Day 197
This morning I fell in love...with my old laptop. Apparently, if you use Vista (now known as, motherfucking Vista) there is often a glitch that will prevent you from creating PDF documents in Final Draft screenwriting software. I know, it's like the end of the world. Anyway, I pulled out my 6 year old laptop that looks like an overgrown primitive toy and turned it on for the first time in 7 months. Not only did it fire up and had pleasant-looking fonts, it made a PDF for me. I was so happy, I kissed it's cookie-crumbed surface of it. Then, I felt like a dirty whore, not for kissing my scuzzy computer, but for replacing it with a spiffy new one. But, this is further proof that a real lover will stick around long after you push them away, and replace them.
I had to drag myself to the videostore today to turn in some late-fee accruing rentals. I promised myself that I wouldn't rent anymore. I came home with 5 more. Anyway, when I was there I started talking to the Canadian actor who works there. He told me all about the history of Degrassi Junior High for a half an hour. He even came out from behind the desk to point out other shows from Canada. Btw, he's shorter than me. When he was getting my DVDs I inquired about the help wanted sign on the door. He told me that they need someone to work Saturday and Sunday nights and that he was manager and that he is doing the interviewing. He also noted that this is the first time they have hired a possible stranger. Remember that scene in Wayne's World where that security guard gives them all of that information? That is what it felt like.
But, I do not have a permit to hold down a job outside of the University in this country. Fucking Canada. I was really starting to love this joint. I told the videostore man my situation. As I rode the bus home I had a thought. After I exited the bus I pulled out my cellphone. Whether it was magic, or fate, or the fact that I never keep track of when movies are due, I'll never know, but I had the number in my speed dial. I paused and imagined myself dialing and then hanging up when he answered. I dialed. I didn't hang up.
I probably should've hung up. Instead I told him who I was and that I am available to work this weekend if he was in a bind and that I would figure out all the shit about work permits later. Then if that wasn't bad enough, I was like, "You know, maybe I'll just shoot you a copy of my resume through email." Yeah, I said, "shoot you an email." Holy shit. He informed me that they do nothing via email because they are "slackers." I then said something I either can't remember or have blocked out. Gee, I wonder if I'll get the job or if I'll be able to show my face in their long enough to return the 5 videos I have in my bag. Shit, I what am I gonna when I need more Degrassi?
Today I remembered why I hate math, and why I love reading. Reading gives you ideas and imaginary friends and makes you feel smart. Math makes you an enraged idiot. The worst part is knowing people who understand math and who are not assholes. They will make it their life's ambition to teach you a concept when you clearly don't get it and you start to make I'm-going-to-choke-you hands near their neck. When you are ready to squeeze their windpipe they say, "I just really want you to understand it so you have some piece of mind and know that everything is going to be okay." Aww sweet, I do fall for that. But, it would be so much easier to be around a know-it-all asshat who thinks he is too above me to explain it all. The trick with that tactic is that I would still get mad, but I would at least be determined to understand just out of fuck you-ness. Shit, I can't win. I need math.
Tonight I was working a private party and there was a guy there who kept bringing everyone's glasses up to the bar. He laid it on thick with how wonderful I am and even made the annoying guy who actually wanted me to dance for my tips go away. He told me that I should be paid more, and that I was his favorite bartender of all time. Maybe if I would've cut him off in time I could've put up a missed connection on craigslist saying, "You: Guy who worshipped me. Me: Bartender at private party. Please come back and worship me again, but ditch the yellow tie/yellow shirt together combo."
Tip of the Day: Tell your co-worker you never talk to that you have a crush on someone you both work with, not just to get it off your chest, but to here him say in response, "I have a crush on him too."
-Canadian Castaway
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