resonator

it is almost ten p.m. on halloween, and i am sitting at home in front of my computer because i am pathetic.

actually, i am staying home pouting because my love has been stolen away from me to attend his crazy bitch sister's wedding. i don't know why he had to go, they hate each other anyway. he bitched and moaned all the way out the door yesterday.

/whine

just when i was at my lowest most self-pitying point today, at work, a customer we like to call Jacked-Up Allen came in. obviously we refer to him thus because he is, indeed, grievously jacked-up. he's a grown man who's about as big as a good-sized preschooler who can only get around in a wheelchair. it's quite a snazzy wheelchair, though, i do have to say.

so whilst i was opening the door for Jacked-Up Allan (he can do it himself, but i hate watching him struggle...i'm always afraid he'll think i'm being condescending or pitying or something, but i can't help running over to get the door), moving chairs around so he could pull his wheelchair up to a table, and fixing him a triple iced latte (i wonder if all that caffeine's bad for him, three espresso shots is too many for me, and i probably weigh almost twice what Jacked-Up Allen does), i was forced to reflect that my life could be much, much worse.

however, if you lose the genetic lottery and end up that fucked, you get to have a special van that has some sort of conveyor-belt mechanism to move your tiny ass from the driver's area to the back, wherein presumably your snazzy wheelchair (it has flashing lights and a red lacquer paintjob) is stashed.

i have to say, even though he is completely fucked physically, Jacked-Up Allen seems like a pretty happy guy. he comes to the coffeeshop, drinks his iced lattes, chats up the coffeegirls and reads jack kerouac.

if you've read this far, you're either exceedingly bored, or you're as big a loser as i am.

xoxo