You know how it is. The dog wakes you up because he's scared of rain. It's rains all night, you stay up with a scared dog panting in your face. All night. After you took a Benadryl to sleep. You know how that goes.
So you wake up, clean the cat's litter box, eat granola cereal and try not to think of the similarities between the two. You clean the glass door off because the shutterman you paid 900$ to install plantation blinds disappeared for the last 3 months with your money and came back with the lamest excuse of "I've been out of the country adopting a chinese baby." But you have to read that last bit in quotes with a twinge of a Southern drawl to get the complete picture. Ok, you're with me.
So no, no time to make that craptacular middle-class scrabbled-together lunch to take with you. You'll just get something, somewhere. Anything. Anywhere. Maybe. And now it's 12:47pm and you're hungry and denser and more foul than whenever you woke up this morning, if you are actually awake now anyway, it's really hard to tell.
Screw it. Scrounge up some change, plug in the basement code, find something in the vending machine that won't kill you or make you fat while you're waiting. Chewy Sweet-Tarts? One foam honeybun with fake plastic icing on top? Nice. No. Get the last Fig Newtons. Then catch a reflection of some creepy, balding man hunched in the corner smoking behind the wall staring at you, watching you bend over for the newtons, thinking you can't see him staring.
Leave, leave, leave because you watch too many "
Cold Case Files." Unwrap your newtons and pour a 3+ hour cup of stale coffee into a styrofoam cup, and think about Larry Junior.
Larry Junior was a girl. A girl. Named Larry, after her dad. And she was a bitch.
She worked at Larry Senior's junk mail company where I worked for an unfortunate year and a half until I could get a better job at *the* ad agency.
"You know what I miss about smoking?... I miss that first morning cigarette inthe morning...on the toilet...there is nothing better than a cigarette and a cup of coffee on the toilet...you ever smoked a cigarette in the morning on the toilet...with a big cuppa coffee?...no?...are you finished with that flyer for Clark yet?..."
(Don't even turn around to look at her.) No. I just got it an hour ago. Do I know when it'll be ready? Yes. when I am done with it.
Not used to the word "no", spoken or heard, she turns on her heel and flings me her middle finger over her bulging shoulder as she says, sweetly as she thinks possible, "Ohhhh-kayyyyyy, I'll check back later then."
Best thing about quitting a shit job like that isn't the obvious. It's always, always in the details, like watching Larry Junior's bloated overmade-up face sag when I reminded her that some people are too stupid to remember computer monitors reflect like mirrors, and that is especially important to remember for someone who flips birds at others over a shoulder like a passive aggressive cow.
Thank you, God, I don't have to be around that work of art anymore though. So yeah, reflections of creepy hunched people and the smell of stale coffee remind me of Larry Junior. That, and every time I throw out a handful of useless junk mail and flyers without even opening them.
So speaking of pigs, this is very cool (swiped from
chimEra -- hello, Zoey!!)
Draw a Larry Junior, I mean draw a pig and get a personality analysis.
Oh come on, it's fun. You should give it a try, or I can give you a quick analysis myself.
Aww, look. It's Larry Junior...almost, except that she actually has her pants on, for once.
Pleas note her three sets of boobies.
Gee, I wonder what this drawing says about me...
