..:S...P...I...D...E...R...B...I...T...E...S:..

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Ironically, in my solitude, i had created something that could only be used in concert with another human being...
- Mother Night


this new job is the shit (that means it's good) besides my workdays being fast and productive, i am left completely to myself, i have every weekend off, i take lunch when i please and get paid to do it, i have a desk without a single Steelers logo in sight, i have a highway drive with no traffic problems so far, i have a fast computer and a comfortable chair, i have access to vending machine that works, i am surrounded by confident, skilled people (which is very reassuring after being drowned by passive-aggressive bullshit and insecurities at my former job), i have a new water bottle that is never more than a foot from my hand, no dress code, more money, climate control, good lighting, a view from my car when i sit in it on my break, an extra 15 minutes of music going in and coming home, a button near my hand that brings a robot hand out of the floor holding a white-chocolate macadamiamia-nut cookie, and, most important, i get an interesting task to perform each day that involves television shows and films that, in spite of being packed full of important information about the disposal of dead bodies and the dangers of tornadoes, provide me with more exercise for my writing abilities than eleven years of college ever did.

i don't know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing but here's the way i see it. i typed my ass off for a decade, never saw anything in print, and ended up reluctantly using the speed i developed from being hunched over this screen to finally get a better job. THEN i go to this job and find that years of typing with no regard for capitalization or punctuation might possibly have made my stories and essays harder to sell. so now i learn all about commas and sentence structure everyday at work and then bring it back home to eventually plug into my fiction. it's like the circle of life, dude. except that i don't think that i can ever bring myself to capitalize my "i."

the most potentially challenging thing at this job, so far, is when you receive a copy of the show or movie and it hasn't been seasoned yet. in other words, the sound effects haven't been added so you have to predict where the glass will shatter or the lightning will crash. i'm not sure how that will all work out eventually. i guess those copies are encoded best you can and any changes made when the studio gets the videotape or video file back just won't match the captions and deaf people everywhere will frown when some character's shotgun barks like a dog or when someone bites into a cracker and tires start squealing.

had a good week. went to see a couple decent bands, obsessively fingered a metal staple in someone's skull like it was prom night, helped empty a wrecked car of seven years of memories (and in the process noticed that, in spite of a wreck that smashed the shit out of much plastic and metal, a stack of styrofoam cups were somehow spared. these cups are being slowly used by me so that i'll have less dishes to do and, with only four cups left, it really feels like there's a metaphor buried in here somewhere), i watched several crap movies from the library and, because i grabbed "Alexander" and "At Home At the End of the World" (a movie that does NOT live up to that title) i had a Colin Farrell festival by mistake, got drunk, got my license back from a botched-paperwork inspired suspension, hung some more shelves on my walls, hung up two more pictures, covered every surface with books, found a baseball that i had sawed in half at a construction job 4 years ago, called some old friends several states away, had a good radio show with lots of new music, enjoyed hearing from callers that told me i've developed a small but loyal following, lined up all my shoes against the wall, and, put new music in my car to listen to after juggling the same 12 cds for more than 6 months. hey! see how i had that 12 and six as numbers instead of spelled out? that's because, even though the rule is to spell out numbers one through nine, at work i'm supposed to make them all numbers if they appear on the screen on the same line of captions. and i just did that shit right now, without thinking. see, that what i was talking about earlier.

no telling what other changes I might see slipping into my next sentence.

::: david - 1:44 PM [+] :::
...

"All i wanted was a Pepsi, and they wouldn't give it to me!"
- Suicidal Tendencies "Institutionalized"

"I gots pennies for ma thoughts..."
- 50 Cent "Patiently Waiting"


THE POST OFFICE CHRONICLES

Chapter Two:

"Was there a sign on the machine?"


actually, it wasn't a Pepsi. all i wanted was a stamp. one goddamn stamp. for the love of christ can i get a stamp?!?

true story. i have one little thing i want to mail out before work (so that i feel like i've accomplished something before i waste my day behind a register) and i have about 15 minutes to walk in, put my fifty cents in the machine, snatch the stamp it gives me, spit on the 911-commemorative flag, attach it to the envelope around my latest short-story-slash-insect-metaphor and drop it in the box! pow! how hard can that be? i'm actually thinking i've given myself about 14 minutes more than i need. wrong. i drop in my quarters, hit the button and nothing happens. a quick glance at my watch.

13 minutes...

i hit the button a couple more times. cock my head like a cat taking a shit. still nothing. try to get my 50 cents back with the coin release. nothing. i look at my watch with my nostrils flaring to see how much time i got left to still get to work on time.

12 minutes...

i look inside to divide the clerks by the number of people and i see a line of about eight old ladies waiting to mail their own short stories. well, not really. as much as i wish this was true (that there were eight grandmas waiting in line to mail their violent insect metaphors to random college literary journals) it's more likely they simply had boxes of cookies and kittens to send to their grandchildren serving in Iraq. anyway, i'm waiting in this line, inching forward like i'm doing a drunk test on the highway and i'm thinking this is one of those times when i could legitimately cut in front and say, "i'm sorry i just need my fifty cents back real quick" but i can't do it. i hate it when other people do that so i just can't bring myself to do it, even though if anyone had a good reason i do. lookin' at my watch.

10 minutes...

i'm creeping forward slower than snails fucking, trying to gauge the amount of time spent on each grandma at the counter so i can predict which clerk i'm going to get when i finally get up there. hmmm. looks like that smiling little old dude will be my clerk if each grandma keeps getting in and out in about three minutes. i watch him help each customer with the grace and efficiency of that machine that made cookies that eventually became "Edward Scissorhands." yep, three minutes each seems to be the average so far.

7 minutes...

then the grandma on the end starts shopping for a certain stamp book they can't find, holding them all up to the light like they might have Wonka's golden ticket inside and now everything's off. you know how it is when you're counting your steps and you realize ten feet away that you're not going to take first step on the stairs smooth so you have to stumble over a little half step to do it? it's like that when i realize i'm not going to move forward at the right pace to make eye contact and get called over by the efficient smiling little old clerk. so...i get the big snarling asshole instead! but it's all good! this will be easy, right?!?

me - "hey dude, that machine just took my money. can i get a stamp from you?"

(see what i'm saying! this is the easiest transaction in the history of the postal service. not since the days of the Pony Express when some cowboy handed a wooden letter to a guy on a horse has there been a request that has been this easy to deal with. i calmly wait for my stamp, smiling because of this gift i've brought to his workday...)

asshole - "the machine's broken." (awkward pause)

me (still smiling) - "yeah, i know. i just need one stamp."

asshole - "was there a sign on the machine?"

me (my smile is now gone forever) - "uhhh. no. (pause) so what are you saying?"

asshole - "there was a sign on it saying it was 'out of order' earlier."

me - "okay, but there isn't a sign on there now. (pause) i just need one stamp. can't you give me the stamp from here?"

asshole (ignoring my question, yelling back over his shoulder) - "hey Joe! was there a sign on that machine?"

4 minutes...

me (feeling the vein in my head pulsing) - "hold on. let's say Joe says 'yeah, there was a sign on it.' i mean, so what? there isn't one now. what does that have to do with this?"

asshole (confused) - "huh?"

3 minutes...

me - "i'm saying, okay the machine was broken, then the sign fell off. so what? you can see there's a fifty cent credit right there on the display. so why do you need to ask Joe?"

asshole - "because the machine is broken and it had a sign on it-"

me (through teeth) - "you see the machine from here? see that there's no sign? see that it says 'fifty cents?' just get me a stamp so i can go. please."

(i really say please because at this point i'm honestly confused and trying to understand his train of thought. i'm thinking maybe he's just not aware that it was my last fifty cents and maybe, in his mind, this one stamp combined with such a small amount of money can't be the reason i waited in line? maybe he thinks i just wanted to have a long conversation about the machine? i don't get it. i realize that there might be very few people who plan their days around their last two quarters, but on that day i was. so i'm just repeating i need a stamp to hopefully clear this up)

me - "i just need a stamp."

asshole - "you said that."

me (laughing a bit) - "sooooo, uh. can i have one?"

zero minutes...

and now we have complete insanity coming atcha in 5...4...3...2...1...

asshole - "sorry, i can't do that."

me (more veins in my head) - "why not?"

asshole - "the machine and us are separate."

me - "what???"

asshole - "the machine and this post office are separate. i can't give you a stamp."

me - "wait a minute. what do you mean 'you're separate?' you sell stamps, right?"

asshole - "yeah and-"

me - "and that machine sells stamps, right? i mean, it's not like that machine is selling fishing lures and it has nothing to do with you, right? it's the same thing. you both sell stamps. how is that separate?"

asshole (sighing and actually looking to the next person in line like i'm nuts) - "because the guy who fills the machines has a different inventory than-"

me - "whoa. wait. so, when the guy comes to fill up the machine, does he give you your stamps too? of course he does. so it's the same thing. it's not like there's different things in there or something. it's all coming from the government, right? they all have a flag on them, right? so give me one of your stamps, keep the change and i'm out the door."

T minus 2 minutes and counting...

asshole - "i can't."

me - "jesus fucking christ. then give me my fifty cents back."

asshole - "hold on."

more insanity in 5...4...3...2...1...

this prick hands me FUCKING PAPERWORK to fill out.

me (staring at the papers, then him, in complete disbelief) - "i have to fill this out for fifty cents?"

T minus 3 minutes and counting...

maximum insanity in 3...2...1...

asshole - "yes, and then they'll mail you a check."

me - "what?!? just give me my fucking money back, dude."

asshole (over his shoulder) "Joe!"

Joe shows up. Joe is a woman. welcome to crazy world! i'm sort of laughing again. the fact that Joe is a woman makes perfect sense right now. hell, i wouldn't have batted an eye if Joe was riding a unicycle and juggling skulls.

Joe - "sir, he's right, you have to fill this out to get your refund."

me - "you can't just give me a stamp."

Joe - "the machines are filled with..."

me (interrupting) - "with the same stamps you sell! seriously this is hysterical. it's not like i lost money in the pop machine and want a Pepsi from your lunchbox. i mean, you sell stamps here!"

Joe - "i'm sorry but you'll have to fill this out."

T minus 5 minutes and counting...

even with the five minute grace period you get, i am now officially late for work.

me (defeated) - "fine."

i proceed to fill out this form to get back my TWO QUARTERS. however, i can't resist adding a little something in the comment box...

clock in at the bookstore at 9:19. everyone rolls their eyes with that "late again" look like i give a flying fuck. i put my short story in my locker and there it sits until payday.

fast forward three weeks. i'm opening my mailbox, reaching inside for the good news that some magazine has finally decided that all their readers really want to do is compare their daily trials and tribulations to fiction about driving around aimlessly and spiderwebs 'n shit and yeah, sure, we'd love to publish your short story in this month's 'Redbook!' tragically, i pull out this instead. i proudly display it on the 'fridge for about a month but finally had to deposit it because, you know what, i take my checking account down to the fucking nub. sometimes fifty cents is all that stands between a comfortable life with my music and my movies and my cats...and fighting with chainsaws in Thunderdome.

::: david - 12:45 PM [+] :::
...

"Remove the patient from the tumor."
- Aeon Flux


-i have two stories about confrontations at the post office. i may wait until i have three to tell or i may just post them next. i’m going to buy some 1 cent stamps today so who knows what violence may erupt. if nothing happens i’ll just tell the two stories when i get back. wish me luck!

-sorry Brett, i looked around for my old Stratego game because i wanted to take a picture of the inside of the lid where i used to write down where Genie’s flag was hidden and hold it up behind his head whenever the two of you played but alas i must have lost the pieces to the original one and bought another since there wasn’t anything written on the inside of the box. or maybe i’m remembering things wrong. i swear i used to help someone cheat when they played that.

-the library vs. the videostore:

when i go to the videostore i take a looong time to carefully choose what i’m going to watch. for example, after wandering around for about an hour, doing about 25 laps around the new releases with my $2.14 jangling in my hand, i finally chose “Suspect Zero” for more reasons that i could list right now. however, after quickly parking and not putting a quarter in the meter, i ran in to the library and grabbed “Ladder 49” (“we fight fires in slow motion! it’s what we do!”), “Hildago” “Bio-dome,” “About a Boy” and “Goodburger” in zero point two seconds. just kidding with “Goodburger,” that was just an attempt to steer your attention away from me actually getting “Bio-Dome.” i think my point is something to do with “shit being free!”

-i’m watching “The Village” while i eat and despite it’s Twilight Zone (and a children’s book) rip-off twist, i’m almost ready to give it credit for a couple subtleties. i can’t be sure if these things were done on purpose since, despite some skill (the weighlifting scene in “Unbreakable”), M. Night Shamalamadingdong has shown that he can lose his way (the lame-ass fight in “Unbreakable”) or suck as bad as the worst of them (the final shot of “Unbreakable”). here’s what i think is well done, if it was done on purpose:

1.) the fact that the color of blood is “the bad color” so that maybe kids will subconsciously resist the urge to stab each other.

2.) sending a blind girl into the woods makes a little sense if they hope she can get medicine and not see the “real world” so that she comes back and doesn’t give up the secret.

3.) the suggestion that a closed off village would become a genetic problem eventually resulting in birth defects such as blindness, William Hurt talking like Yoda, red hair, Joaquin Phoenix’s cleft palate, and retarded murderous pianists. but other than those three reasons it’s terrible. so why do i own it if i hate it? hey, it’s complicated.

okay, here’s a good example, right now William Hurt is leading the blind girl to touch the monster costume to show that there are no monsters and she's like “where am i going dad?” and he says, “i cannot say with words, it’s just a few more steps...”

now, call me crazy but couldn’t he save some horrified reactions from his blind daughter stumbling around in the “shed we do not speak of!” until she bangs her head on a dead pig skull and bear-claws by simply saying the words, “it’s a monster costume?” he can't just say that shit? there are “no words” for “monster costume” in their village? fucking dumb.

-my friend mark is right, these younguns have no knowledge of the history of genre movies. or any movies for that matter. even stuff that's not that old. i went to Circuit City and asked if they had "Trainspotting" and the waterhead said "Is that a TV show?" so i bought the Aeon Flux collection instead.

-on my last day at my old job i used their label maker to make a sticker that says “Now Playing” so that i can stick it on one of my speakers by my TV and then put the box for whatever movie i’m currently watching above it. who’s the dork? but yes it's true, i have surgically removed myself from retail! it would have been funnier if i did this on my last day, but actually i did this during Christmas...

::: david - 10:55 AM [+] :::
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