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7:13 a.m. - 2004-12-07

GOOD MORNING!

I had actually typed up an entry yesterday but deleted it on purpose because it was just so gawdawful bad.

Some of you are out there scratching your heads and thinking "How bad does it have to be for you to delete it? Most of the crap you throw up here is lame anyway."

This was ultralame.

Basically a long, unfunny rant on what's the big deal about athletes taking steroids.

So I replaced it with a lame question about what's your favorite song, which is something I've used several times in the past.

Only to find out that Andrew and Diaryland thought my supergold membership was kaput.

Which it wasn't.

I don't think anyway.

I haven't gotten the prodding emails telling me how my life will cease to exist if I let the membership slip away yet.

So send me the emails, Drew Dogg.

And I'll renew.

Maybe.

(Hee!)



I keep forgetting that I'm a real scumbag now.

Y'see ... when I go out each day to collect the piss and blood of the sick and weary, I walk into each building with a cheerful "Good morning!" (or "Good afternoon" depending on the time of arrival).

And then, I fully expect the persons that are employed by the business which I am inhabiting to greet me with an equally exhuberant "Good morning!" back.

However, I have to keep reminding myself ... I am now a delivery boy by trade.

And in some businesses, delivery boys are viewed as slightly less moral than child molesters.

There are two of these in particular that I deal with each day.

One is one of those goddamned Hospice places ... these people try to present themselves as "soooo caring" and they will take care of the sick in their final days because they're soooo Christian and blah blah so full of shit fuckers.

I go in there every day and say "Good morning!"

I'm lucky to get a grunt out of the receptionist.

I then say "Good morning!" to the office manager.

She just stares at me like "Shut yer goddamned piehole, delivery boy."

So I just smile big and keep going to the back of the building where the refrigerator is which is full of old dying people's blood and piss.

Yesterday, as I was leaving the building, I cheerily said "You all have a wonderful evening!"

Nothing.

Not even a goddamned grunt.

And they're just sitting there. They're not working. They're not on the phone. They're just playing Solitaire on their computers, waiting for 5:00 to roll around.

I've been trying to kill them with kindness, but that route has just about ran its course.

Today ... NO GREETING FOR YOU!!

They're going to be sitting there, wanting that unsolicited greeting but you know what?

It ain't happenin'.

I'm going to walk in, not say a word, go to the refrigerator, grab the piss and blood and maybe someone's leftover sandwich just for the hell of it, walk back through the lobby and leave.

I might even glance at them silently as I leave.

God yes.

THAT will show them!



Another doctor's office is already on the silent treatment list.

They earned that when they all look away from me when I walk in the door.

They can all be staring at the door milliseconds before I walk in.

The moment I throw the door open?

They're all averting their eyes like I'm some sort of tri-colored leper.

I used to say "Good morning!" to them anyway, but I learned quickly ... these fucking whores weren't playing that game.

So I cut them off early on.

Fucking whores.

Heh.

I sound like one of those greasy-haired, thick-eyeglasses disgruntled postal workers who're going to fix their wagon alright.

I'm not.

But now, I avert my eyes from them as well.

So eyes are averting all over the place when I walk in.

If we were all walking, we'd be stumbling around like Stevie Wonder on a diving board, knocking over potted plants and shit.

Anyway, I despise unfriendly people.

I'm the friendliest goddamned motherfucker alive, bitch.

Say "Good morning!" or die.



Heh.

I know most of you are ready to sign me up for anger management classes.

Don't worry.

I'm not going to shoot up a doctor's office over this stuff.

But I'm not above cold-cocking a receptionist.



LAST NIGHT


9:00 p.m.

ME: Andrew, it's time for bed.

ANDREW: No.

ME: Yes, it's time for bed.

ANDREW: I don't wanna go to bed tonight.

ME: You have to. You have school tomorrow.

ANDREW: I'm not going to school tomorrow.

ME: Yes you are. Now it's time for bed.

ANDREW: I'm not going to sleep. I'm not going to bed.

ME: Fine. Stay up all night if you want. I'm going to bed.

Three minutes later


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