Category: observed

The man walks in the diner with his aging mother not far behind. He points to a table on the right. His mother yells loudly, ‘Are there any children over there? I don’t want to sit by any children!”

Instead of the usual tuna salad sandwich from around the corner, yesterday, Margot and I went to the Marriot downtown. We had lunch by the pool with a guest whom was also one of Margot’s friends.

We ordered tuna salad sandwiches which were totally different than the usual tuna salad sandwiches. Because, we were by the pool. At the Marriot. With the ducks, which we nicknamed Fred and Wife since she followed him around and incessantly goaded him into begging people for food.

Here is a photo of two ducks which are re-enacting the lunch experience of the two ducks from yesterday. The parts of Fred and Wife are being played by Mark and Winnie. I thank them for their excellent acting ability. They look exactly like Fred and Wife, two ducks.

There is a woman at work whom at first meeting comes across as very genteel and sophisticated. In fact, I would say that 98% of the time she is this woman that she projects. And then, occasionally, randomly, she says things that completely make me wonder if I have any people-assessing skills that work or not.

“No, don’t eat that. It tastes like old ass.”
“Well, that is just about as useful as tits on a bull!”

H: What did she say? Was she talking about me? I have to know what she was saying about me. She’s always talking about me behind my back.
M: She asked if I had an extra tampon. I told her I just ran out and offered her a pad but unfortunately, she isn’t wearing any underwear under that skirt.
H: oh…..
H: Do you have any extra form CR#1’s?
M: Well, that’s quite a bit less exciting, isn’t it? And is that code for something you’re saying about her behind her back?

Here are some one-liners I’ve been collecting from overheard conversations for the past few months. I usually have no idea what the conversation was actually about. And I like it much better that way.

I’m only saying Duh! the one time. The other one was an accident.

Only if it’s covered in nacho cheese.

It’s not like you like her. Bam! and then it’s over.

That’s what would happen if Super Girl mated with King Kong.

I’d totally do it. I need more fun in my life….like yesterday at lunch.

Grilled cheese…definitely. (pause) Cut it down to 1/3rd an inch.

And I only talked in pig-latin to the sales lady. I think she wanted to kill me.

Guys are just like girls. No. They are. But just different. With less back pain…they don’t wear heels.

If you mixed Kerry and Bush up in the blender it’d be like oil and vinegar. And it’d be messy.

And, uh………ya. So. That’s it. Like I said, I�m real articulate.

I like my jeans down this far. Girl’s like it. Yes they do. Yes they do. Yes. No?

It’s small. It’s furry. I think I left it in the corner.

The pregnant girl in her early twenties came through the open doors on my right from the courtyard where the fountain tiled to look like snakeskin was happily spurting water in the air. She was in black stretch pants and a white cotton shirt with a drawstring at the neck. Her curling brown hair was piled high on her head in a loose clasp and fell down on her forehead and around her neck in places where it had become unruly and rebellious.

She had one hand stretched around to support her back and the other clutching an overstuffed duffle purse that was once cream or white but was now a shade of dirt. Union Station was busy and she looked focused on her objective of getting in the bathroom line.

The older woman came from the bathroom and headed directly for her. The woman’s right knee had no locking mechanism and subsequently with every step went much too far backwards and made her lurch instead of walk. It was clear they didn’t know each other from the look on the girls face. Continue reading “Union Station”

A man on the train sitting ahead a few rows and across the isle talks to his friend and laughs with gusto. He’s mid fifties. His clothes, gut and hairline have seen better afternoons. He’s tired and creased. He smiles tightly and pulls his very full lips across his large teeth. His gaze strays from his buddy’s face only when females walk by. The people come stumbling from behind him from the sway of the train and he instinctively ignores all men. He senses a female of the species and his eyes quickly snap to her backside then jump down to her shoes and then back up to her bottom within a second. He doesn’t take in hair color. He doesn’t care about her blouse. Only the ass and shoes. I see his teeth when the women have on heels.

Girl in the red vinyl miniskirt on El Cajon Boulevard = sexy. Because when she bent down I saw the holes in her white cotton panties.
Shirtless guy in the El Camino in Hillcrest = hot. Because when he lifted up his arm to tap his roof to the beat of Sir Mix-A-Lot – Baby Got Back I saw the white deoderant chunks in his pit hair.
The gas sation on University = supah sexy. Because I haven’t seen gas below $2.00 per gallon in months.

I was only in the copy room for less than 5 minutes. When I got back to my desk, arms full of papers, something looked different but I couldn’t place my finger on it. I set the stack of papers down on the cluttered desk and then realized what it was. My chair was gone.

I looked over the cubicle and down the isle to the room center and the common work stations. I saw the man, right hand up to partially block his face from my view. “Well.” I thought, “He must have not been able to find a chair and kept looking until he found this one.” I walked down the isle towards him and saw empty chairs on my left and on my right. Huh. So, that therory isn’t really going to hold water. “Well, maybe he really had some heavy work to get done and it’s the only chair that ergonomically is right for his back.” I was really trying hard to cut the guy some slack.

And then I saw that mine was one of triplet chairs in the common area right next to him. One of them would have bitten his knee if he’d given it a sidelong glance. Only they were blue and mine was black. Ah. He only likes black. But his shirt was blue. And he was checking concert listings on the internet so the hard work thought wasn’t right either. I tried to catch his eye as I scooped up the sibling chair and pushed it past him back to my cubicle but he kept his face covered and only peeked at me from in between his first and second fingers. I guess I’ll never know what made him want to only sit in that particular chair. I’ll never know what made it worth the extra effort to stakeout my comings and goings so he could swipe it covertly while I copied.

Maybe just because it’s the chair that touched my butt.

Please don’t take my Swingline stapler.

M: When we first moved here, we lived at the Motel 6 in Hotel Circle.
L: Wow. How was that. Was it awful?
M: No, not so much. It was kind of fun.
L: Are you kidding me?
M: Well, we had a TV in the bedroom…

Went to a book signing with Joe last night at Mysterious Galaxy. With the exception of my editor who works there part time, the staff seriously lacks in customer service skills.

Bruce Sterling was there reading from his new book Zenith Angle. Sadly, the entire time I was captivated by a guy standing about 2 feet in front of me and slightly to the right. He stood at parade rest giving his full attention to Mr. Sterling. And then he picked his underwear out of his butt. Then he went back into parade rest. Next, he scraped his fingers along his scalp and down to the ends of his hair removing what I can only hope was some kind of hair product. Then he went back to parade rest. Next it was his ankles popped in turn by cocking one leg behind the other and swiftly cranking it to the side. It resembled a wet cat trying to shake its hind legs dry. And then, again, parade rest. Next he attacked the acne on his face. Parade rest. Dug in his ears with his pinkie. Parade rest. At which point I left to go outside and get some air. I couldn’t hear Bruce anyway. I was too caught up in trying not to vomit. And since his nose was really the only orifice left, I didn’t want to stick around to see it. Can you get better than science fiction?

she: No! It’s really important that the carpet not clash with the bridesmaid’s dresses!

he: That blue-ish…purple-ish…green-ish color? That’s going to be hard…

She stares at him.

she: OK. Now let’s talk about the place settings.

She stares at him.

He butters his bread.

Slowly.

she: Are you listening to me??

…pause….

she: Don’t eat any more bread!