how is one supposed to conduct themselves? i always liked that turn of phrase. i imagine standing outside of myself waving a stick dramatically and pulling up slowly to build my own intensity.
if there was a finishing school i would have it--and while i'm relishing the lack of sugar in my personality, sometimes the salty, petulant shtick gets old.
so, how do we conduct ourselves?
if i knew more about music this could be a great piece of reading.
i have all of these questions. am i supposed to conduct myself differently then men? should i care about sports? should i take up knitting? where is the crescendo?
when i pull out the mind (which i paid so much money to hone) people get up and walk away. not sure where i got it, but i do believe myself to be off-putting.
oops.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
smells like middle-aged homelessness
it will never be your problem--and by "you" i mean you dwellers of hills, you purveyors of peaks, you packers of heights.
you people, you voted for a ballot measure in favor of enforcing a sit/lie law on the streets of san francisco. fuck you.
tonight a couple came into my work. they were obviously homeless. they looked like homelessness. they smelled like homelessness. they asked for a table. i gave it to them. any reason i had for reservation i disregarded--my restaurant does not take reservations.
they sat. i took the order. they ate like kings, they drank wine. i treated them like royalty. deep down i knew they would not pay...and even as he looked me dead in the eyes, i knew. as he asked for butter and extra lemon, i knew. as i offered coffee and he politely declined, i knew. as he requested the check and i ran to calculate, i knew--and as he walked quickly to the door with his silent friend i considered the situation.
he left me a dollar bill and an old loehmanns gift card.
i stood still for a moment. and then i ran. i chased him down the alley. i knew he didn't have money. i yelled to him "HEY" caught up to him quickly and told him "i'm faster than you old man". he stopped.
i asked him why. i had treated him with respect, i had welcomed him to sit when no one else would and he had chosen me to foister the financial burden upon. i asked him for the food back--i took back what i had packed for him in to-go boxes and i apologized for him not being able to pay for it. he gave me his silent friends wallet and told me he would have money on monday. i do not believe him. he made this promise using the same honest eyes with which he had ordered his wine.
i threw his leftovers in the garbage. i am not sure what i feel worse about--the fact that i allowed this to happen--or the fact that it almost seemed i had laid a trap for them. all the while knowing, but refusing to believe it would actually happen.
in the end, i believe i felt worse about it than they did. i hated taking away the food. i hated that when all was said and done i found myself in the possession of his lady friends wallet with all of her important cards and identification bits--her food stamps. most of all i hated that i am poor and i was deceived and betrayed by other poor people--the battle to be fought is not between we lower classes and yet that is where we find it.
so you see, this problem with the homeless--it does not belong to the dwellers of hills, the purveyors of peaks or the packers of heights. it belongs to us, the gutter punks.
god save the waitress
you people, you voted for a ballot measure in favor of enforcing a sit/lie law on the streets of san francisco. fuck you.
tonight a couple came into my work. they were obviously homeless. they looked like homelessness. they smelled like homelessness. they asked for a table. i gave it to them. any reason i had for reservation i disregarded--my restaurant does not take reservations.
they sat. i took the order. they ate like kings, they drank wine. i treated them like royalty. deep down i knew they would not pay...and even as he looked me dead in the eyes, i knew. as he asked for butter and extra lemon, i knew. as i offered coffee and he politely declined, i knew. as he requested the check and i ran to calculate, i knew--and as he walked quickly to the door with his silent friend i considered the situation.
he left me a dollar bill and an old loehmanns gift card.
i stood still for a moment. and then i ran. i chased him down the alley. i knew he didn't have money. i yelled to him "HEY" caught up to him quickly and told him "i'm faster than you old man". he stopped.
i asked him why. i had treated him with respect, i had welcomed him to sit when no one else would and he had chosen me to foister the financial burden upon. i asked him for the food back--i took back what i had packed for him in to-go boxes and i apologized for him not being able to pay for it. he gave me his silent friends wallet and told me he would have money on monday. i do not believe him. he made this promise using the same honest eyes with which he had ordered his wine.
i threw his leftovers in the garbage. i am not sure what i feel worse about--the fact that i allowed this to happen--or the fact that it almost seemed i had laid a trap for them. all the while knowing, but refusing to believe it would actually happen.
in the end, i believe i felt worse about it than they did. i hated taking away the food. i hated that when all was said and done i found myself in the possession of his lady friends wallet with all of her important cards and identification bits--her food stamps. most of all i hated that i am poor and i was deceived and betrayed by other poor people--the battle to be fought is not between we lower classes and yet that is where we find it.
so you see, this problem with the homeless--it does not belong to the dwellers of hills, the purveyors of peaks or the packers of heights. it belongs to us, the gutter punks.
god save the waitress
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