Messages from Anear
Ate a late lunch yesterday (2:30 - 3:15 ) at my block's local. Buffalo chicken and two Arnie Palmers, quite good on a late spring, rainy day. Got caught in a heavy white-drop downpour on the way home but it was just a block so I walked at a leisurely pace, happily bedraggled. I'd overheard some really fun stuff at the pub; I'll get to those in a moment.
Now, waiting for me on my answering machine was a voicemail from my former employer, a company that has since blacklisted me from working with them as an independent contractor and put out a story, it seems, that I was canned last December. They've suggested to people in the industry that "a change was needed" so I was replaced. Was a change needed? Yes. That's why I quit. I gave them a two-month notice. I honored that, worked with the new guy. Left them industry crib sheets, inside information, all that. I even worked for them on a series of contracts this year. Everything was amicable...until three weeks ago when I was abruptly blacklisted. Why? One does not know.
So here is this message from that company, and the caller is asking me to help them sort some things out for the magazine. WTF? My blood boiled. Just the sound of her totally fake polite tone and drawn out sybillance...GAHHHHHH!!!!! I'll spare you the details (for once).
Needless to say, what I'd like to serve them is a dish best served cold, and I don't mean gazpatcho.
Funniest thing overheard at lunch:
Man enjoying an early, very lubricated happy hour says to his buddy, "I know! I know! You're like, 'I'm looking for a table! Your dick's in my ass! Stop talking to me!'" What? Now I can see parts one and three connecting; and two and three even; but one and two? Never. Judging by the buddy's lack of laughter, I think he agreed with me (though the speaker was really entertained).
Second funniest:
Other man enjoying a well-lubricated, early afternoon happy hour: "I shit you not. A professional bowler got a ball stuck on his hand. I ain’t never seen a thing like that in my life. Swear to god. I was watching it right on the television." What a curious cat. A visual like that, well, yes, you can almost see it spliced into footage of blooming flowers and laughing children as Louis Armstrong sings "What a wonderful world." A bowling ball stuck on a professional's thumb.
Third funniest:
Middle-aged woman in running shoes, white socks, denim shorts, red t-shirt, push-up bra and Minnesota Twins baseball cap is playing a very involved game of pinball with what appears to be a barely 21-year-old boyfriend. He's tall, wears dredlocks. Is quiet but smiley. So she's really into the pinball. She's man-humping the machine with her hips, just driving and grunting. The boyfriend's watching all that contact, jaw unhinged, beer at a precarious angle in his hand. She loses her ball. "Bitches!" she shouts and slaps the machine side. She slaps the guy's ass with the same force as he steps up for his turn and she's walking away, not even looking at him. "Cigi time," she says and heads out for a smoke.
-cK
Now, waiting for me on my answering machine was a voicemail from my former employer, a company that has since blacklisted me from working with them as an independent contractor and put out a story, it seems, that I was canned last December. They've suggested to people in the industry that "a change was needed" so I was replaced. Was a change needed? Yes. That's why I quit. I gave them a two-month notice. I honored that, worked with the new guy. Left them industry crib sheets, inside information, all that. I even worked for them on a series of contracts this year. Everything was amicable...until three weeks ago when I was abruptly blacklisted. Why? One does not know.
So here is this message from that company, and the caller is asking me to help them sort some things out for the magazine. WTF? My blood boiled. Just the sound of her totally fake polite tone and drawn out sybillance...GAHHHHHH!!!!! I'll spare you the details (for once).
Needless to say, what I'd like to serve them is a dish best served cold, and I don't mean gazpatcho.
Funniest thing overheard at lunch:
Man enjoying an early, very lubricated happy hour says to his buddy, "I know! I know! You're like, 'I'm looking for a table! Your dick's in my ass! Stop talking to me!'" What? Now I can see parts one and three connecting; and two and three even; but one and two? Never. Judging by the buddy's lack of laughter, I think he agreed with me (though the speaker was really entertained).
Second funniest:
Other man enjoying a well-lubricated, early afternoon happy hour: "I shit you not. A professional bowler got a ball stuck on his hand. I ain’t never seen a thing like that in my life. Swear to god. I was watching it right on the television." What a curious cat. A visual like that, well, yes, you can almost see it spliced into footage of blooming flowers and laughing children as Louis Armstrong sings "What a wonderful world." A bowling ball stuck on a professional's thumb.
Third funniest:
Middle-aged woman in running shoes, white socks, denim shorts, red t-shirt, push-up bra and Minnesota Twins baseball cap is playing a very involved game of pinball with what appears to be a barely 21-year-old boyfriend. He's tall, wears dredlocks. Is quiet but smiley. So she's really into the pinball. She's man-humping the machine with her hips, just driving and grunting. The boyfriend's watching all that contact, jaw unhinged, beer at a precarious angle in his hand. She loses her ball. "Bitches!" she shouts and slaps the machine side. She slaps the guy's ass with the same force as he steps up for his turn and she's walking away, not even looking at him. "Cigi time," she says and heads out for a smoke.
-cK
posted by cK at 11:03
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