arm and pulled him out the door, demanding, "What do you think you're looking at?"
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:23 AM | Comments (0)
September 13, 2004
Met her parents yesterday.
Planned at the last minute, so I didn't get the chance to work up any anxiety before going.
I'm not sure how much trepidation there would have been, anyway. I love her beyond all reason, and I'd go anywhere with this woman, even an Ann Coulter meetup.
Not that she'd ever take me to such an event. That was hyperbole.
Brunch went well, and everyone complimented my corn muffins.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 02:31 PM | Comments (0)
September 07, 2004
Phony.
A good word that doesn't get the attention it deserves.
Hypocrisy comes in many forms. In its latest incarnation, it's people who profess to dislike a particular way of being -- and then seek out those who emulate or embody the undesirable behavior.
An acquaintance recently said that annoying people are a tax you pay so you can enjoy the individuals whose company is worthwhile. It's a good maxim, but I why would a person would go out of their way to pay such a tax?
When it comes to taxes, I think we're all better off when we contribute our due and not a penny more.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 01:49 PM | Comments (0)