It’s been another long time, and I guess I’m going to have to face it . . . I’m an erratic blogger. I can’t be counted on for a regular blog schedule, and sometimes I blog daily and then there are times like these past few weeks, when I can’t seem to log in and write a few lucid words of interest.
SO much has been going on. I feel like I’m sitting in a chair with a box of popcorn, watching my life happen. First, I’m convinced that work is like an abusive relationship. It beats me; it breaks me down — but I return for more each day, optimistic that it will be better than the last day. The column is okay, but I’ve been on an annoying alternating every-other-Friday schedule with another columnist, and I really wish they could find a better slot for her. My love life . . . let’s not discuss that. No earthly good will come of that discussion.
I can’t help wondering how life became so complicated, and how I can extricate myself from the intricacies of it all.
I’ve reached the point where perky people annoy the living shit out of me. For example, there’s a man who works in Starbucks in the Sears Tower. He’s perky to the point where he crosses a line. He catches you the minute you walk in the door, and has to preface the order with a few sentences of small talk. His act concludes with a few oddly placed jokes while giving change. I cannot express how much I DON’T want to have small talk with a stranger at 7:30 am. In fact, I can safely conclude that anyone who is motivated enough to arrive at work before 8:00 am doesn’t want their precious morning minutes spending extra time in line to entertain the corny banter of a barista.
I’ve reached the point where I try to avoid him, and I go to great lengths. I never go to his register. This Starbuck’s has two entrances, and I find myself checking to see which side he’s on before entering. However, he seems to be drawn to me like a fly to shit. I thought I had made a clean getaway, and was absconding with my LF Blueberry Muffin. As I reached the door, I heard a deep resonant voice saying “Excuse me. Excuse me?” I finally turned, and there was perky boy, out from behind his coffee-lined cage, wanting my attention to inform me that he liked my arms. I smiled and said thank you — I wouldn’t want to be rude just because I find him irritating — before using my keycard to access the elevator banks.
I’m thinking of going to a new Starbuck’s. I don’t need the morning stress.
