DREAM: In a mall. A mother and 4 kids, maybe only one of them is her own. I hand her an envelope thinking I was meant to give this to her. She opens it up and there’s gift certificates to the movies. She starts passing them out to the kids. I suddenly remember my mom bought these gift cards for her own set of kids.
Me: “Wait! Those aren’t yours. My mom bought those.”
I attempt to retrieve them all. The kids are reluctant. The mother is too but hands over her pass for me to use. They’re walking down through the mall. I follow, taunting and ridiculing the mother…
“You STOLE those! You’re a thief! You’re a thief! THIEF! THIEF! THIEF!”
She obviously feels embarrassed. And that was the point. But she’s still insistent on letting her kids enjoy something they normally couldn’t enjoy otherwise. It’s something special for them. And in the back of my mind I knew even if my mom found this out she would have compassion. But the fact that this lady possessed something that wasn’t hers originally and without question really bothers me.
Alarm goes off at 11:06 a.m.
Granola Bars. Orange Juice. Italian Plums.
All day shift at China Wok.
Prepping the bags.
Muscadine Grapes.
Delivering an order in Bancroft Hall. A tiny white dog sneaks out the customer’s door and follows me, almost jumping into my car.
Customer: “Mr. Jingles! Get back here.”
Snapping the peas.
A text from her…
I’m still in love with you…and it sucks cause I know you aren’t anymore :(
Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Blue and Yukon Gold Potato Chips. Lemonade.
I got a $21.88 tip just for buying a customer two packs of cigarettes, a pack of apple black n milds, and a 40. And that’s after the reimbursement.
A jolly ole’ black lady walks into the restaurant on the phone. She’s speaking a kind of gibberish I’ve never heard before—a dialect of the English language I have no ability to understand except for a few nouns here and there. A man, I assume to be the husband, is there by her side. He responds as if he comprehends everything.
Ice Cream Cone.
Slow night…
Last order of the night. That same big-tip customer ordered some hot wings and requested a 12-pack. And I was tipped once again generously for my services.
Dinner: Hot and Sour Soup with Fried Noodles. Cod Fillets.
Darren: “…Move to Alaska and butter her toes in chamomile…”
Anthony: “I am blessed.”
I grab the boys to hang out at Nicole’s place for good stimulating talks…
Amanda’s head is buzzed…
Me: “Whoa! You really did it!”
…
Kevin: “You’re not a smoker are you?”
Nicole: “Yes.”
Kevin: “Oh…that’s bad.”
…
Anthony quotes something from a book he’s reading, The Human Comedy…(he’s good at finding those little treasures that are relevant and applicable): “They walked together and stood about together as only the very best of friends do, easily and with scarcely any need for one or the other to speak.”
…
On Kevin, Anthony says: “You know he’s got a good teacher man. For years I’ve been guiding that penis. And finally I think coming to fruition that he will enter a female…not tonight…maybe not next year…”
…
Out on the porch, Kevin impresses Nicole with his plant knowledge…
Kevin: “Plants are smart….they have a memory.”
I mispronounce the word “wild blueberries” and Kevin catches it…
[Haha]
Kevin: “They’re not blueberries! They’re blarries!”
…
It’s imperative to have a baked good of some kind in such a high profile social setting. Making Blueberry Muffins in the kitchen…I put them all on a plate—hot and steamy—and place them on the coffee table. We’re already engaged in a riveting debate about meat production via Darren…animal enslavement…voices spoken with such conviction…
Nicole: “We’ve been sold to think that you have to have meat with every meal. If you ate a lean meat one time a day you’d be healthier.”
As usual Darren gets annoyed with Kevin’s opinions and criticizes him out loud…
Darren: “Shut up! You’re an idiot! You don’t know anything. You read fucking Yahoo!”
Kevin: “First of all I’m not an idiot—”
Me: “You tried to take ketchup shots last night!” [which is true]
[Laughter ensues]
…
He takes a huge gulp from a 2 liter Smart Sense Cola.
Me: “That’s so gross.”
Anthony: “But there’s not any aspartame in it you jackass.”
I point out it still has high fructose corn syrup…
Anthony: “Slather me in high fructose corn syrup!”
…
Darren: “You made a social contract with your government. Whether we all like it or not when you are born into this world we are a product of our environment and you make a social contract with that environment to be a ‘contributing member of society’ You form a contract with that society…”
…
Kevin: “What do you mean water can’t be gross? Water’s the grossest thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s why I don’t drink it.”
…
James has a neat idea for me to document everything more accurately…“A butt cam!”
…
Me: “I like being around Amanda because she makes you feel like you’re a comedian…she makes you feel good about yourself.”
Amanda: “[giggle] Yeah I think everything’s so funny.”
James: “I’ve actually dedicated my life to humor.”
Amanda: “Are you kidding me?”
James: “No I’m being 100 percent serious.”
…
Anthony: “I don’t want to be intelligent, James. I want to be wise.”
…
Anthony composed a list of things that describes the definition of courting…
Nicole reads aloud: “…shared silence…goofy jokes…personal mythology bubbling over into one another…listening to bodies of water…holding hands…being nervous to hold hands…kissing with your eyes…moments of mutual clarity and Affection (with a capital A)”
Amanda: “That’s respectable list.”
…
Kevin shares his romantic encounters from high school…and the time he got beaten up by a girl bully.
Kevin: “Tenth grade was a very dark year.”
…
Kevin: “Did you just say ‘the asteroid belt in your eyes’?”
…
Everybody’s on the back porch preparing to leave…
Nicole: “It’s like the band of boys.”
Me: “Yeah we should have a title to our entourage…”
The Hipster Collective. Duh.
Darren shakes his head furiously in disagreement.
Nicole: “There’s always somebody shaking their head at somebody.”
[Haha]
Back home.
Sleep shortly after 4 a.m.
1 comment:
I loled so hard and very brief 3 times. That was a first.
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