Moving Right AlongMarch 17, 2006 at 11:59 PM | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
But I like working at the restaurant. Two nights a week and every other Saturday, amounts to about 25 hours every two weeks on a paycheck. The guy that owns it is a friend of mine, and it is a small operation–less than a dozen employees. Another good friend of mine works there, so most nights it is mostly like hanging out.
And the boss is married to my best friend, who is my boss at my day job. Now, I am careful not to take advantage of any situation, but I had this conversation with my wife awhile back. I was explaining how I got this thing, whatever it was, for free, from a store or something. It will all come together in a second. I was explaining the everyday occurance of how I get stuff all the time.
She says, "Wait a minute. What do you mean, you ‘get stuff all the time’?"
She has such a brusque attitude, people are not willing to help her out. I smile, I use my charm, I flirt
#####(professionally. There are two meanings to this. One is I flirt in the workplace, in a professional manner, and it keeps the wheels moving, in my favor. The other is that my job, my vocation, my skill, lies in flirting. I mean both definitions)#######
to get what I want. But it is much, much more than that. I explain to her: "Outside these walls–out there in the world–I do whatever I want."
"Whatever. I Want."
You’d think that a display of such awesome power and raw sexuality would impress her, but much like my humor, after about ten years it was more of an annoyance than endearing. Plus, its better if she doesn’t believe me anyway. I’d have a lot more explaining to do. Case in point, Doctor gave her a prescription, just gave me the meds. Coincidence?
Anyway, I have a couple of stories brewing, but in the meantime, I thought I would leave you all with this little ancedote from my bank job:
A lady I work with here just came by my cube, apparently after failed
attempts at the others. I was her last resort. She furtively waved a
five dollar bill in my face.
"Do have have change, Bryan?"
"I have a dollar. Does that help?"
"No Bryan, I need five ones. See?" Making her point, flashing the bill before my face again.
"Yvette?" I asked, taking her by the hand.
"Yes, Bryan. What is it?" She really speaks this way.
Holding her hand, I look into her eyes and ask, "Don’t we–don’t we work–at a bank?"
She snatched her hand away. "Whatever," she said, and stormed off.
I am so grateful that I can be here to help people. It’s my mission.