mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- my will is good It's been a hell of a week, kids. Of course, I think I say something along those lines every week, but this one was special. This last week, I ever so politely told my boss to clean up or shove it, renewed a friendship with one of the Long Losts, and... Well, that's about it. Funny, it felt like big news. Hmmph. About the boss tell-offing: On Tuesday, I curtly told him (as he stood around looking pretty in a silk shirt during the dinner rush) that I wanted to speak with him after it slowed down, and also, could he help out with bussing some tables? He cheerfully led me into the empty buffet a few hours later, and as soon as we sat down, I stared him in the eye and said, "I'm not going to beat around the bush. I've got nothing left to lose here, and I want to know exactly what I mean to this company." After he managed to close his mouth, he gave me the standard bullshit runaround--"Good employee, blah blah, valuable asset, blah blah, appreciate it, blah dee blah." I brought up the fact that I was rudely removed from my shift after he assured me that I was in no danger of anything like that happening, the lack of insurance, the managerial errors that caused me to lose out on five months of health and dental coverage, the shitty schedules, the lack of adequate coverage... I went OFF. A few co-workers who had walked by the room while the meeting was in session commented on how pissed off (and loud) I was. It wasn't exactly productive, but it sure felt good to watch him stammer out replies to my barrage of demands. About the Long Lost Boy: Best friend for about three years, member of the family, one-time core of my sanity. This boy had his own bedroom at my house, and chores, and an entire set of clothing in the closet. We were close, very close, until something went kablooey sometime around 2000 and we stopped talking. He joined the Navy, dropped off the face of the planet entirely except for the odd late night phone call here and there. We saw each other again last week, and everything was just... perfect. Perfect like two weird, crooked puzzle pieces that snap together even though they don't fit anywhere else. My friends and I all have the magical ability to read each others' minds, and it was still true for Tony and I. We (he, Crystal, a girl named Danielle and I) spent an hour or so sitting in a cafe, talking, playing the movie game, and engaging in other acts of randomness. Later in the evening, we went to the Seediest Bowling Alley Ever, Terrible's, where all of us except for Crystal proceeded to get completely smashed off Jack and Coke and some wonderful type of mixed drink that tastes just like soda. I'm pretty sure I lost every game, although I really can't be sure. After the bowling, the drinking, and the slightly scary part of the night when the man we befriended at the bowling alley tried to follow us home, we sat around my dining room table and just talked, and talked, and talked. Mostly drunked gibberish, but a few chunks of good conversation managed to break through here and there. As Danielle prattled on to poor Crystal about her last failed relationship, I pulled Tony into the living room and onto the sofa. I tugged his legs across my lap and told him how glad I was that he was back. I said, "I didn't miss you before, but I think I'm going to miss you from now on." I also gave him my copy of "Death: The High Cost of Living," an amazing Neil Gaiman comic about Death-- the physical embodiment, that is, a cute girl who wears a lot of eyeliner and an ankh pendant around her neck-- and how much she appreciates life and the living. I inscribed it, too: "This is because sometimes, we can fix old mistakes, because sometimes, we can make things okay. This is also because I can still read your mind, and I know that you'll appreciate it." I told him it was in keeping with our tradition. The last book I gave him was The Catcher in the Rye," when we were about fifteen, and, of course, I inscribed that one, too. "To Anthony, I'll always be there for you no matter what. Whatever happens, there's happiness out there for all the fucked up Holden Caulfields like us." Cheers to new beginnings. 2:48 a.m. - 2004-02-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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