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eighth day of the week
Monday, January 18 1999
Kim and I were at some party in the mountains, very drunk and having an unusually exciting time. I was being flirtatious with this one buxom girl with short black hair, a girl whom I must have known for a long time. Casually, in the midst of unrelated conversation, I reached my hand up this girl's miniskirt and touched her crotch, the part where her left leg joined her body. Her panties happened to be pushed aside just enough there to give me a most evocative feel. The girl responded with something like, "My goodness!," though she seemed vaguely pleased. I encountered her a few minutes later down a darkened path, and she shrieked at me, "Why didn't you tell me you felt this way about me back then?" She'd evidently just discovered that I was strongly involved with Kim and probably unavailable for sexual purposes. I got the sense that she'd had a crush on me for a long time.
Near the end of the party, Kim and I fanned out to find Kim's Volvo but it was nowhere in sight. Suddenly Kim came rolling up in a beautiful mint-condition 1960-something sports car, which she'd evidently just stolen. I hopped in and off we went. We ended up at some big outdoor event, hanging out with some of her friends, people from the same mould as Kim's massage-colleague Genevieve and her bombastic know-it-all husband, Frank. The Frank-type guy was unexpectedly impressed with the car and wanted to know where we'd made such a find. Then it suddenly occurred to him that the car was stolen, so he started wiping off fingerprints with his shirt. Then the alarm went off.
Another day was beginning, the eighth workday in as many days.
During the morning engineering meeting at my workplace, my boss said words to the effect that we wouldn't be getting our full bonuses for the work we've struggled long hours to complete. Hearing such language instantly put me in a resentful and bitter mood. I felt like we, my colleagues and I, had been manipulated into doing things for which there was no intention to reimburse us. I was especially angry when the boss said that some of us had lost our bonuses the instant he'd retracted a part of our assignment that had been so large that he, the boss, hadn't had the time to write a white paper. If he could single-handedly create the conditions which would destroy our chances for getting bonuses, then what were my incentives to ever work like this again? Thoughts like this haunted me for the rest of the day, draining me of energy and productivity. I resolved that I would petition my boss for a raise very soon. At this point, the company depends on me. I have a feeling I have the power to dictate much better terms. And if not, well, I'm sure there's a strong demand for people with my skills.
Kevin the DBA and I went on our own private lunch break today. We went up to the Rubios near his place at La Mirage and he had me cracking up hard with his own peculiar flavour of toilet humour. Let me explain.
We were eating our tacos and beans out on the patio (January weather continues to be delightful here in San Diego) when a rather fat woman came over to our table and asked if we had jumper cables. Now, even if we did, it's doubtful we would have dropped everything to help this woman. Mexican food is definitely not the sort you can come back to after a fifteen minute break. Alluding to other obvious factors, Kevin further articulated this view to me slyly, only slightly under his breath while she was still well within earshot (by now she was getting some assistance from a meekly helpful man). Kevin said that if this woman had been beautiful, he might well have dropped everything to get her a pair of jumper cables. Then he looked over at her and asked me, "Can't you just imagine her sitting on a toilet taking a screaming shit?"
On the the ride home, Kevin told me about one of his biggest work place washroom pet peaves: the man who comes to work and immediately goes to the bathroom to take a shit. "I can understand if it's in the afternoon, but if it's in the morning, that's something you should have done at home!" He told about being in the bathroom at his former workplace one morning and hearing someone taking a mean stink, which sounded to Kevin's ear like "someone dumping a big pot of chunky beef stew into the toilet." The smell, needless to say, was horrendous. Kevin reacted by angrily shouting "God Damn!", and cutting off the lights as he left.
Kevin said that about the worst thing that can happen to you when you're coming out of a fragrant men's room is for a beautiful female co-worker to be standing there. He said that once he had a little flirting relationship going on with a sexy colleague that came to an end one day when he emerged from the restroom followed by a big purple cloud not of his making. The girl was standing right there. She wrinkled up her nose and shuffled away, never looking at Kevin quite the same thenceforth.
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