Tuesday, August 01, 2006
That's How People Get Kilt
I think I could be a city gal. I have the bitchiness. I have the alcohol tolerance.
I should be drunker.
I should be preparing for tomorrow. Maybe I will prepare later.
This morning I left a few minutes earlier than yesterday so I could go to a Port Town (maybe I should say Small Port City) post office. I needed to mail the students' registrations so they could get grades, etc. In Dogpatch I can access a post office at 7 am, and I mistakenly thought I could do so here. So, I finished my bagel and coffee and headed a couple of blocks out of my way to go to the P.O. I discovered that it didn't open until 8 am. Drat. Shit.
After class, I again approached the same P.O., only to find it closed at 4 pm. WTF??!! Okay, I thought, the "lobby" is open, and I can still mail this envelope. I decided to buy some stamps and mail the damn thing. It appeared I could only buy $7.80 worth of stamps. Were they kidding me??? Okay, stamps don't have an expiration date, so I purchased them and mailed the thing. As I walked out again into the 92 degree heat, I passed many people here in Small Port City-- strange looking people, many of whom were revving the small engines of Rascals, you know, those little scooters that disabled people ride. I saw lots of people who didn't resemble the run-of-the-mill derelicts I usually encounter in Dogpatch. But that was okay. Everything was okay.
Everything was okay until I saw a shiny, skinny man in his best polyester, leaning over tucking his pants into his socks. Interesting. I continued. As I passed him, I heard him speak: "That's how people get kilt!! Bein' nebbay!" He must have been speaking to me, but maybe he wasn't. I just kept walking, thinking, "You ain't in Dogpatch anymore, baby." I had thought that "nebby" was more of a Steel City phrase, and maybe this specimen hailed from that place. At any rate I kept walking. (That's how I know I could be a city gurl.) I also passed more sinister young teenagers. I think one of them said to another, "There goes your girlfriend," and I knew it wasn't a compliment. Onward.
By this time, after hiking several blocks, I wanted beer and cigarettes, and I forged ahead in search of the latter. Again, it was difficult to find an open store-- Nick's Newspaper, in the bottom floor of a seven or eight story building? Closed. I went a couple of doors down to another place, run by Mexicans.
I don't smoke enough. When the gentleman asked me if I wanted Salem 100's or Kings, I said, "Just 100's" and ended up with big long cigarettes that I'd waste even more than the normal-sized ones. I suck. I didn't even know what kind of smokes I wanted.
When I got back to the hotel bar, I was mad. Just yesterday I'd encountered numerous of the same post office employees at lunch AND dinner at the hotel restaurant/bar, and I was pissed that half of the working world couldn't mail a goddamn letter,but they were hanging out. How the hell were they able to take lunch at a restaurant and get back to work? Did they even go back to work?
So I greeted Political Bartender Boy from Nearby Glasstown, USA, and chatted with him until I met my new friend Cindy from Steeltown (in the area for an insurance seminar). I calmed down talking to them, glugging Port City Pilsner, until she had to go study. (There's a test on Thursday.) She and I had a lot in common-- hailing from the same area, being near the same age, not caring if we had kids or not.
Now I sit here. I really should prepare for tomorrow, like Insurance Girl-- she has a test this week. I should be drunker-- a few bites of crab-cake appetizer and 5 beers. Maybe I'll have another later.
That's how people get kilt?
I should be drunker.
I should be preparing for tomorrow. Maybe I will prepare later.
This morning I left a few minutes earlier than yesterday so I could go to a Port Town (maybe I should say Small Port City) post office. I needed to mail the students' registrations so they could get grades, etc. In Dogpatch I can access a post office at 7 am, and I mistakenly thought I could do so here. So, I finished my bagel and coffee and headed a couple of blocks out of my way to go to the P.O. I discovered that it didn't open until 8 am. Drat. Shit.
After class, I again approached the same P.O., only to find it closed at 4 pm. WTF??!! Okay, I thought, the "lobby" is open, and I can still mail this envelope. I decided to buy some stamps and mail the damn thing. It appeared I could only buy $7.80 worth of stamps. Were they kidding me??? Okay, stamps don't have an expiration date, so I purchased them and mailed the thing. As I walked out again into the 92 degree heat, I passed many people here in Small Port City-- strange looking people, many of whom were revving the small engines of Rascals, you know, those little scooters that disabled people ride. I saw lots of people who didn't resemble the run-of-the-mill derelicts I usually encounter in Dogpatch. But that was okay. Everything was okay.
Everything was okay until I saw a shiny, skinny man in his best polyester, leaning over tucking his pants into his socks. Interesting. I continued. As I passed him, I heard him speak: "That's how people get kilt!! Bein' nebbay!" He must have been speaking to me, but maybe he wasn't. I just kept walking, thinking, "You ain't in Dogpatch anymore, baby." I had thought that "nebby" was more of a Steel City phrase, and maybe this specimen hailed from that place. At any rate I kept walking. (That's how I know I could be a city gurl.) I also passed more sinister young teenagers. I think one of them said to another, "There goes your girlfriend," and I knew it wasn't a compliment. Onward.
By this time, after hiking several blocks, I wanted beer and cigarettes, and I forged ahead in search of the latter. Again, it was difficult to find an open store-- Nick's Newspaper, in the bottom floor of a seven or eight story building? Closed. I went a couple of doors down to another place, run by Mexicans.
I don't smoke enough. When the gentleman asked me if I wanted Salem 100's or Kings, I said, "Just 100's" and ended up with big long cigarettes that I'd waste even more than the normal-sized ones. I suck. I didn't even know what kind of smokes I wanted.
When I got back to the hotel bar, I was mad. Just yesterday I'd encountered numerous of the same post office employees at lunch AND dinner at the hotel restaurant/bar, and I was pissed that half of the working world couldn't mail a goddamn letter,but they were hanging out. How the hell were they able to take lunch at a restaurant and get back to work? Did they even go back to work?
So I greeted Political Bartender Boy from Nearby Glasstown, USA, and chatted with him until I met my new friend Cindy from Steeltown (in the area for an insurance seminar). I calmed down talking to them, glugging Port City Pilsner, until she had to go study. (There's a test on Thursday.) She and I had a lot in common-- hailing from the same area, being near the same age, not caring if we had kids or not.
Now I sit here. I really should prepare for tomorrow, like Insurance Girl-- she has a test this week. I should be drunker-- a few bites of crab-cake appetizer and 5 beers. Maybe I'll have another later.
That's how people get kilt?
# posted by Chrissy Snow @ 8/01/2006 05:06:00 PM 
