Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Preparing for the day is the time during which I feel most dislocated. Second to this comes the endless work shift, wherein I stand in front of the register with a calm, dispossessed expression as I ring people for chicken strips and fries. I waste every moment thinking about moving forward rather than actually so doing.
Sigh.
Ein Jugend gleicht mich. Er hat rote Haare und er spielt Volleyball. Er kam gestern Abend zur Arbeit um zu "Hi" sagen. Das ist alles er gesagt konnte, weil ich arbeitete mussten. [April, correct my grammar] This is the same guy who asked me last semester where I was staying, and I responded with, "Why?" I am admittedly concerned that someone could miss such a glaring signal. Er ist sehr nett, aber...
The distinction between customers at Sam's who might want to get into my underwear and those who are merely friendly people is at times mightily blurred. I find my state of being severely asexual for the most part advantageous, but when analyzing the motivations of others, I am a bit naive, or I project how I in their position might react (which is, of course, usually to some degree opposite of how they actually would behave).
People are weirdos.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:17 AM]