Stranger things

Some of the conversations I have with people border on the absurd.
Scratch that, let me re-phrase, very few of the conversations I have with people could be considered normal.
Possibly because I do not fit into the "normal" spectrum, but I think that the universe has a sick sense of humor.
Either that or Karma-man hates my guts for stealing his weed in a previous life.
I had a female walk up to me at work the other day and throw a hand drawn floor map at me. Then she screamed (loudly) "I want my 48 feet back!"
I had no idea who she was or what the hell she was talking about. Fearing that she was having an episode of some sort I plastered the "concern" expression on my face and remained silent.
She plastered the "furious hate" expression on her face and stood staring at me with her arms folded.
I felt that she was ready to stand there all the live long day so I relented and said "Huh?"
She took this for the green light and was verbally off like a shot. After about a three minute rant, three minutes by my watch, which I kept glancing at, I got the gist.
She had given me a hand-drawn request for some small interior project she wanted done the week before, measured out with her very accurate paces, and I had the absolute gall! The nerve! The GOD-COMPLEX! To give her back a blueprint, computer generated from the stupid building plans that reduced her spacious 48 feet to a paltry 32.
I was confounded. Rendered speechless.
She took this as even more encouragement and started wailing about the unfairness of life, the stupid domination of men and their even dumber ability to pee wherever they feel and my idiotic reliance on such inane things as "BLUEPRINTS" "TAPE-MEASURES" "LEVELS AND LASERS" and other such malignant tools of Herr Satan.

I had recovered sufficiently by this point to try and reason with her by explaining that on the 4th floor, there really was only 32 feet between the walls in her area and That I would be pleased to walk over with her and show her. Using the tape measure that, since time immemorial, has given us dumb ass Americans the measure of feet, inches and so forth.
She actually threw her laptop bag on the ground and screamed at me that only if I gave her the 48 feet back which I had taken from her was she ever going to let this drop.
She turned on her heels and marched directly into the CEOs office, slamming the door behind her.
Not before I was able to hear the screamed, "I just want my 48 feet back....."
Stunned Silence.
I heard the click of a keyboard, the hum of a printer.
Then Laughter.
Not a roar of laughter, not a group, not even the dual chorus of two folks laughing at a good joke. 220 people within hearing distance and one guy was laughing.
One.
I turned to see who it was.
A Director, of another Division.
To my somewhat stunned expression, he laughed even harder.
Patted me on the back and said "your job really sucks"
yes.
Yes it really does.

Bother

So many things bother me.
Its an exhausting list really.
I add to it every day, only when I start enjoying the thing that formally bothered me does it get removed from the list.
Typical.
Its just so easy to be bothered.
Cause I am so secure in my own mind.
Those people, Waiting for the elevator in a FOUR story building with their gym bags nonchalantly slung over the shoulder? Who do they think they are fooling?
Why should I care?
Its a difficult thought process. Wondering what my "gym bag' is. What it contains?
Perfectly obvious to anyone who sees me.
Years ago, when I worked for the evil orange empire. I would drive by a section of office buildings every day on my way to the soul sucking box.
There was this truck, an older Nissan hard body with a roof rack. A mountain bike and a kayak nestled firmly in custom designed carriers. Ready at any moment for adventure. It parked in front of one of the big real estate companies. I would tell myself stories about that truck. About this completely cool guy that owned it. The life he led. Money enough to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Slipping away on a whim to hit a trail. Going on extended lunch breaks to float a section.
Man, his grass was green.
He got me through some long days. Thinking about when that guy would be me. Or I would be him. The adventure waiting around every corner, the chances to get the rush of life, fire in my veins.
My own life was so drab. Dull muddled colors seeping together in the bottom tray of watercolor paints. One of those kids that tries to tell themselves that they "like" the color of mixed colors. No bright vibrant yellow, no deep flavorful purple, no crisp green. Just this muddy taint that drips and mucks its merry way. Infecting all the other colors with its misogynistic glaze.
Always though I would find bright spots.
They seemed so brief, fleeting. Mayfly delights.
Life is made up of those pinpricks.
My man-card is on suspension still, from various infractions but I am going to risk the wrath of the mancartel and tell you a not so little secret. I love Musicals.
Not just the trendy popular "Phantom" and "Le Mis" but the old classics. "Camelot" "Kiss me Kate" "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" "Paint your Wagon" and most all of the others. I really like them. I even know Kathryn Grayson's real name.
My Favorite though, is "Into the Woods"
I have it on my i-pod and on my phone. Both versions, movie and Broadway.
Its a great story, not just the fairy tales, but after. What happens after the happily ever after.
Its pretty much how life is. All of life.
Contained in a lyrical and colorful stage spectacle for entertainment.
I will take my truth wherever I find it, thank you very much.
I am going to quote one line from one song.
"Are you certain what you wish is what you want?"
One very long day, near the end of my eternal shift of misery. This guy came in. Miserable, fat and lonely. Swilling his coffee out of the magical bottomless mug of java, shaking a little with the caffeine. Red eyes and doughy skin, he looked like a grub wearing a suit.
One of those guys that makes everything more difficult by a factor of ten, he followed me around while I pulled his order for him. Little things, the kind of things that the helpless dudes buy at a hardware store because they think that's what the real men do. One of those guys that watches a few too many reality shows and starts to think "HEY! I can do that!" Geez. I may be a neanderthal, but I know my limits. I couldn't program a computer or balance a checkbook or construct a grammatically correct sentence if my life depended on it.
But I can build a house from the ground up.
I know which weights to lift for which body part, I know diets and programs and fitness.
I understand things, and I am curious.
This guy? A lazy, lonely, Bored, Decadent disrespectful dunce.
I pulled his order, small hand tools and various bits and bobs of some home project he was mangling. Hearing the whole time how stupid I was from his point of view, what a dead end my life was, what a waste of everything women were, what a sad sorry state everything, every little thing was in.
He paid, hitting on the cashier, who rolled her eyes and said nothing. He demanded help to load his haul into his truck.
I figured what he really needed was a brick to the back of his head.
Sadly though, they had rules against that sort of thing.
I wheeled his cart out to his truck.
An older Nissan hard body, a kayak and a mountain bike strapped into the rack at the top.
I was stunned into motionlessness.
Grub followed my gaze, fixated on the objects of my years long jealousy.
"Oh, the bolts got all rusty and I have been to busy to cut them to get my stuff down"