What am I doing?
I've been asked why I have two jobs. I tell them that I don't know. I don't really. I think it was for school or something. Another reason might be that I want to see if I can. Waking up early to jump off a bridge and then working that night with a breakfast meeting the next morning is not a good idea. Working 30 plus hours in a weekend is not a good idea. But I can do it. They brought it, and I conquered.
Hurrah.
I asked some guy if he wanted his two pennies of change. He told me to keep it. But he didn't stop there. He continued, saying that if I saved them all up, by the time I was ninety, and worked there all my life ( at this point I said 'of course') then I would be able to go out and by myself a new bicycle. Then he went out the door. I laughed to myself. I didn't really know what else to do.
Another, more different guy was in last night. He asked me where I got that fabulous head of hair. I assumed it was because he was balding. I told him my mother gave it to me, and I loved it very much. He dwelt on it for a while, then wandered the store for a while. I ignored him and did stuff like I was supposed to. He came over to the hot dogs and started asking about spotted dick, or something like that. I told him we didn't have any. He told me he was only teasing. I knew, and let him in on it. But still he was raving about this dick. I played along. He walked around my store again and came back, telling me about how he was taking a plane the next morning. or something like that. I didn't really hear, but nodded in agreement. It doesn't really matter if I hear them. Nodding is polite? Anyway, when he was finally ready to pay, we did the whole cashier takes his money thing. He asked me if he could take me home with him. I told him that would be fantastic, but I had to stay and work. Not even for a days pay? I'm pretty sure everyone would yell at me if I left. So he left. A few minutes later, the pieces fell together in my head, and I realized his orientation might be a bit different than mine.
Oh dear.
There are some stories. I feel a bit better. But still. What am I doing? If I'm doing this just to see if I can, there is the possibility I can't. I increasingly don't want to. What you do stems from who you are. But...Reading back over the past, I really like my writing, even though I hardly ever like it when I am writing it, and I have to stick to the plan.
What makes someone 'something'?
5 comments:
I probably shouldn't have, but I got a good chuckle from your story. There stands one of those marvelous people who give homosexuals a bad name. Eesh.
I'll have to ask you how jumping off a bridge was when I see you on Thursday. That reminds me, I still need to ask L if we can borrow her basement for the movie -- if not, I'm assuming we can use the church or my house or something. We'll ad-lib.
I missed the bungee jumping? Blast. Maybe I'll get an opportunity to try it this summer.
Cheers,
~Muse
Marvelous and bad? Say it ain't so!
Also, straight people don't give themselves a bad name when they do that? Please.
~The Muse
Do you need to be something to be a someone? Can't you just be, without the need for the definition? The analogy of an MSN name without the sub-text comes to mind. You're Werner. You are you, and I've not met another Werner, so you're pretty defined.
As for the two jobs, I just think you're a goof. Goof.
I am a goof, if anything. I wouldn't have it any other way. As long as it makes you smile.
I want to do something. Be something. And I know I am something, but...more. And I see all these people working jobs I could work now and wonder what happened. Why are they here? I don't want to end up there. but... this warrants a post.
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