the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
12.25.2004
Home for the Holidays.
I arrived home yesterday for the first time in about a month. I have only been here for about 26 hours and I am already bored out of my fucking SKULL.
The few days before Christmas were pretty strange for me, filled with interactions with horrible, horrible people.
Since I've been having limited success with posting on a regular basis lately, I'm going to post one situation at a time. Next one will follow in the next couple of days, as I'm sure that nothing interesting is going to happen to me for a considerable amount of time. This shit comes in cycles. That said,
Situation #1: The Cheap Korean Ladies Running the Deli Downstairs(Bitches)
We'd run out of plastic cups at the office, so my boss Jack made me run downstairs to pick some up from the flashy deli run by a gang of cheapass Korean ladies.
They didn't sell packages of cups, so I put on my saddest face, approached the counter, and asked if I could please "borrow" (this intentional misuse of the verb "borrow" -- i.e. I'm not "borrowing" a cup with the intention of giving it back after I've used it, like you would with a pencil, for instance -- is used only under the most desperate situations, in which a guise of endearing stupidity is likely to come to my aid) some cups.
"THESE GOOD CUP," the 4'10" pug-faced Korean lady shrieked at me, striking her erect finger repeatedly against the stack of clear plastic cups. "I GIVE YOU FOR.. FIFTY CENT EACH."
Fifty cents each for plastic cups?? I needed at least 10, and that would come out to five bucks. Ridiculous!!
"COFFEE CUP 25 EACH," she shrieked again in a belligerent tone. People were starting to stare at us. It was starting to make me nervous.
"Don't you have any styrofoam cups?" I asked, blushing, receiving only a glazed, blank look at the word 'styrofoam.' I was starting to sweat profusely -- which often happens to me in uncomfortable social situations, especially when Asian people are shrieking at me for no good reason. "Um, the cheap white cups, you know...?" I added, futilely making a cup shape with my fingers after I wiped away the thick mustache of nervous sweat that was forming on my lip with the back of my hand.
"OHHH.... NO WE NO HAVE STYFOM."
This was definitely a lie, because my coworker had fetched one for me just a few days before. And plus, I could see them hiding behind the "25 cent" coffee cups. I pointed them out.
"OH. THOSE? YES, THEY GOOD CUP TOO. ONE MINUTE--" The lady then proceeded to pick up the telephone and talk to someone in Korean for about 15 minutes as I stood there in front of the counter trying to avoid eye contact, wiping away the goatee of sweat that was now collecting on my chin. My down-filled eskimo coat combined with this horribly uncomfortable situation was making sweat drip down my forehead and accumulate in a Bob Vila-esque full beard formation on my face.
I stood there for another three minutes, now just out of spite, glaring at the little gnome-ish piece of shit behind the cash register. She was shrieking into the phone, still, avoiding my non-blinking eyes which were probably about to shoot out lasers of pure, unfiltered rage any second. I almost leaped over the counter, punched her out, and grabbed all of the cups (50 cents each bedamned!) to make a run for it, but instead wimped out and just left, throwing a feeble "thanks anyway" over my shoulder.
I successfully bought a package of cups from another deli, this one run by a lonely Korean man who apparently loved all 25 seconds of my company. While walking back, I noticed that one of the men who had been loitering in front of the deli locked eyes with what I can only assume was my ass -- and started following me.
He kept a respectable distance, about 1/4 of a block behind me. As I slipped into the lobby of my office and pushed the elevator button, I looked out the glass double doors and saw this guy -- a stocky white guy probably in his late 20's/early 30's, rubbing his hands together like he was about to dig into a pile of spaghetti or jump into a bathtub filled with money. I distinctly heard him call out to me, "Where's that girl with the nice ass?.. OH THERE SHE IS!!"
The elevator number was blinking from floor 2 to 1 as his hand reached toward the door handle, and I slipped into the elevator and stabbed "door close (><)" furiously right as his fingers wrapped around the door handle. Thankfully, the elevator doors slid closed right before this man pulled the door open an inch as he was saying, "DAMMMMNNNNNNNN.... MMMmm-MM!"
He's lucky he didn't get to slip into the elevator with me.. he would have had two long packages of plastic cups lethally whipped and batted about his face and genitals like a pair of nunchucks. It would have been a miracle if he got himself in that situation and emerged alive, let alone with a functioning peepee.
Yes, my friends, I would have whooped his ass with a pair of plastic cup packages and my genetically powered martial arts skills (all Asians are ninjas). When those elevator doors opened again on my floor, I would have had White Horny Dude's hair in my fist, his spine dangling from his ripped-off head dripping blood across the tile floor -- in a true Mortal Kombat-esque fatality ("FINISH HIM!!") form (Hell yeah, Mike Lawson!). Enemies, beware.
[Peek-a-Foo]