Day 234
It is nearly 4 am. It is the week from hell. You know, the last week of classes, which for most students would be spent studying for tests in the library pounding Red Bulls. Okay, who am I kidding? I have no idea what it is like to be "most students" as Creative Writing students never have to take exams and learn anything beyond speculation. Instead we have and attend many gatherings at the end of the term. These gatherings always involve booze and occasionally reading (mostly reading from booze bottles). What is the hell you ask? The hell is not staying in your room watching TV and realizing how much actual writing you aren't doing, and being hungover. I wonder if it's easier and more satisfying just taking exams so that at the end of the week you have accomplished something tangible instead of the fact that you didn't puke. Maybe I should switch to Physics.
So, I went to work at the Post Office again today. I came across a few more survival/avoiding having to work tactics:
When someone asks you how long it will take to mail a parcel to Toronto just lie. But, lie with conviction.
The Post Office I work at is attached to a gift shop-type store. So, when I am working I will slip out and try on sweatshirts and hats and model them for my co-worker. If that doesn't hold their attention I will find things that they may like, or are interesting to bring over to them to see.
Yesterday I mentioned foraging for food as a good tactic to get out of working. This is especially awesome when the sandwich joint in the building is having an end of the week sale. Make sure to get one of the half price dessert bars to split with a co-worker and tell them all about how you are going to eat sandwiches all weekend and they will forget that you aren't working.
When you are counting out the tills at the end of the day and your co-worker makes a comment how your till did significantly less sales say, "Oh well, I mostly just helped a lot of people buying just single stamps."
So, tonight was pretty much me and a few friends going to an obligatory outing. The outing was pretty dull despite the 2 pitchers of margaritas we had along the way and the giant bottle of cheap champagne. Here were the two interesting things that happened:
In the elevator to my friend's apartment we rode up with a guy. This guy looked familiar and so I said, "Hey, haven't we met before?" He said, "Yes, twice and you said that the last two times we met."
My favorite snarky gay man and I were sitting in the corner judging people on a scale from 1-10 on how interesting they may be. One of the people that we judged as a 1 was a guy who is the roommate of a friend. I went up to give this guy a chance (and because I was drunk and bored) only to find that he is a titty talker, as in only talks to tits. The other 1 in the room turned out to be much more interesting, after a little coaxing from his boyfriend he told me that he used to masturbate to pictures of dead bodies from the Holocaust. I guess that bumps him up to being more than a 1 on the interesting scale and a 10 on the Disturbed Individual Scale.
On the bus ride home from the party I ran into yet another guy I knew I had met somewhere but couldn't place. One of his friends, the one who seemed super horny, said his name during a break from grilling me with personal questions. Then he asked how we had met, so I played dumb and made the guy I vaguely remember answer him. He said that we had met at a friend's party. I said, "Yeah! You were the guy drinking tons and tons of beer!" What I wanted to say was, "You were the tiny, little short man who drank to the point of tackiness, but did offer to share, but you are still a creeper." Anyway, the conversation finally moved on to the beer drinker telling me that one of the Spice Girls was fat and that they are all fat now. Luckily, my gorgeous Scandinavian friend came onto the bus. Then I didn't have to walk home and hear about who else the beer drinker thought was fat. Though, I am curious as to whether he thinks Britney Spears is fat, but I am content with not knowing.
My mother: "So, did you do any writing today?"
Me: "No."
The above mixed with a night of swilling miscellaneous booze is the definition of what it's like to be in a writing program.
Tip of the Day: Walking the edge of the sidewalk while being far from sober is exciting and dangerous.
-Canadian Castaway
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