Day 75
There is one good thing about this swine flu thing. It is a damn good excuse to skip your least favorite class. I am not saying that I have swine flu but a few sniffles is now enough to clear a room. Play it up a little bit and you will get leering looks and requests for you to leave. What's funny is how people lean away from you like you are the fattest creature imaginable and they want to leap out of your way before your fat absorbs them like an avalanche that gets bigger as it moves along.
Anyway, I waltzed down the street this afternoon imagining my comrades sitting through the class with the teacher who used to make us go and sit on the lawn in a circle, thank God for the rain. This is the same teacher who has now banned her, "sharing circle" (translation: where we have to go around the room and state what we did on the weekend). I would be alright with this ban except that she banned "sharing circle" just after the time when a classmate of mine said, "I had a threesome." I wonder if there was still "sharing circle" if I would've gone to class.
So, I went home to rest which involved me playing around on the internet, reading a short story, writing eight pages in my super top secret Emily Papers, crying with a friend over some stupid guy and seeing the sun come out just as I was about to take a nap after my exhausting schedule. What's crazy is that when the sun comes out you have to go outside. I never thought I'd be the person who would live by the sunshine. But, I nearly skipped down the street from shop to shop despite that I really had been sick I seemed cured, until I walked out of the liquor store (you have to go when you are nearby, right?) and everything was gray. The walk home was exhausting and took three years of dragging my feet in the darkness with two cheap wine bottles keeping time in my backpack.
For some reason (money) I decided that if I skipped class this afternoon I would be well enough to work my shift at the pub. Monday nights are open mike undergrad nights. The open mike isn't a poetry slam or anything it is mostly dorky undergrad fuglies trying to serenade any female in the room to sleep with him. This night is fun to work mostly because we (the entire bar staff) spend the entire time making fun of the undergrads.
One of the bartenders was asked for an extra glass and he responded, "Fuck no!" to the girl while the bartender next to him looked her dead on and said, "What the hell is your problem?" The other floor staff person and I spent most of the night discussing how unattractive the clientele was siting specific examples and cracking up when the undergrads would catch us in the act and try to look hot. There is nothing funnier than a 19 year old trying to pull of what his version of a sexy guy in a bar would be. Some of the people there are too easy to make fun of like the guy who goes up and plays solos on his bass guitar that last a minimum of 12 minutes. Another being a 4'8" curly-haired white kid who thinks he's gangsta. They get so drunk that when we throw them out they leave their shit behind. A staff member scored two sacks of pot, a nice glass pipe, and a giant pink watch tonight. The only way to make the evening any better would be for them to actually tip us.
Why am I wasting my time with this grad school jazz when I know I will end up working in a bar my entire life? It's like an addiction but you get paid for it. Tonight while drinking my pussy peach cider I reminisced about the nasty things I've said to customers throughout my 10+ years slinging food and beverage. And, I still like what I said to the girl who coughed throughout her dinner. After she had paid her check and was walking out she started to cough again and I said, "Jesus, why don't you suck on a goddamn Ludens?" My friend was right when she said, "Cruelty does make the day go faster."
-Canadian Castaway
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