The first one is right here.
Continue reading ‘Customer Service Transcripts #2′
The challenge: I produce a completed and somewhat serviceable novel by December 15th.
The challengers: My old college buddy James and his unborn baby (due on or about the 15th).
The rules: I can’t share anything I write, and it has to be completed before the baby is born.
I’ve been working customer service since 1991. At times, it’s been face to face at a bookstore, or as a caterer, or as a host for special events and weddings at a rental facility. Mainly, it’s been phone service. Though, for several years, it’s been all of the above. A grueling seven days a week, 12-15 hours a day dealing with the public.
Continue reading ‘Customer Service Transcripts #1′
I only use Craigslist to find crazy women, though I occasionally branch out to see if I can get my hands on some bedbug infested furniture, Nazi memorabilia, or 13 year old Malaysian slaves who can help me repair my tennis shoes.
Over in the apartments section (where I constantly dream of finding an ad that says “Haunted mansion in Georgetown — scene of triple homicide — only $400 a month, utils included!”) I found a real gem. So I’ll share it with you, dear internet. Here’s the original posting.
Continue reading ‘Craigslist Cat Craziness’
I’ve decided that I only have two life options left. Within the next five years, I must either be my own boss or I have to change my name and work on a Syrian cargo ship and re-emerge after 15 years as a hardened terrorist.
My old college buddy James had really toned down over the last couple years. He’d gotten himself sober, married a girl named Marcie, and started on a weirdly responsible career ladder. I hadn’t seen much of him since he announced Marcie’s pregnancy. His life entered one of those phases I equate to the turning of a great, invisible wheel. Like in Conan! The Wheel of Life. Except there’s no cool montage to accompany these turns and, in comparison to Conan’s destiny, each turn is actually depressingly mundane.
Today I want to condemn the highly corporate Silver Spring Farmers Market. Because we should be honest with ourselves. The Silver Spring Farmers Market sucks. So where do I go? I go to the Kensington farmers market, because they don’t know how to use an apostrophe.
Cars
I’m a stick shift kid. I’m all about manual. I only drive an automatic now because I received an offer that I couldn’t refuse.
I had this little Acura Integra that I bought in 99 and, by 2005, I had put a couple hundred thousand miles on it and it caught on fire because I loved the fuck out of driving back then. There’s something about manual that’s… I don’t know. Like sex without a condom.
Automatic is very much like sex with a condom. You feel like you can just curl up in the backseat and the car will continue on without problem. There’s also this sense of not being in control. Like there’s a big hamster in a wheel under the hood and it knows what to do but you don’t. The bitch is all moaning and squirming and you’re like, hmmm, if I keep thinking about Jenna Haze getting assfucked, maybe I’ll stay hard enough for her to finish whatever she’s doing and be able to get back to Stargate.
But manual? Oh, yes. Strip off the condom and drive in there. Feel every inch of that quivering love pudding! Fill me up, Mr. Sasha!
Continue reading ‘Cars’