thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nothing lasts forever. Not coffee pots, and not me. To recap a story I've told here before... One mild afternoon in 2000, right around the time I break up with my high school sweetheart, I'm working the taco stand in my high school's cafeteria (part of a program to pay for my choir uniform). I've handed out my last bean-and-cheese of the lunchtime rush when my friend Scott approaches me. Now, not only is Scott incredibly troubled for reasons we won't delve into right now, Scott is also the world's biggest flake, and he has once again gotten himself in a bind. He seems to believe two things: (a, incorrectly) that I have the hots for him and therefore (b, correctly) I'll bend over backwards to help him out. It is with this confidence that he smiles his most dazzling metal smile, flashes his lopsided dimples, and bats his creepy blue eyes. "Erin, you're my best friend." No, I'm not, Scott. "What do you want, babe?" "I need a favour." "Okay. Lay it on me." "I'm going to California today, because it's really important ... " he steps out of the way for a late arrival who wants a beef burrito. "And?" " ... I need you to cover me at work tonight." Never mind that I'm covering somebody else's Deli Duty shift right now. "Scott?" "Hm?" "Don't you normally get, o, what's it called, a COWORKER to do that for you?" "None of them will! Erinnnnnnnnn, please?" "Scott, it's just not done. I'm sorry." He does that thing closeted gay guys do when they pretend to flirt with girls who they're mistakenly convinced have crushes on them and it just looks unnatural and awkward. "Scott, I can't just show up in your place!" "You can! They totally do not care!" Another few minutes of this, another few minutes of sporadic burrito distribution. "Erin, it's really easy." "No." "I'll buy you something in California." "No." "You get all the free coffee you want." " ... Fine, what do I have to do?" I show up that night at a big, intimidating building, heart pounding in my ears. I step into the lobby and ask a nice lady to point me to the guy whose name Scott gave me on the phone. I locate him downstairs. He's sort of like, "Can I help you?" I laugh nervously. "Hi. Um, this is kind of weird. My name's Erin, and ... okay, you know Scott?" Exasperation crosses the guy's face like a shadow. "What'd he do this time?" "He sent me to cover him. He couldn't make it." "Um, where is Scott?" "He's on a plane." More incredulity. "To California." The guy takes pity on me. He smiles and kind of heaves a big sigh. "Okay, since you're here..." He sticks an apron in my hand and explains the intricacies of cookie-display arrangement. [Snipped for brevity - three years and a couple months, two changes in cookie suppliers, the demise of Callard and Bowser Licorice Toffees, and English Toffees, the electrical failure of several coffee pots, a fifty-cent increase in the price of most merchandise, two changes in management, and the fiery deaths of several packets of coffee creamer in the parking lot.] I worked my last concession shift on Saturday night. I'll stay in the Box Office for a while yet, at least until HRH has the good sense to kill me and dispose of me in the dumpster out back. Still, a big, long chapter has ended. I had to end it before I stopped loving it. ~ETK 14:04 - 25 May, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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