Lancelot

Out of nowhere today I started thinking about this guy I used to know. We went to college together, and we hung out a few times. He was this skinny little blond guy, and none of my really close friends knew him. If I had taken the time to ask around about him before doing anything, I would have found out how disliked and lame he was. He had longish hair, with a ridiculous almost pageboy-like cut. I didn't find out until everything was over with him that everyone called him Lancelot behind his back. He was extremely arrogant. I should have known better than to trust a gay male with a "Viva! Bush" sign in his window. We were never officially an item, but he got all pissy when I told him I kissed someone else. He demanded that we have sex right then and there, and I really don't like being bullied. So we stopped talking. Then I heard all about how all the gays on campus despised him, and I really wished I had been apprised of the situation going into it. Then I started hearing that he told people we stopped hanging out because I suggested we have a threesome with his ex. The truth was Lancelot was the one who proposed the threesome which I flatout refused. I wasn't very happy when I heard that. He showed up to a party that my house was hosting, and my friends and I didn't take it too kindly. I was so mad that he was lying to people about what happened, so I decided I needed to do something. Something mean. Something embarrassing. My best friend said he was down to back me up, so I told him to follow my lead. Lancelot was out in the courtyard sitting at a garishly painted picnic table surrounded by his minions. I sat down next to him pretending to be really drunk and sloshed a little of my nearly full beer on his jeans. He immediately stood up in alarm and after a moment, poured the rest of his beer on my pants. There was about one shot's worth of beer that hit my tacky pleather pants, so it just rolled right off. At this point I smiled because I felt he had given me the opening to overreact like an asshole. I poured my entire drink over his head making sure to get his prized hair soaked. My bff did the same with his drink about two seconds later, and Lancelot could do nothing but stare, slack jawed.

p.s. I went to the doctor today, and my doc laughed because apparently my chart says that I'm African American. Sweet!

The Wheels on the Bus

I was on the bus today, and some jackass who boarded reeked of Abercrombie cologne. Eau du Douche, and not French douche as in shower. Douche as in -bag. It makes me think of the horrible few weeks that I worked there. I was a stockboy slave and had to work many of my shifts until 2 a.m. It was a terrible environment, the pay was shit, and employees hated it (managers included, I really pitied them). I remember seeing a laminated sheet detailing how to odorize the store with the FIERCE room spray. It came in big bottles because you were supposed to use half a bottle every day. There were diagrams showing how close you need to place the bottle when you spray it on EVERY single mannequin, display, and pile of clothing. Customers would regularly complain to me that the smell gave them headaches and affected their allergies. Sorry, but there are three things you're gauranteed when entering an Abercrombie & Fitch store: an overwhelming FIERCE smell, unnecessarily loud dance remixes of songs that should never have been mixed, and pretension. I vividly remember using the employee bathroom in the stock area. Someone took such a toxic, punishing dump that I could smell it from the sales floor. On the policy poster that was curiously hung in the bathroom, someone had changed the name of the company to Fagercrombie and Fitch, and no one cared enough to do anything about it the whole time I worked there. I found it funny and took a picture of it with my phone, but thinking back, maybe I should have sued them. My time there ended when I left early one day and didn't go back. I just didn't want to! I figured I could easily get some other shitty temporary job. From then on, I avoided the store like the plague whenever I was at that particular mall. Then I remembered they still owed me a paycheck, and they didn't do direct deposit. I waited long enough that maybe they would forget who I was. The employee turnover there is sky-high anyway, but I had to do the walk of shame through the store, ducking behind clothes racks to get to the backroom and retrieve what turned out to be a measly thirty-five dollars.

On the subject of the bus. When I got on today, out of the corner of my eye I saw a little old man at the very front. He had a cane: the kind with four supports at the bottom for extra balance I guess. His cane was wrapped with a ribbon of Santa Clause so that from far away, it looked like a candy cane!!! So cute. Then when he turned around, I realized he was actually pretty young, I'm guessing 30. His grizzly beard and small stature misled me. I think he had MD. Or MS. Maybe a palsy? I don't know. If something is medical and not in the realm of vagina, I am ironically lost. Anyway, it was adorable.

That reminds me of this one time I saw a hot midget. I'm sorry, little person. We were walking in opposite directions on the sidewalk, and he was so fine! He had a very handsome face, "normal" torso, and disproportionate arms and legs. He was wearing a suit and tie, and I like to think he was on his way home from his successful career as. . . I don't know, something only big people are traditionally good at. But in that brief moment of passing each other, I imagined our lives together complete with picket fences and stepladders.