Day 30
Today I thought I'd be super efficient and ride the b-line bus, as this bus only makes a few selected stops. The b-line has always blown past me at every stop but this morning I made a special effort to find out where it goes. I was so excited to ride the bus that I had no idea it would suck. It's true that it is faster than the buses that stop every couple blocks but, it is filled with boring people. The types of people who ride the fast bus are horrid. They are all clones of one another with their ear buds in and their noses in newspapers. What's the fun in that. No crazies, or old people, or bag people, chatty neighbors, or even mothers with babies that lighten up the gloominess of public transport. What a crock. I guess it will take me twice as long to get places but at least I'll have someone to talk to or be afraid of to share my ride with.
So, I hopped off the express bus and found a clothing store that I had passed by a week ago, a clothing store that actually carried above a size 10. I was so excited to meet up with my fatty sisters that I didn't even care that the clothes were hideous, dull and excentuated the belly. In fact, I found a sweater to purchase. I was so proud of my sweater when I brought it up to the cashier I almost forgot that it's price tag read, $56. When the clerk rang it up and wanted nearly $62 for it I nearly started vomiting all of the healthy shit I was forced to eat for breakfast. "You tax clothes here?" I asked. The French girl working behind the counter said something I couldn't understand and I handed her my credit card. My over-priced sweater and I dragged ourselves out of the store. I was homesick for the first time for my country of unaffordable health care and tax-free tax clothes. If it weren't for the dentistry here I would've packed my bag, I swear.
After the shopping adventure I went to the library today and settled into my favorite carrel. After many failed attempts at writing I looked down and noticed something down my shirt. I was wearing a low-cut shirt so I reached in to discover what I had seen (a white fleck of deodorant). I picked if off and the lights began to flash. The library was closing in a half an hour I thought nothing of it, as turning off lights in places, like stores, is a great way to move the customers out without having to get verbal. But, the light came back on after flickering. I tried to write again but then wondered if there was anything else in my cleavage, again I dug around. The lights flickered. I tried not to notice. Eventually, I gave up on attempting to write anything and decided I'd go to the pub and check my schedule for next week. I packed up my things, the lights didn't flicker at all. Then, as I rose a crew-cutted, chunky woman security guard came up to me and thanked me for leaving the building before closing and made me take a bookmark. I walked out, her smile etched into my brain, could it have been...
After I left the library I hiked to the pub to check the schedule as I was looking at next week I was greeted by a co-worker who starts telling me all about the function (banquet) that evening. I asked him why he was telling me all of these things and he said, "Because you're working." "When?" "Right now." I looked at my clothes and down at my sandal-clad feet and at the schedule and there I was. "I have to run home and get my shoes and shirt," I said. And, run I did. I felt like a chubby freaking Pocahontas. I tore ass up the street, my heart rate increased and sweat beaded everywhere. On the way back I thought better of such a display, fat girls can easily be harmed while exerting themselves with needless physical activities like running. But, damn what a coincidence that I had went to check the schedule and didn't have any plans (well, I never have any plans, I did hear of several parties going on this evening and even asked the guest of honor of one of them why I hadn't been invited, she said, "Because it's for my close friends.") Who knew being unpopular would come in so handy.
After the event tonight which was a party for the physical therapy students (translation: a creepy masked ball that led to horrid singing, high-schoolish dancing, men drunk on peach cider, and a few girls crying). When we finally closed the shutters to the bar we had to clean up and move everything out. Not a problem until I realized how many used f-ing bottles there were. It was my duty to put them, all of them, into boxes. You never realize how disgusting your job is until you are covered in the spray of sediment left in a strangers beer bottle. I hate fucking recycling, all those pseudo-hippie green freaks can ram a strangers slutty beer bottle up their assholes and walk it to their motherfucking "recycling" bin.
After a night of masked torture I had a beer with my co-workers. We started chatting and I brought up the fact that I have been calling things, people, and situations "pussy" a lot. And, then I relayed that not only have I been saying this word, people around me have started to pick it up and use it (mostly when insulting me). That's when my fellow drink schleper said, "Why don't you start saying vag instead?" "Why?" "Because if you start saying vag then everyone will say vag and then you can start saying pussy all over again." I almost asked him to marry me.
Also tonight (gee, today was a real thrill, huh?) I ordered a safewalk. Safewalk is a program on campus that provides the caller with a two person walk team to ensure that theyd make it to their destination...safely. I was made fun of for calling them. My buddies joked that the people who are on walk teams are pussies (I mean, vag-s?) and that I would be safewalking them. I was thrilled to meet these walking geeks and see what they had to say, how they behaved and what they looked like. I imaged that they wore safety vests, goggles, and flashlights and proudly sported badges or sashes. I waited for their arrival. They never came. I safewalked myself home wondering why nobody wants to hang out with me, ever, not even complete geeky strangers, especially complete geeky strangers. Maybe they saved my number, my heart leapt, and they 'd call to see if it was alright...damn, rejected again.
-Canadian Castaway
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