Little Rabbit Foo Foo,
Hoppin' through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And boppin' them on the head
Down came the good fairy,
And she said:
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo,
I don't want to see you
Scoopin' up the field mice
And boppin' them on the head"
"I'll give you two more chances."
So the next day:
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hoppin' through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And pattin' them on the head.
Down came the evil fairy,
And she said:
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo,
I thought I had warned you
About scoopin' up the field mice
And pattin' them on the head."
"I'll give you two more chances.
Then I 'adjust' your attitude."
So the next day...
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hoppin' through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And boppin' them on the head
Down came the good fairy,
And she said:
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo
I'm disappointed in you
Scoopin' up the field mice
And boppin' them on the head"
"You have one more chance
After that I smite you."
So the next day:
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hoppin' through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And pattin' them on the head
Down came the evil fairy
And she said:
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo
I'm really gonna hurt you
If ever I again see you
Pattin' a field mouse on the head"
"This is your last chance.
Not kidding - remember what happened to your cousin, Little Bunny Foo Foo?"
It was at this point that Little Rabbit Foo Foo realized he was screwed.
So on the next day...
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hoppin' through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And alternately boppin' and pattin' them on the head.
Down came the good fairy
Down came the evil fairy
And they saw each other
And both said, "you".
They shook their heads,
And turned to Little Rabbit Foo Foo
And said:
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
I'm disappointed in you
I'm furious with you
Scoopin' up the field mice
Scoopin' up the field mice
And boppin' -
And pattin' -"
Then the good fairy said:
"Heck with it-"
And attacked the evil fairy.
Who was expecting that.
So that night...
Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Scampering through the forest
Scoopin' up the field mice
And getting out of the way
And the next day they threw a 'no more fairies' party.
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
How Do You Feel
(The following is fiction)
How do I feel?
I feel tired.
Sick and tired.
Thanks for asking.
Particularly tired.
Not that you care. You don't.
You should but you don't.
This is entirely the fault of your pigeons, you know. Everything. All these emergency vehicles and the lights and everything.
This is entirely the fault of your pigeons and that hideous, godawful crap you've been feeding them. The smell alone would kill weaker willed sorts and that isn't even getting into the inconstinence it inspires in them, with that floating grey stuff - seriously, what is that, it's more disturbing than that time you caught the rainstorm on fire over that resthome on Thanksgiving with all the little kids screaming and the ambulences and that one guy shouting the line about 'the humanity' like that ever helps - yeah, the grey things, those... anyway, they drifted out of the cage and they killed the cats, yes, both Fluffy and Leatherface, then they burned through the floor and into the Johnson's place and I don't know what Mr. and Mrs. Johnson and all their partially clothed friends were doing before that (but I wished they could have kept the volume down, I was watching vintage Golden Girls) but they started yelling through the melting floor about the smell and I said back that if I didn't complain about the noise then they couldn't complain about the smell or the melting ceiling, and they said "What melting ceiling?", then they said "Oh, THAT melting ceiling, then they started complaining about the melting ceiling - WHINERS - then the pigeons chewed out of their cage and that guy from next door started knocking on the door, and he called out that he wanted sugar, I have no idea what that is all about, the Johnsons were picking up volume about the their cursed ceiling - is it my fault they forgot to acid proof? - and your pets started eating your other pets - the pigeons eating the cats - only it turns out Fluffy either wasn't dead or he got better, because he suddenly wasn't all dead and boy that cat knows how to kill.
Fluffy killed two of the pigeons, which, I might add, were starting to look rather demonic, and the rest of them got respectful, but then those two bird corpses started burning this really eerie neon purple flame and went through the floor and whoo-boy the Johnsons didn't like that no they didn't in fact Mrs J said, "I'm going up there to give them a piece of my mind and I called down, "Hey, could you bring back up those pigeons?" and they said 'sure' and for a moment I was happy because I thought I was going to get your missing pigeons back, eldrich abominations and all, when the guy from next door kicked down our door, looked at me over the huge glowing hole the pigeons had made, said, "You need a doorbell", then went into the kitchen, wisely skirting Fluffy's continued deathmatch with the pigeon horde, and the guy upstairs started to hit the floor, raving something I couldn't hear, probably complaining about the noise, and the next door neighbor took out a measuring cup, opened the cabinet marked 'sundries', and started stealing our sugar, and I said to him, "For shame!", then the people downstairs in the Johnson's Place called up through the floor saying "Stephanie tried to get those pigeons, but she was subsumed in their flames," and I was like, this is why you should always do important things yourself and I just huffed and told them I would be down after Golden Girls to collect the birds and they said, "Oh no, it's turning Stephanie into some sort of Fell Horror, which will likely consume us all," and I said, "Fine, could you send it up when it gained sentience and mobility?" and they said 'sure', then Fluffy started transforming and somewhere about this time the apartment building caught fire - well, really, caught more fire, it having been burning a bit already - and the guy upstairs put in some loud war movie that always upsets his neighbors up there like he always does when he is trying to ignore the rest of us, and then Mrs Johnson burst in, all angry and dressed in a sheet or something, I can't really recall, and she said, "I must complain about - hey, did you know there is a minature black hole at the base of the stairs?", and I said yeah, and told her you'd reported it to the building manager last week, and she said that was bull and he should have fixed it by now and I agreed because, yeah, that just isn't safe, and it is hard enough carrying stuff up those stairs without it making everything weigh the same as a thousand suns, but then Mrs J started chewing me out over the melting ceiling, though I derailed her for a bit saying that it was a melting floor up here, then Fluffy, mid-transformation, finally pulled down a fifth pigeons, then wrapped them all around himself to make some sort of caccoon, and the guy from next door came out of the kitchen with all of our sugar in cups, took one look at Mrs. J and told her, "I love you," and she said, "No one ever told me that," and he said well he had and he stood by it - he was very noble for a sugar thief - and she said, "Well then I love you too," and he said, "Let's run off together!" and she said, "And bake!" and he said, "I've got the sugar!!" so off they went, good for them and mind the black hole.
But now there was a firefight upstairs for real - guess the gang members up there were sick of the war movies, then the sprinklers went off because, hey, building increasingly on fire, and the TV shorted out, which really pissed me off since now I'll never see how that episode of Golden Girls ends, and that sprinkler water was gross and cold and it made the floor collapse, and it made the walls unstable and a window broke and the rest of the pigeons escaped - more power to them and I fear for the world - but there I was, suddenly in the Johnson's appartment and I asked where Mr. Johnson was, and they said he stepped out and they asked where his wife was and I said run off with the sugar thief, and they all said 'ooooo...' and one guy said, "I knew it!", but then an explosion rocked the building and the gas mains went and those explosions where bigger and there was fire everywhere and the walls shook and pieces of masonry started falling and I started to feel really sick - I think it was the water from the sprinklers but it could have been the Johnsons' dog (I'm allergic you know) - and I had to ask the Johnsons' guests why they were all dressed like it was Ancient Greece with sheets 'n things, but I never got an answer because the Fell Horror Stephanie awoke, who rose with a terrible banishee wail, seized two of the guests and offered us the sadistic choice of which she would destroy to consecrate her creation when the gang warfare, small arms fire, and explosives above all collapsed our old ceiling and everyone two floors up was suddenly falling to join us in the Johnsons' apartment, which was starting to feel a bit cramped, and you know, for a Fell Horror, Stephanie was rather pretty with ample... ahem, and also there were feathers, but she told us she was shy about that, and you could hardly notice that she was surely the doom of us all with the full on urban warfare or the remains of the melted ceiling and pigeon ... stuff left by your weird birds all over the place, also the confusion and running about but still the building manager burst in yelling at all of us in a really rude way, and you know I was still pissed that it was so hard to get hot water and the laundry room only had the one working drier and he never closed the minature black hole, so I suggested to everyone that we sacrifice him to Stephanie to seal the deal on her being a Fell Horror and the suggestion was very popular, so she consumed him and drank of his soul, which was fun to watch, and after she'd destroyed him and released her two hostages there was much rejoicing.
So we were all happy, despite the burning, exploding, falling apart building and all being trapped together and I having missed the end of Golden Girls, and the Johnsons' guests gave me and several of the gang members honorary togas and gowns and I finally got to meet the war buff from the apartment above us - did you know he carries a .50 caliber magnum and thinks we are all out to get him, and he might have to 'get us first'? What a character! - but then we had to run when the burning broken building started collapsing, and the Johnsons' apartment was no longer safe, and dagnabbit, that micro-black hole was heading towards an implosive event which would be relatively survivable for everyone who wasn't in the building, but would probably be less survivable for anyone inside, and as things started to fall in towards the stairwell everyone was panicking, and I barely remembered to grab Fluffy's cat caccoon, but thankfully we ran into Mr. J - or sorta, something weird had happened and he and his dog had merged into a half human / half canine thing and when we asked he just said it had been a really weird night - and thankfully he knew a way out that only required two key cards, a few logic puzzles, and some minor combat with the undead, which, since we had the gang members and our upstairs neighbor, really wasn't a problem, and we got out at least sixteen seconds before a completely arbitary guess of when the building would fall into the hole would occur (it was some guest from the party who did the time limit, and he was off. Took another twenty minutes for the building to crumple into some odd implosive ball), and it turns out almost everyone got out, except the building manager, and the Johnsons ran into each other at the emergency cordon that the Fire Department had put up, and they agreed to an amicable divorce, with her getting all baking supplies and a new husband and him keeping the dog, and the guests all went home, and the gang members offically made the war buff their new leader and I think they are taking over the block, and I am applying for emergency housing, but the main thing is I still feel like crap, and I am pretty sure it was the sprinkler water the more I think about it, and you missed ALL of this because you couldn't be bothered to leave work at a reasonable time, and I am tired from all the running and answering questions to the firemen and the police and the animal control people (by the way, all those warnings on TV about watching the skies and be afraid and curfew? Your pigeons, again) and it comes down to this:
I am leaving you.
For Stephanie.
She's a wonderful person for a Fell Horror, and she's there when I need her.
Oh, and we're taking Fluffy.
That's how I feel.
How do I feel?
I feel tired.
Sick and tired.
Thanks for asking.
Particularly tired.
Not that you care. You don't.
You should but you don't.
This is entirely the fault of your pigeons, you know. Everything. All these emergency vehicles and the lights and everything.
This is entirely the fault of your pigeons and that hideous, godawful crap you've been feeding them. The smell alone would kill weaker willed sorts and that isn't even getting into the inconstinence it inspires in them, with that floating grey stuff - seriously, what is that, it's more disturbing than that time you caught the rainstorm on fire over that resthome on Thanksgiving with all the little kids screaming and the ambulences and that one guy shouting the line about 'the humanity' like that ever helps - yeah, the grey things, those... anyway, they drifted out of the cage and they killed the cats, yes, both Fluffy and Leatherface, then they burned through the floor and into the Johnson's place and I don't know what Mr. and Mrs. Johnson and all their partially clothed friends were doing before that (but I wished they could have kept the volume down, I was watching vintage Golden Girls) but they started yelling through the melting floor about the smell and I said back that if I didn't complain about the noise then they couldn't complain about the smell or the melting ceiling, and they said "What melting ceiling?", then they said "Oh, THAT melting ceiling, then they started complaining about the melting ceiling - WHINERS - then the pigeons chewed out of their cage and that guy from next door started knocking on the door, and he called out that he wanted sugar, I have no idea what that is all about, the Johnsons were picking up volume about the their cursed ceiling - is it my fault they forgot to acid proof? - and your pets started eating your other pets - the pigeons eating the cats - only it turns out Fluffy either wasn't dead or he got better, because he suddenly wasn't all dead and boy that cat knows how to kill.
Fluffy killed two of the pigeons, which, I might add, were starting to look rather demonic, and the rest of them got respectful, but then those two bird corpses started burning this really eerie neon purple flame and went through the floor and whoo-boy the Johnsons didn't like that no they didn't in fact Mrs J said, "I'm going up there to give them a piece of my mind and I called down, "Hey, could you bring back up those pigeons?" and they said 'sure' and for a moment I was happy because I thought I was going to get your missing pigeons back, eldrich abominations and all, when the guy from next door kicked down our door, looked at me over the huge glowing hole the pigeons had made, said, "You need a doorbell", then went into the kitchen, wisely skirting Fluffy's continued deathmatch with the pigeon horde, and the guy upstairs started to hit the floor, raving something I couldn't hear, probably complaining about the noise, and the next door neighbor took out a measuring cup, opened the cabinet marked 'sundries', and started stealing our sugar, and I said to him, "For shame!", then the people downstairs in the Johnson's Place called up through the floor saying "Stephanie tried to get those pigeons, but she was subsumed in their flames," and I was like, this is why you should always do important things yourself and I just huffed and told them I would be down after Golden Girls to collect the birds and they said, "Oh no, it's turning Stephanie into some sort of Fell Horror, which will likely consume us all," and I said, "Fine, could you send it up when it gained sentience and mobility?" and they said 'sure', then Fluffy started transforming and somewhere about this time the apartment building caught fire - well, really, caught more fire, it having been burning a bit already - and the guy upstairs put in some loud war movie that always upsets his neighbors up there like he always does when he is trying to ignore the rest of us, and then Mrs Johnson burst in, all angry and dressed in a sheet or something, I can't really recall, and she said, "I must complain about - hey, did you know there is a minature black hole at the base of the stairs?", and I said yeah, and told her you'd reported it to the building manager last week, and she said that was bull and he should have fixed it by now and I agreed because, yeah, that just isn't safe, and it is hard enough carrying stuff up those stairs without it making everything weigh the same as a thousand suns, but then Mrs J started chewing me out over the melting ceiling, though I derailed her for a bit saying that it was a melting floor up here, then Fluffy, mid-transformation, finally pulled down a fifth pigeons, then wrapped them all around himself to make some sort of caccoon, and the guy from next door came out of the kitchen with all of our sugar in cups, took one look at Mrs. J and told her, "I love you," and she said, "No one ever told me that," and he said well he had and he stood by it - he was very noble for a sugar thief - and she said, "Well then I love you too," and he said, "Let's run off together!" and she said, "And bake!" and he said, "I've got the sugar!!" so off they went, good for them and mind the black hole.
But now there was a firefight upstairs for real - guess the gang members up there were sick of the war movies, then the sprinklers went off because, hey, building increasingly on fire, and the TV shorted out, which really pissed me off since now I'll never see how that episode of Golden Girls ends, and that sprinkler water was gross and cold and it made the floor collapse, and it made the walls unstable and a window broke and the rest of the pigeons escaped - more power to them and I fear for the world - but there I was, suddenly in the Johnson's appartment and I asked where Mr. Johnson was, and they said he stepped out and they asked where his wife was and I said run off with the sugar thief, and they all said 'ooooo...' and one guy said, "I knew it!", but then an explosion rocked the building and the gas mains went and those explosions where bigger and there was fire everywhere and the walls shook and pieces of masonry started falling and I started to feel really sick - I think it was the water from the sprinklers but it could have been the Johnsons' dog (I'm allergic you know) - and I had to ask the Johnsons' guests why they were all dressed like it was Ancient Greece with sheets 'n things, but I never got an answer because the Fell Horror Stephanie awoke, who rose with a terrible banishee wail, seized two of the guests and offered us the sadistic choice of which she would destroy to consecrate her creation when the gang warfare, small arms fire, and explosives above all collapsed our old ceiling and everyone two floors up was suddenly falling to join us in the Johnsons' apartment, which was starting to feel a bit cramped, and you know, for a Fell Horror, Stephanie was rather pretty with ample... ahem, and also there were feathers, but she told us she was shy about that, and you could hardly notice that she was surely the doom of us all with the full on urban warfare or the remains of the melted ceiling and pigeon ... stuff left by your weird birds all over the place, also the confusion and running about but still the building manager burst in yelling at all of us in a really rude way, and you know I was still pissed that it was so hard to get hot water and the laundry room only had the one working drier and he never closed the minature black hole, so I suggested to everyone that we sacrifice him to Stephanie to seal the deal on her being a Fell Horror and the suggestion was very popular, so she consumed him and drank of his soul, which was fun to watch, and after she'd destroyed him and released her two hostages there was much rejoicing.
So we were all happy, despite the burning, exploding, falling apart building and all being trapped together and I having missed the end of Golden Girls, and the Johnsons' guests gave me and several of the gang members honorary togas and gowns and I finally got to meet the war buff from the apartment above us - did you know he carries a .50 caliber magnum and thinks we are all out to get him, and he might have to 'get us first'? What a character! - but then we had to run when the burning broken building started collapsing, and the Johnsons' apartment was no longer safe, and dagnabbit, that micro-black hole was heading towards an implosive event which would be relatively survivable for everyone who wasn't in the building, but would probably be less survivable for anyone inside, and as things started to fall in towards the stairwell everyone was panicking, and I barely remembered to grab Fluffy's cat caccoon, but thankfully we ran into Mr. J - or sorta, something weird had happened and he and his dog had merged into a half human / half canine thing and when we asked he just said it had been a really weird night - and thankfully he knew a way out that only required two key cards, a few logic puzzles, and some minor combat with the undead, which, since we had the gang members and our upstairs neighbor, really wasn't a problem, and we got out at least sixteen seconds before a completely arbitary guess of when the building would fall into the hole would occur (it was some guest from the party who did the time limit, and he was off. Took another twenty minutes for the building to crumple into some odd implosive ball), and it turns out almost everyone got out, except the building manager, and the Johnsons ran into each other at the emergency cordon that the Fire Department had put up, and they agreed to an amicable divorce, with her getting all baking supplies and a new husband and him keeping the dog, and the guests all went home, and the gang members offically made the war buff their new leader and I think they are taking over the block, and I am applying for emergency housing, but the main thing is I still feel like crap, and I am pretty sure it was the sprinkler water the more I think about it, and you missed ALL of this because you couldn't be bothered to leave work at a reasonable time, and I am tired from all the running and answering questions to the firemen and the police and the animal control people (by the way, all those warnings on TV about watching the skies and be afraid and curfew? Your pigeons, again) and it comes down to this:
I am leaving you.
For Stephanie.
She's a wonderful person for a Fell Horror, and she's there when I need her.
Oh, and we're taking Fluffy.
That's how I feel.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Rambling 1
So then we were camping
Camping is fun
Except we forgot the marshmellows
Got lost in the woods
A bear ate Steven on day three
Then this witch started in on us
Found weird things in the trees
We kept walking in circles
Misplaced a few more of us
I think Andrea went nuts
Always hard to tell with her
Ran out of pop tarts
Both types
Ran into a werewolf
Sounds outside the tent at night
Horrible chainsaw weilding maniac...
But finally...
Made it
Safe and sound
For the four of us left
Here we are
Safe
At Camp Crystal Lake
Camping is fun
Except we forgot the marshmellows
Got lost in the woods
A bear ate Steven on day three
Then this witch started in on us
Found weird things in the trees
We kept walking in circles
Misplaced a few more of us
I think Andrea went nuts
Always hard to tell with her
Ran out of pop tarts
Both types
Ran into a werewolf
Sounds outside the tent at night
Horrible chainsaw weilding maniac...
But finally...
Made it
Safe and sound
For the four of us left
Here we are
Safe
At Camp Crystal Lake
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Today Was Not Easy
So. Another long day at work. Though, granted, it was a little different than usual. Most long days are, well, what you'd expect. Lots of contrast between that which one must uphold and the demands being made on oneself, wearying people, the slow drudgery of a bleak season. You know, the typical Saturday. Big sale, too, so extra fun there.
After seven and a half hours of this (well, seven, not counting lunch which was its own lovely situation that we will not be discussing aside from the note that nothing today was simple even including the procurement and comsumption of foodstuffs) I was more than a little elated to have my break happen.
Break is great. I get to go for a walk.
Most might argue that seeing how big a circuit one can walk on a measly fifteen minutes isn't much of a break. But I find wind soothing, quiet (or at least as quiet as a small city / large town gets) relaxing, walking enjoyable, and all that. Plus, if I am out on a hike - however short - no one can find me. It is very hard for coworkers to interrupt your break if you are a block and a half blocks away. So I walk somewhere - in this case a little distance down main street.
In this I get to learn that it is a fun day not just at work. I see no fewer than three emergency vehicles. One is passing down the road (ambulance) in quite a hurry, while a police car and a fire truck have blocked off a road I wander past. Why, precisely, I haven't the foggiest, but it added just a bit of surreality to my trip. Not so much though, as when I was heading back. About a third of the way back into the shopping center where my place of employment resides, I come up on a 7-Eleven. There is a bunch of cars oddly parked at the corner of the little conveince store. One was a van, to the left of all the parking spaces, and on that little triangle of white lines that everyone knows means no parking. Next to that a little sedan - four door, but while I think it was silver god if I can tell for sure. I see one loud, belligerent man coming from the silver sedan shouting at another, who seems to be in the last available parking space that neither of the other two vehicles quite got into. The man from the sedan is loud, belligerent, obviously heading into a good rage. Odd, but not (unfortunately) that strange. Then I see him opening his trunk.
I think, honestly, that as angry as he sounds, he is getting ready to help. Maybe his odd parking job, the odd parking of the van or SUV or whatever that big thing is next to him, it means they are in trouble. Maybe he is trying to help and irritated that he has to. Some people are like that. Perhaps he's getting jumper cables or a jack or a spare tire out of his trunk. He's being a good citizen. I think this, and my world, while somewhat hard for the day, is normal.
The loud angry man pulls a rifle out of his trunk. He opens it up, checks to make sure it is loaded, then snaps it closed. I am not close enough to get all his angry shouts - he is loud mostly through emotion, rather than volume. But some words leak in. 'You', 'don't', 'me', 'my', and I think 'place' or 'space'. I may be wrong - I really do not know the answer. But he points that rifle at the man he was harranging. I honestly believe that he is thinking of killing him. Over what, lacking any other ideas in my head, is a parking space.
I wish I could say I did something brave and stupid at this point. I didn't.
I walked past, not speeding up or slowing down, and once past a couple cars cut in, went directly into the 7-Eleven and told the guy behind the counter, "You have a gentleman threatening another man with a rifle in your parking lot." I got no reply. I think they thought I was joking. I do that, sometimes, and they know me and I know them. I had to repeat it a second time, seriously, and I did. I was calm. I did not break into any kind of hysterics. I am proud of that much of my conduct at least. The second repetition did it, too. Both the clerk at the register and the other clerk in the store paid attention. The second clerk walked up to the front and we looked over, but the second car misparked, the SUV or van or whatever it was, it blocks any view. But it looks like maybe the sedan is gone. We haven't heard any gunshots.
It has been less than a minute, but it is probably over. The clerk beside me, senior to the fellow behind the counter, goes with the basic thought that it didn't happen in his store, he saw none of it, and it seemed to have blown over - not his problem. For all he knows, I am making it up. I have no idea. Thinking about it from his perspective, I might have done the same thing he then did: Figured it wasn't my problem, since I didn't see anything. He said as much, then he went back to his job. Life inside the 7-Eleven proceded on course. For all they knew, nothing had happened.
I went back out. The angry man had left, his sedan with him. The gentleman he was threatening moments before already had the police on his cell phone, and with the aid of another witness and myself, gave what information he could. Especially since, apparently, when the sedan left, the rifle was 'riding shotgun', as it were, and anyone on such a hair trigger might use it elsewhere. I couldn't provide much - I saw bits and pieces, but I was at a distance for most of the unfolding events.
And it was so fast.
I added what I could, which wasn't enough. I made sure the gentleman who, again, near as I can tell took a parking space someone else wanted and was threatened seriously with being shot had my name and place of employment in case he needed a witness. Because, if all you are going to do is make a point, why grab a gun? And if you just mean to scare the guy, why be sure it's loaded? Then I went back to work, shaken and doing my best not to be. I finished out the day with only a few more of the piddling little difficulties that make my current vocation such a trial, though they dragged more for the wonderful extra stress I picked up over break.
It was a hard day. Worst of all is the memory that I walked past. What I saw could just have easily been a homocide. I walked past. I honestly can't see anything better I could have done. Trying to break up a dispute where one guy goes from irritation to branishing deadly weapons is the height of stupidity, and I could have made things so much worse. I could have been the last straw before shooting started. I was prudent instead. I went directly to a place where there was possible aid. I did the safe thing, I think. I did the wise thing, I think.
I think.
Yet I keep wondering about the sequence of events. What if the argument hadn't gone so well? If it had been worse. If that angry man with the rifle had pulled the trigger, while I was doing the safe, wise thing, how would I feel about myself now? I saw a man pull a fucking gun longer than my arm, and I walked past. Not a word, not a whisper. I tell myself I did right. I even believe it. I still feel like a coward.
How would I have slept tonight, if he'd fired after I walked past? Would I have?
After seven and a half hours of this (well, seven, not counting lunch which was its own lovely situation that we will not be discussing aside from the note that nothing today was simple even including the procurement and comsumption of foodstuffs) I was more than a little elated to have my break happen.
Break is great. I get to go for a walk.
Most might argue that seeing how big a circuit one can walk on a measly fifteen minutes isn't much of a break. But I find wind soothing, quiet (or at least as quiet as a small city / large town gets) relaxing, walking enjoyable, and all that. Plus, if I am out on a hike - however short - no one can find me. It is very hard for coworkers to interrupt your break if you are a block and a half blocks away. So I walk somewhere - in this case a little distance down main street.
In this I get to learn that it is a fun day not just at work. I see no fewer than three emergency vehicles. One is passing down the road (ambulance) in quite a hurry, while a police car and a fire truck have blocked off a road I wander past. Why, precisely, I haven't the foggiest, but it added just a bit of surreality to my trip. Not so much though, as when I was heading back. About a third of the way back into the shopping center where my place of employment resides, I come up on a 7-Eleven. There is a bunch of cars oddly parked at the corner of the little conveince store. One was a van, to the left of all the parking spaces, and on that little triangle of white lines that everyone knows means no parking. Next to that a little sedan - four door, but while I think it was silver god if I can tell for sure. I see one loud, belligerent man coming from the silver sedan shouting at another, who seems to be in the last available parking space that neither of the other two vehicles quite got into. The man from the sedan is loud, belligerent, obviously heading into a good rage. Odd, but not (unfortunately) that strange. Then I see him opening his trunk.
I think, honestly, that as angry as he sounds, he is getting ready to help. Maybe his odd parking job, the odd parking of the van or SUV or whatever that big thing is next to him, it means they are in trouble. Maybe he is trying to help and irritated that he has to. Some people are like that. Perhaps he's getting jumper cables or a jack or a spare tire out of his trunk. He's being a good citizen. I think this, and my world, while somewhat hard for the day, is normal.
The loud angry man pulls a rifle out of his trunk. He opens it up, checks to make sure it is loaded, then snaps it closed. I am not close enough to get all his angry shouts - he is loud mostly through emotion, rather than volume. But some words leak in. 'You', 'don't', 'me', 'my', and I think 'place' or 'space'. I may be wrong - I really do not know the answer. But he points that rifle at the man he was harranging. I honestly believe that he is thinking of killing him. Over what, lacking any other ideas in my head, is a parking space.
I wish I could say I did something brave and stupid at this point. I didn't.
I walked past, not speeding up or slowing down, and once past a couple cars cut in, went directly into the 7-Eleven and told the guy behind the counter, "You have a gentleman threatening another man with a rifle in your parking lot." I got no reply. I think they thought I was joking. I do that, sometimes, and they know me and I know them. I had to repeat it a second time, seriously, and I did. I was calm. I did not break into any kind of hysterics. I am proud of that much of my conduct at least. The second repetition did it, too. Both the clerk at the register and the other clerk in the store paid attention. The second clerk walked up to the front and we looked over, but the second car misparked, the SUV or van or whatever it was, it blocks any view. But it looks like maybe the sedan is gone. We haven't heard any gunshots.
It has been less than a minute, but it is probably over. The clerk beside me, senior to the fellow behind the counter, goes with the basic thought that it didn't happen in his store, he saw none of it, and it seemed to have blown over - not his problem. For all he knows, I am making it up. I have no idea. Thinking about it from his perspective, I might have done the same thing he then did: Figured it wasn't my problem, since I didn't see anything. He said as much, then he went back to his job. Life inside the 7-Eleven proceded on course. For all they knew, nothing had happened.
I went back out. The angry man had left, his sedan with him. The gentleman he was threatening moments before already had the police on his cell phone, and with the aid of another witness and myself, gave what information he could. Especially since, apparently, when the sedan left, the rifle was 'riding shotgun', as it were, and anyone on such a hair trigger might use it elsewhere. I couldn't provide much - I saw bits and pieces, but I was at a distance for most of the unfolding events.
And it was so fast.
I added what I could, which wasn't enough. I made sure the gentleman who, again, near as I can tell took a parking space someone else wanted and was threatened seriously with being shot had my name and place of employment in case he needed a witness. Because, if all you are going to do is make a point, why grab a gun? And if you just mean to scare the guy, why be sure it's loaded? Then I went back to work, shaken and doing my best not to be. I finished out the day with only a few more of the piddling little difficulties that make my current vocation such a trial, though they dragged more for the wonderful extra stress I picked up over break.
It was a hard day. Worst of all is the memory that I walked past. What I saw could just have easily been a homocide. I walked past. I honestly can't see anything better I could have done. Trying to break up a dispute where one guy goes from irritation to branishing deadly weapons is the height of stupidity, and I could have made things so much worse. I could have been the last straw before shooting started. I was prudent instead. I went directly to a place where there was possible aid. I did the safe thing, I think. I did the wise thing, I think.
I think.
Yet I keep wondering about the sequence of events. What if the argument hadn't gone so well? If it had been worse. If that angry man with the rifle had pulled the trigger, while I was doing the safe, wise thing, how would I feel about myself now? I saw a man pull a fucking gun longer than my arm, and I walked past. Not a word, not a whisper. I tell myself I did right. I even believe it. I still feel like a coward.
How would I have slept tonight, if he'd fired after I walked past? Would I have?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Phone Conversations from Work
There are reasons I hate answering the phone at work. Someone has to do it, and it usually falls to me. Most phone conversations are easy and quick. Others are... less so. As always, it is those that are not easy or quick that stick in the mind. They vary a bit, here and there, but it is like they take passages from the same script.
The whole of the bad conversation tree would go something like this (note: I do NOT include my name in this, to protect my own identity, and I also properly changed the name of the store at which I work.) -
Me: Hello, this is Soar.
Caller: Is this Soar?
Me: Yes, this is Soar, ma'am
Caller: The thrift store?
Me: Yes ma'am, we are a thrift store.
Caller: Are you open?
Me: Ma'am? Yes we are open.
Caller: Oh good. I didn't know you were open on (Sunday, Tuesday, Fridays, holidays, ever)
Me: Yes ma'am. Do you want to know our hours?
Caller: Can you tell me your hours?
Me: ... Yes. We are open today from 10am to ____, but we stop accepting donations at four.
Caller: You aren't accepting donations anymore?
Me: No ma'am, we just don't accept items after four-
Caller: But I have a lot of things for you.
Me: That's fine, but the back door is used for donations. The staff back there closes down at four.
Caller: I can't bring them in the front door?
Me: We would prefer not.
Caller: Well. I'd like to sell some items. What do you buy clothing at?
Me: Ma'am, we do not buy clothing. What you want is a consignment store, they buy used clothing. We are a charity-based thrift store.
Caller: You aren't consigment?
Me: No ma'am
Caller: Isn't this Soar?
Me: Yes ma'am, this is Soar.
Caller: The thrift store.
Me: Yes ma'am.
Caller: But you don't buy you said.
Me: No ma'am. We work on donations. Thrift is donations. Consignment is purchase.
Caller: So you don't buy.
Me: No ma'am.
Caller: What about computers?
Me: What about computers, ma'am?
Caller: Do you buy computers?
Me: We do not accept or purchase computers.
Caller: But you accept clothing
Me: Yes ma'am.
Caller: You just don't buy it.
Me: That is correct ma'am.
Caller: What if the computer works?
Me: We still won't accept it ma'am.
Caller: Where are you located?
Me: We are at ____ _____ in Fairfax, Virginia.
Caller: I would like directions from Northwest DC.
Me: Would you like me to connect you to someone who can give directions?
Caller: Yes. I would also like to speak with a manager about your buying policies.
Me: Yes ma'am. Please hold.
...
I may be exagerating, slightly. I may not, too. That example conversation, that's only a few minutes long if you count the awkward pauses. I've had worse that lasted five, ten minutes. They spiral downwards into an abyss of miscommunication and social discord from whence not even the spirit of Ma Bell can wisk one fully from. That's just what I deal with. There are legendary conversations which managers have dealt with that are three times as long.
But this, more than a little, explains why I twitch a little when a phone rings around me. Its certainly one of the key reasons why I do not own a cell phone.
The whole of the bad conversation tree would go something like this (note: I do NOT include my name in this, to protect my own identity, and I also properly changed the name of the store at which I work.) -
Me: Hello, this is Soar.
Caller: Is this Soar?
Me: Yes, this is Soar, ma'am
Caller: The thrift store?
Me: Yes ma'am, we are a thrift store.
Caller: Are you open?
Me: Ma'am? Yes we are open.
Caller: Oh good. I didn't know you were open on (Sunday, Tuesday, Fridays, holidays, ever)
Me: Yes ma'am. Do you want to know our hours?
Caller: Can you tell me your hours?
Me: ... Yes. We are open today from 10am to ____, but we stop accepting donations at four.
Caller: You aren't accepting donations anymore?
Me: No ma'am, we just don't accept items after four-
Caller: But I have a lot of things for you.
Me: That's fine, but the back door is used for donations. The staff back there closes down at four.
Caller: I can't bring them in the front door?
Me: We would prefer not.
Caller: Well. I'd like to sell some items. What do you buy clothing at?
Me: Ma'am, we do not buy clothing. What you want is a consignment store, they buy used clothing. We are a charity-based thrift store.
Caller: You aren't consigment?
Me: No ma'am
Caller: Isn't this Soar?
Me: Yes ma'am, this is Soar.
Caller: The thrift store.
Me: Yes ma'am.
Caller: But you don't buy you said.
Me: No ma'am. We work on donations. Thrift is donations. Consignment is purchase.
Caller: So you don't buy.
Me: No ma'am.
Caller: What about computers?
Me: What about computers, ma'am?
Caller: Do you buy computers?
Me: We do not accept or purchase computers.
Caller: But you accept clothing
Me: Yes ma'am.
Caller: You just don't buy it.
Me: That is correct ma'am.
Caller: What if the computer works?
Me: We still won't accept it ma'am.
Caller: Where are you located?
Me: We are at ____ _____ in Fairfax, Virginia.
Caller: I would like directions from Northwest DC.
Me: Would you like me to connect you to someone who can give directions?
Caller: Yes. I would also like to speak with a manager about your buying policies.
Me: Yes ma'am. Please hold.
...
I may be exagerating, slightly. I may not, too. That example conversation, that's only a few minutes long if you count the awkward pauses. I've had worse that lasted five, ten minutes. They spiral downwards into an abyss of miscommunication and social discord from whence not even the spirit of Ma Bell can wisk one fully from. That's just what I deal with. There are legendary conversations which managers have dealt with that are three times as long.
But this, more than a little, explains why I twitch a little when a phone rings around me. Its certainly one of the key reasons why I do not own a cell phone.
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