Wednesday, September 24, 2003
My eyeballs almost fell out of my head this evening.at 10:26 PM
Work exhausted me. The manager (Pat) assigned me to the fitting room, which upset me little until people buried me with their rejected clothes. Some girl tried on six junior's shirts and blouses, then hang them in-side out and up-side down. A person only does something so asinine purposefully.
Juli (the closing manager) tasked me to mark down all the women's perfume/smelly body goop. I failed to complete my assignment, because I helped Maida and Jenn hang the junior's clothes that came in on the truck this morning. I spent five minutes figuring a way to hang one set of shirts. At least, I believe shirts is what these things were meant to be, but their un-shirt-like structure assaulted my sense.
I ate White Castle
(the breakfast of champions);
my tummy curdles.
I suspect The Father wants me home for winter break because he wants me to meet his little girlfriend. "Cute" is the only adjective I can ever think of to describe The Father in the dating world. It requires much from him that he generally avoids- displaying affection, making and standing by commitments, considering the feelings of another human being, allowing himself to have fun (The Father only enjoys himself when he plays his Gibson or when he reads Jefferson and Adams), et cetera.
My parents probably remained together as long as they did (until my mother's death on May 19, 1998, for anyone ignorant of this factoid) out of their mutual fear and loathing of all other humans. Because I understand the twisted relationship they had, The Father's current trepidatious companionship ventures amuse me rather than make me anxious.
