thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You'd think I were a diarist. Heh! Pop quiz, Master! Am I eligible to vote? Yep. Did I register the very day I turned 18? Yep. Was I even awake in time to reach the polls before work yesterday? Nope. Did it even really matter? Jury's still out. I wanted to go. I don't really follow local news (hi, mom) here and wasn't really up to speed on who was after what titles in my city, but I had hoped to stop in and cast a ballot because of the way the sad little people at the table down at Lincoln Elementary School always give me such a delightfully hard time about it. They always think I'm some communist spy, forging the signature of a real citizen or, worse yet, voting for a Democrat. ("Yeah, if that's the best we can do out here...") Seriously. Last time around you'd think a neon light had been mounted atop my head to warn these people I was a Nader supporter, and I'd strutted out of the booth with a "Don't Blame Me, I wrote in for Alexa!" sticker plastered across my ass, because they took forever to look in their little register and another forever to admit to me that I did, in fact, exist to them, and when I subsequently endorsed said little register I was hit with a very "yeah right" kind of snort. I loved it. ~~ Despite all my efforts to come across as elite, aloof, and benignly antisocial, I seem to be really, really approachable. Case In Point: Tuesday night at work. The rest of my staff was downstairs starting in on dishes, inventory, and getting in one last good washroom break while still on the clock. I stayed upstairs to 409 all the Crisco-Biscuit crumbs, coffee creamer, and percolator skidmarks off of the Formica countertop, and a volunteer usher closed in on my little station. I offered her a free pop as long as she was around. She shook her head. "Actually, I have a bit of a problem. My period just started before I expected it to, and it's going to be a huge mess; I have to leave. Do you think HM will let me if I don't tell him what it is?" I urged her to get home, offering genuine empathy and shift-coverage. ~~ Unfortunately, I was also dumb enough to try and carpool two of the staff's resident coeds back to their dorms between the end of my shift and the end of the one I was now covering. Dig if you will: Di being tailgated by some freak all along South Campus Drive, right past the PTC parking lot entrance, and being forced to park another half-block downhill and run up the slope, bursting in the doors of the theatre with about 40 seconds left to go of the finale, then dashing up four flights of stairs to poise herself at a door to a balcony section so "economical" she's only even set foot in it twice before. Dude. I'm an idiot. And I'm superman. ~~ Wow ... one of these days I'll have to get video hosting and put that cookie snuff film up here to prove to all of you that you're really not that interested in it. ~ETK 05:41 - 07 November, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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