Don’t Call It a Comeback!

23 12 2006

I’ve been here for years.

Okay, I know it’s been a while. A long while. Fuck it, I was doing shit.

That being said, I’ve finally hit a point where I think my life is gaining some sort of balance again, so I’ll hopefully be writing regularly once more. It’ll be a fun little project going back into old posts and cleaning up dead links and photos, but once that’s all done, the revitalized 2.0 version of ‘Whatever, it’s summer’ will be back to 100%. For now, this blog is my Death Star—it’s not fully operational. -1 point* for referencing Star Wars, but +1 point for having that reference be due to a Dane Cook joke.

*Alexis, what’s up with the new point system for all your blogs? Can I get +1 point for stealing it for the purposes of this paragraph?

A recap of the past three-plus months will come, but I thought I’d share a choice conversation I overheard at my local Kinko’s today. A nice point of entry for my first post in in a while.

I love making friends with strangers—the front door guy at my apartment, the security officers in my office building, the staff at Kinko’s—gaining a level of comfort with people you encounter every day provides access to stories and gossip you never would have gained otherwise.

As I’m waiting for my print job that morning, I’m blessed with this gem of a conversation between said Kinko’s clerks:

“Girl, you should have seen this bama on the train today!” Clerk #1 mimics said rude man, pushing and stomping through other Metro passengers to get to his train, “We was like, ‘awwww hell naw!'”

“Girl, you must be talkin’ about Marty. He’s tall right—and a skinny-ass boy. Went to school with Cherisa. He always be walkin’ around talkin’ and hollerin’ at everybody. And he be goin’ up to them poles on the street, and he be kissin’ them, like this. Ohh, child, he is SO CRAZY! He’s always wearin’ firefighter gear—you know he thinks he’s a firefighter, right. Ever since his family got burned up in that fire about five years ago. He thinks he’s in the fire department, always walkin’ up to people tellin’ them he’s a firefighter. It’s so sad, but that shit is crazy though! All the cops know him—they don’t do shit. He went to the fire station, and they gave him all that shit he wears now—wears it every day. They took him for a ride on the fire truck and everything. It was Marty you saw today, wasn’t it?”

“Naw girl, it wasn’t him.”

That story, in addition to getting my print job for free since they misheard my original order, equals best trip to Kinko’s ever.

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