I've officially given up on 50,000 words, but I'm still writing. In the mean time I'm procrastinating with a funny thing that hit me while watching Whose Line is it Anyway? For certain games, Drew grabs a random audience member and has Wayne sing a song about their job.
DREW: You, what's your name? (motions to a dirty old man)
MAN: I'm.... jeff
DREW: and what do you do for a living?
MAN: I live in a dumpster
awkward silence. Drew motions toward a large-ish bearded man
DREW: Who are you?
MAN2: I'm George Lucas
DREW: And what do you do for a living?
hush falls over crowd. some people laugh
GEORGE:I invented Star Wars
DREW:I'm sure. (motions toward another man) Whats your name?
MAN3: My name is George W. Bush
Drew:What do you do?
BUSH: Um.... uh.... I, um....
the old man next to him whispers a few things in his ear
BUSH: I am responsible for the Hurricane Katrina!
okay, not that funny, but it worked in my head.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Peter goes to work.
Crazy woman thought Peter, as he fumbled with his keys. Crazy, stupid waitress, stupid keys, stupid job, stupid car, stupid everything! After finding the right key, Peter slumped into his white Oldsmobile Achiva and slouched for awhile as he built up the motivation to actually start the car and drive to work. Once he did, he reached for the ignition, and realized that he was no longer holding his keys. Crap, he thought, I'm the only one I know that loses his keys between unlocking the door and starting the car. After an annoyed search, Peter grumbled and headed for TW&Q insurance.
His job was a simple one which involved explaining to people why his company could not pay for any of their car repair bills, despite the fact that they give his company large sums of money every couple of months. It was not a very satisfying job; Peter spent a lot of time getting yelled at by his boss, and the rest of the time being alternately yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened with various torture methods by unhappy customers. The only real advantage of all this was free car insurance: depending on a customer's plan, a portion of their cash will be set aside to pay for insurance for TW&Q employees. This was made possible by complicated economic terms and lots and lots of paper work, and is probably the reason Peter got yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened so often.
Peter walked in just as his boss was walking out. "You're late!" he shouted, as Peter clocked in with the secretary. Peter was actually ten minutes early, but he didn't bother to reply. His manager would only tell him not to get smart, and, in a job like this, it was probably the best way to handle things. To get smart would be to get another job, and Peter was too apathetic to apply anywhere new, but his personal excuse was the free insurance.
The secretary, whose name is not important at the current time, eyed Peter and told him not to mind the manager; he'd just been having a bad day.
"You're obviously new here," replied Peter. "For him, every day is a bad day. And it's contagious. God, I hate this job."
The secretary frowned."Then why don't you quit, if you hate it so much?" she asked, as Peter walked toward the elevator that would take him to the 5th floor, where he would find cubicle 12a and begin to die a little more inside.
Peter paused and said, "free car insurance."
Quit, ha, thought Peter, as the elevater carried him up the metaphysical heavens and a metaphorical hell. And where would I go then? Back to school? Study for another few years, hopefully landing a life changing job, and ending up in another dead end? No, I'm not going down that trail again. Peter suddenly realised he had began a peculiar and specific inner monologue. Sheesh, this is pretty pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head because of something no one important said. I must be losing it. After some careful thought, Peter deduced: No, I've already lost it. I don't think I've ever had it. I don't even know what it was. Oh well. Time for work. So ended Peter's introspection, and he sat down at his cubicle and began politely replying to the hundreds of e-mails recieved from hundreds of unhappy clients.
His job was a simple one which involved explaining to people why his company could not pay for any of their car repair bills, despite the fact that they give his company large sums of money every couple of months. It was not a very satisfying job; Peter spent a lot of time getting yelled at by his boss, and the rest of the time being alternately yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened with various torture methods by unhappy customers. The only real advantage of all this was free car insurance: depending on a customer's plan, a portion of their cash will be set aside to pay for insurance for TW&Q employees. This was made possible by complicated economic terms and lots and lots of paper work, and is probably the reason Peter got yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened so often.
Peter walked in just as his boss was walking out. "You're late!" he shouted, as Peter clocked in with the secretary. Peter was actually ten minutes early, but he didn't bother to reply. His manager would only tell him not to get smart, and, in a job like this, it was probably the best way to handle things. To get smart would be to get another job, and Peter was too apathetic to apply anywhere new, but his personal excuse was the free insurance.
The secretary, whose name is not important at the current time, eyed Peter and told him not to mind the manager; he'd just been having a bad day.
"You're obviously new here," replied Peter. "For him, every day is a bad day. And it's contagious. God, I hate this job."
The secretary frowned."Then why don't you quit, if you hate it so much?" she asked, as Peter walked toward the elevator that would take him to the 5th floor, where he would find cubicle 12a and begin to die a little more inside.
Peter paused and said, "free car insurance."
Quit, ha, thought Peter, as the elevater carried him up the metaphysical heavens and a metaphorical hell. And where would I go then? Back to school? Study for another few years, hopefully landing a life changing job, and ending up in another dead end? No, I'm not going down that trail again. Peter suddenly realised he had began a peculiar and specific inner monologue. Sheesh, this is pretty pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head because of something no one important said. I must be losing it. After some careful thought, Peter deduced: No, I've already lost it. I don't think I've ever had it. I don't even know what it was. Oh well. Time for work. So ended Peter's introspection, and he sat down at his cubicle and began politely replying to the hundreds of e-mails recieved from hundreds of unhappy clients.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
first Coffee shop scene. not necessarily the beginning, 427
"Why do I even bother to do anything?" Peter asked this question often; many of his friends gave up and begun to wonder why, in fact, Peter did anything. Sometimes complete strangers would give him advice from time to time, but usually they just gave him annoyed looks. Today, however, the waitress pouring Peter's coffee was in an interesting mood and decided to give him an answer.
"Why don't you bother doing anything?" she asked, with a somewhat ironic tone.
"What?" Peter replied. He was quite a bit startled, for after a year of going to this particular coffee shop every morning, Peter had become accustomed to being ignored by the employees and usual clientele.
"You never do anything," continued the waitress. Her voice had all the implications of a rant about to begin. "You've been coming in here for about a year, now, I think, and all you do is sit here for about an hour and drink your coffee with sugar and non-dairy creamer. You never talk to anyone, you never come in with anyone, you don't even read a paper! You just walk in and order a coffee and stare into space, and every once in a while you'll ask why you bother to do anything to no one in particular. What do you do when you aren't here that you shouldn't bother doing anymore?"
A stunned silence gripped Peter, then let go slowly. "Um... er... uh, well, what I do. Um" explained Peter, "I work. I have a job. And that's none of your business!" Silence let go and the usual annoyance and irritability took over. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?" As Peter regained his composure, he angrily began to pack his affects. After a moment or so, he realised he had nothing to pack angrily, flailed with something that was a bit too pathetic to be rage but definately stronger than mere annoyance, and spilled the remainder of his coffee. The waitress merely watched with a combination of sympathy and amusement. This did nothing for his mood. "Do all the employees here go around criticising the customers? Did I ask for an analysis of my personal life?"
The waitress blinked. "Well, actually, yes, you did," she replied, then laughed.
"I don't have to put up with this. You've just lost a customer!" Peter tried to storm out, but it just wasn't his thing. The waitress simply shook her head. Not much of a loss, she thought, One cup of coffee a every morning isn't putting anyone out of business.
"Why don't you bother doing anything?" she asked, with a somewhat ironic tone.
"What?" Peter replied. He was quite a bit startled, for after a year of going to this particular coffee shop every morning, Peter had become accustomed to being ignored by the employees and usual clientele.
"You never do anything," continued the waitress. Her voice had all the implications of a rant about to begin. "You've been coming in here for about a year, now, I think, and all you do is sit here for about an hour and drink your coffee with sugar and non-dairy creamer. You never talk to anyone, you never come in with anyone, you don't even read a paper! You just walk in and order a coffee and stare into space, and every once in a while you'll ask why you bother to do anything to no one in particular. What do you do when you aren't here that you shouldn't bother doing anymore?"
A stunned silence gripped Peter, then let go slowly. "Um... er... uh, well, what I do. Um" explained Peter, "I work. I have a job. And that's none of your business!" Silence let go and the usual annoyance and irritability took over. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?" As Peter regained his composure, he angrily began to pack his affects. After a moment or so, he realised he had nothing to pack angrily, flailed with something that was a bit too pathetic to be rage but definately stronger than mere annoyance, and spilled the remainder of his coffee. The waitress merely watched with a combination of sympathy and amusement. This did nothing for his mood. "Do all the employees here go around criticising the customers? Did I ask for an analysis of my personal life?"
The waitress blinked. "Well, actually, yes, you did," she replied, then laughed.
"I don't have to put up with this. You've just lost a customer!" Peter tried to storm out, but it just wasn't his thing. The waitress simply shook her head. Not much of a loss, she thought, One cup of coffee a every morning isn't putting anyone out of business.
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