Saturday, October 16, 2004

You are the perfect drug the perfect drug the perfect drug

Every day of school, the endless monotony, I have 6th period off. During every one of these sixth periods off, I go to the library. Chris Olson, who's sort of a friend of mine, who's a cool guy, comes there too. And also, this tall girl who's into volleyball - Kristen Hokenstad - comes in sometimes, too.

She's sitting on a table next to our table. She's got books open, she's doing some homework. I've got my latin open at my table with Olson, trying to translate but not much feeling like it. Olson's doing Physics homework, or Calculus homework - whichever.

I ask Kristen if she'd like to go see a movie with my sometime - I'd pay, it'd be free - and free means it won't cost you anything. Except maybe being in debt to me, owing me a favor. But let's not stress that too much, now.

All she does is laugh at me - she somewhat knows how I am, and knows I'm not serious, at all. She considers I'm probably just pulling her leg.

She's not laughing at me in a mean sense - in fact, I'm laughing at my table, too.

I ask her if there's any movie she'd like to see - then I get up, grab the library's newspaper, find where the movies are located - it's 3C - open to it, look over the movies. Thumbing through. There's The Forgotten. . .there's Open Water. . .other movies. Nothing you'd take a girl to.

I give it to her and tell her to tell me which movie she'd like to see. I leave it over by her at her other table, go sit back down.

She doesn't even really look it over. She cranes her neck over it for a while, but I know she probably won't seriously consider it.

Chris Olson is laughing as well, in his way, and tells me I just got denied. I told him I tend to agree, and I say Kristen hates me. She says she doesn't hate me. Then I say, "It's like she said, 'You're a good kid and all, Mitch. . .but I hate you.'" Chris Olson laughs again, Kristen laughs again.

I tell them I'm just going to kill myself now. My life's pointless. Kristen won't go to a movie with me.

Kristen says I'm acting like this other girl at our school, who's foreign and is melodramatic and dark.

I figure that sounds better than anything else.

When I think about it, I don't think I was serious about it, either. It just felt good to be gutsy and blatant. Which is how I am.

Yesterday when I was listening to my ipod, going over to the table to do my homework, she was smiling this amused smile at me. She was probably thinking about what I'd done prior. Probably considering what a crazy bastard I am. And maybe on the side, like when you go to a restaurant and get coleslaw on the side, maybe she was thinking about how hot I make her.

Here's wishing.

---

Yesterday at work, me and Chris Olson washed and unracked together. I was the washer, him the unracker.

It was the busiest I've seen it there. There was this line of about forty people in the entrance to the place. All standing there.

I worked my ass off yesterday, as did many other workers.

We kept up, until they forced me to go up and do pies. Then I came back, and we had about five bus tubs to wash, and two full prebus carts - which hold about five stacks of plates.

While we had worked the whole day, we'd poke fun at each other, say random things - it keeps you sane. Olson was bending over picking up all the miscellaneous garbage that had fallen on the floor, and I said, "That's right, pick it up. I made you do it just because I wanted to see you bend over. Don't you remember? 'Drop the fork!'"

A manager, Jeramie Miller, comes over. He says, "Are you guys going to quit flirting and get to work, or what?" Which really, really pissed me off.

What had I been doing the whole fucking time I was there? Working hard. Yes. That was what I had been doing, and over strolls Mr. Asshole and tells us to get to work when the reason we're behind is they keep taking Olson away, or me away, to do other shit for them.

I honestly wanted to punch the guy.

All I did was I said, "I'll show that asshole," under my breath, and I started working fast. I just didn't care anymore, and I worked faster than I had been before - which had been fast.

I was going so fast, Olson couldn't keep up with me.

Then they took Olson away, and I got all caught up the rest of the way by myself, even though they brought in about two more prebus carts, about three more bus tubs. I was just pissed, which doesn't happen often with me. I can't stand the managers at that place. All they do is sit there and bitch at you when you're working. And Jeramie, all he does is eat something every time you see him and be his asshole self.

I wanted to tell Jeramie, "Why don't you do this? Because I don't see you doing anything."

Calvin came over and took over washing, and then eventually it was time to leave, after a lot more shit.

My stomach started hurting sometime along here. It really, really hurt - it was painful. I felt like I was going to fall over. I was sure it was from how hard I'd pushed myself, working even harder after I'd worked hard already.

Davey, another manager, bitched at me because I wasn't helping Calvin unrack. I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, my stomach hurt.

I told Calvin I was sorry I was slow, my stomach hurt.

Sometime while I walked in, Becky came up to me. She was pushing inside the brim of her shirt, so you could see her breasts if you looked at a top-down perspective. I told her to do it again, and then she asked me to reach in and grab an ice cube which was apparently stuck in there. I didn't think she was serious, so I told her no. Then she went over to Calvin, and he did it.

Olson said she was such a slut, and I guess so. I told him there was nothing wrong with it anyway.

A group of twenty came about 9:10, even though we were closed. We had to wait for them to leave, and then we had to bus the table. Davey kept giving Chris Olson shit about how I was busing the table faster when I wasn't, and I told Davey to shut up. Told him we'd worked hard today and to stop being such an asshole.

I was saying how Jeramie was such an asshole a while later or before, and one of the workers there, Laura, said that Jeramie wasn’t an asshole. Thinking about it now, I’d’ve liked to tell her he only treats her nicely because of a very deceptive reason. A perversive reason.

He only treats her nicely because he wants in her pants, or because he finds her pretty. Or because like every other man, they have to treat women nicely. Just have to because that’s the way it goes.

When we'd bused the table, we went to the office and asked if we could go - Davey said we still had ten minutes and I told him to let us go already. He let me punch out, but Olson had to unrack some plates quickly. I helped him do it and we finally got the hell out of there. When I stepped out, I honestly wanted to blow the place to fucking smithereens.

It was the day from hell there yesterday.



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