Free Will Astrology for the Week of July 28th, 2005
Hmm.
I spent last evening being creative. It feels so good to feel like you've actually accomplished something, even in the sweat of a 95 degree bedroom. Things are starting to look up, and I'm beginning to dig my way out of the hole I've been in for the past few months. I am grateful that I have a job that makes a little bit of money, but the hours have been incredibly long, and I've had very little time to myself. I've been in bed by 10:30 to be up at 4:45, and when I get home after consistent 10 hour days, I'm tired and in need of some mind-numbing entertainment. Tonight, I've got The Nightmare Before Christmas rented and I'm going to spend some time with paints. I'm already feeling pangs for Halloween.
It's also come to my attention that I have more connections than I'd previously thought. My current boss has links to The Baltimore Sun and also to the Walters Art Gallery, and they need proofreaders. From what I hear, the pay isn't bad, plus I'd be working in the city again. Sane hours would also be a bonus. I'm going to update my resume and check that out. In other news, I've come to the conclusion that I may have to give in and get a laptop. It's the only way I'll ever get any substantial writing done.
Yesterday's bounty hunter situation was less intersting than most of you imagine. In the afternoon, two guys came in looking for Charlie, a co-worker of mine who has been working at another account for the last few weeks.
Charlie is a pathological liar. He's the kind of guy who'll tell you his grandfather had a massive heart attack and had to be hospitalized and that's why he had to skip out for three days without calling (follow-up calls yielded only a woman named Gloria with the same last name checked into the hospital, and the dumb-ass was sporting a new Ocean City keychain). Charlie makes up stories about promotions and is stupid enough to tell this to family members of mine. Charlie has been in default on several financial fronts for months. Ford Motor Co. calls daily. Etcetera and so on an so forth.
When the two guys showed up, it was almost comical.
They're your typical city thugs-- you know the type: short, messy clothes, unlaced shoes, faux pimp walk/thug-slump combo walk. Nothing even remotely threatening. They flash quick badges and ask where "Cory" is. Cory is the company for which I work. So, not too bright, these two. And yet they've supposedly been after Charlie for months, huh?
So, naturally I ask what they're inquiring about. The question is met with a cocky "Well, who do you think we are?"
Right.
I've never been able pass up making fun of guys who think they're more tough than they actually are.
"Well, you're either bounty hunters on training wheels or you're repo men, then."
"Do repo men have these?" Tweedledee flashes a pair of cuffs hanging from his beltloop while Tweedledum flips through his paperwork. I am sufficiently unimpressed.
So, they go through a barrage of Charlie's recent contact info, saying that they're going to go kick down his door tonight in Brooklyn Park. Huh? Charlie lives in Locust Point, a completely different end of town. I mention this obvious problem, and they blink stupidly. It's obvious that they've been staking out the wrong house. I have to supress a giggle.
They dribble out a few more clichéd lines: "We're beyond looking for his car-- now we're coming for him" etc. My sister and I exchange glances that clearly say, "oh, Christ." I think I've seen more intimidating sorority girls, to be honest. Guys like this are a dime a dozen-- ill-educated and bad-mannered punks trying to make a name for themselves. Insert rolling-of-eyes here.
Anyway, it went pretty much without incident. Charlie heard about their visit and has since taken off, which is the stupidest thing ever because it's just a financial issue. He could walk into any police station, get processed, and do the debt relief/bankruptcy thing. Running is only complicating things, and his poor grandfather is going to get his door kicked down by two morons. Last I heard, Tweedledee and Tweedledum paid the correct account a visit this morning, but he wasn't there.
Work is driving me insane today. I'm tired of my company being considered constantly at fault when the dispatch office is completely incompetent. The rules are cut and dry, and they need to understand that they, under no circumstances, should keep a driver wating longer than 15 minutes for a confirmation number on any given problem. It's called work, not "I'll get to it when I get to it and lie to my manager when he gets complaints." A driver is not lying when it's been clearly documented by two deptartments that he's been waiting on his dipatcher for 20 minutes. Diesel fuel ain't cheap, you fat, corporate fuckwads.
Oy. That said... well, I forgot what else I was going to say. Balls.