(no subject)
Jul. 8th, 2003 07:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katallisonActually, the best cure for mild depression is to be reminded that, against all the odds and in complete defiance of logic, one has loving and loveable friends. I am lucky far beyond my deserving, and I smooch you all. I don't really have much else to give in return except persiflage and stories, so--here's a story, from last night.
After posting the previous entry, I wandered down to the local convenience store to pick up some cigs. This store sits right in the boundary zone between my neighborhood (middle-class-shading-on-yuppified), and the neighborhood just to the west (gritty, poor, and run-down), and it draws clientele from both communities, which can make an uneasy mix.
The store is often presided over by L., a clerk who in the past year has ascended to "Shift Manager" (according to his badge), and he was regnant last night. L. is a tall, willowy, light-skinned black man who usually wears jangly bracelets up both arms from wrist to elbow, and an assortment of sparkly earrings, and, always, a gaudy gauzy scarf tied around his head, with the ends fluttering down his back. Eyeshadow is also sometimes in evidence. He carries himself with a fine blend of hauteur and archness, and is utterly self-possessed; I have never once seen him the least bit jangled, even when a drunk was throwing up all over the men's room at the same moment someone had driven off without paying for gas. At times I marvel that he has not only survived but apparently thriven in the rough-edged setting of this particular store.
Anyway, last night I went in and got in line behind a stocky hard-bitten middle-aged guy, a construction worker ("International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers" cap) who looked like he probably listened to Rush Limbaugh on his lunch break. He and L. were chit-chatting in a friendly manner as L. rung up his purchases--he appeared to be a regular--and then the customer handed over a check for his purchase. L. examined it, with pursed lips, and pushed it back, saying, "Hon, you know you need to put your phone number on here." The guy jotted down his number, muttering (loudly enough for me to hear), "Well, hey, it's not like you ever call me, you know," in a tone that could only be described as flirtatious. L. gave him a wink and handed him his bag, the guy went off laughing, and I unboggled enough to get my cigs, and then went home giggling all the way.
Life is wonderful, in fact. The world is so full of a number of things. I am cheerful enough that I shall even refrain from killing the roofing guys, who are running an incredibly noisy diesel-fume-spewing generator, and tossing down great crashing heaps of old shingles, right outside my window.
After posting the previous entry, I wandered down to the local convenience store to pick up some cigs. This store sits right in the boundary zone between my neighborhood (middle-class-shading-on-yuppified), and the neighborhood just to the west (gritty, poor, and run-down), and it draws clientele from both communities, which can make an uneasy mix.
The store is often presided over by L., a clerk who in the past year has ascended to "Shift Manager" (according to his badge), and he was regnant last night. L. is a tall, willowy, light-skinned black man who usually wears jangly bracelets up both arms from wrist to elbow, and an assortment of sparkly earrings, and, always, a gaudy gauzy scarf tied around his head, with the ends fluttering down his back. Eyeshadow is also sometimes in evidence. He carries himself with a fine blend of hauteur and archness, and is utterly self-possessed; I have never once seen him the least bit jangled, even when a drunk was throwing up all over the men's room at the same moment someone had driven off without paying for gas. At times I marvel that he has not only survived but apparently thriven in the rough-edged setting of this particular store.
Anyway, last night I went in and got in line behind a stocky hard-bitten middle-aged guy, a construction worker ("International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers" cap) who looked like he probably listened to Rush Limbaugh on his lunch break. He and L. were chit-chatting in a friendly manner as L. rung up his purchases--he appeared to be a regular--and then the customer handed over a check for his purchase. L. examined it, with pursed lips, and pushed it back, saying, "Hon, you know you need to put your phone number on here." The guy jotted down his number, muttering (loudly enough for me to hear), "Well, hey, it's not like you ever call me, you know," in a tone that could only be described as flirtatious. L. gave him a wink and handed him his bag, the guy went off laughing, and I unboggled enough to get my cigs, and then went home giggling all the way.
Life is wonderful, in fact. The world is so full of a number of things. I am cheerful enough that I shall even refrain from killing the roofing guys, who are running an incredibly noisy diesel-fume-spewing generator, and tossing down great crashing heaps of old shingles, right outside my window.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 05:51 pm (UTC)This story makes me grin. I also like, in or out of context, "The world is so full of a number of things." Sig line fodder!
Glad you're feeling better.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 05:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 05:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 05:57 pm (UTC)I am sorry about the noise and the diesel fumes. Which is worse, diesel fumes or that boiling nasty roof tar stuff?
And...new word alert!!
persiflage - n. raillery; idle chatter.
Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 06:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 08:22 pm (UTC)And I'm really glad you're feeling better.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-08 08:31 pm (UTC)I hope the fumes and noise go away soon. We got roofed once and the worst of it was over in less than a week.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-09 05:33 am (UTC)