A drunkard sat, passed out in my business center. So I called 911, because I'm sorry, but I can't have drunkards sleeping in the same room as business men trying to print their Continental Airlines boarding passes. (Not only that, but I was ashamed at the idea that I can take over 1000mg of veterinary grade tramadol in one sitting and function better than a grown adult man who cannot hold his liquor, and I wanted him to feel the consequences of his careless idiocy.) The 911 operator urged me to "pick him up, lay him flat on the ground, and open his mouth to make sure there aren't any obstructions."
This is what I did:
I stood there and made fake grunting noises over the phone as if I were lifting something heavy. Then I told the operator "nope, there's nothing in his mouth."
This is what I was thinking in my mind:
So, you think I give a tenth of a s**t about this embarrassment of a life-form? Please, just send somebody over here with a gurney, because whether it's a passed-out drunkard, or a ******** corpse, you've GOT to get this fool out of my lobby.
Then I realized:
Wow, bro. You'd let a man die. What happened to you in the past year? You used to be this cape-wearing-defender-of-all-that-is-righteous. You used to be a real-life Sailor Moon, brandishing your wand of human liberty in the face of wickedry and injustice. What the ******** happened? I began to feel a (very slight) twinge of guilt, and I continued to mull over it for the rest of the morning.
Then this happened:
Two things, actually. First I logged onto deviantArt, and what do I find there? An onslaught of artwork by my favourite doujinshi circle, posted by some random 14 year old, whose remaining gallery is filled with stick-figures drawn with a mechanical pencil over college-ruled notebook paper. (This is not just ONE person I am describing right now. It was occurring within several different 14 year olds' galleries.) I check the web address at the top of my browser. Had I stumbled into Photobucket and just not realized it? No. So I click the "artwork," because I want to make sure that these people are getting appropriately flamed. And indeed, they are. But, what is their response? Oh, it's quite the proper response any 14 year old would give when caught plagiarizing. "Stop telling me I did something wrong, because I don't care, and I'm going to continue doing it whether you like it or not, you big dummee dumb-dumb poopie faces! U gize r meen! What is this i dont even!!!!11!1!" I wished right then and there, that I knew what the faces looked like of these children. That way I could properly envision THEM being hauled off to Arlington Memorial Hospital instead of some drunken b*****d whose wife probably banned him from the room for being a drunken b*****d and that's why he was sleeping in a public area....
Of course, envisioning a dead (though plagiaristic and irreverent) child did NOT do a whole lot for my guilt factor.
This was the second thing that happened. A paltry-looking individual came to my desk, and asked me out of the clear blue yonder if I could call him a prostitute. (Not call HIM a prostitute, but rather, make a telephone call to a prostitute FOR him.) I gave him a look that clearly indicated the taste of vomit I was experiencing inside my mouth. Whether he was joking or not was of no concern to me, because I do not "joke" with strangers, especially not about illegal sexual solicitation, so I opted to answer him as though I took him quite seriously. "I wouldn't have any idea where to even BEGIN finding you a prostitute, sir, but you're more than welcome to take this copy of the Yellow Pages with you. I won't even ask you to bring it back when you're done." Said stranger then proceeds to put on his most beguiling rape-face, leans over the desk like some swanky wannabe 1920's Chicago goodfella, and says to me, "well, honey, how much can I give you to take a quick break from the desk, and then neither of us will have to bother with the phone book?"
Oh you ladykiller. stare
Long story short:
I sent the "man" away from my workspace via threat of lawsuit and imprisonment, and realized that my guilty feeling had vanished. Simply visualizing my business center completely filled with dead human bodies made me go like this whee
Like the bazillions of electrons filling the mostly empty space that is "me," I am a constantly changing creature, and realizing this made me feel.... kinda like this rolleyes So I chose, for that day, and probably for many more days to come, to be okay with the fact that I hate everything. Everything and everyone. Even the people I LIKE, I hate. And that's just fine, because someday soon, I promise to everyone that I'll find the urge to rummage into the back of my closet, and dig out that cape and wand. Then I'll make it up to everybody.
But until then.
Don't forget to ******** yourself.
Extremely hard.
Oh, and I don't mind if you go die somewhere either.
The Heavenly Buddha Community Member 
|
|
