2003-12-05

Garsh. Back in the dot commie boom, I worked at an advertising agency. My friends spilleth over, and I spent at least half my day mingling and the other half working on personal projects. Of course, a day was barely seven hours long, with a paid one-hour lunch break, 401k company match, occasional parties on boats in the Bay, free food, a paid week off between Christmas and New Years, etc. How I lament the passing of those days.

The point is, since starting at my current job, over a year ago, I haven't really made any friends. I just feel awkward, paranoid and tired, beaten down by commuting from SF to Oakland and by the unspeakable "rest of it." And thus, every day, I find myself alone at the porn deli.

Ah, sweet porn deli, justly named not because I'm there every day, but because it's next door to an adult theater/store which, by the way, amasses a surprising amount of afternoon business. Believe you me, you can't always tell who will go into the deli and who will go into the porn store. Life just ain't that crystal clear. Sometimes sickos eat sandwiches and clean-cuts cook the cream of cock.

But me, I just go to the porn deli and eat my sandwich and read my book and drink my soda and go back to my porny job. I don't know the names of the Asian couple who runs it, but we're not in it for the small talk. They get my award winning smile and, oh yeah, my dough, and I get their cheap sandwiches.

Once, ha, once the male-half, who is about my father's age, asked me if I worked in computers. He said his computer upstairs was funking out (my phrase, not his) and then tried to draw a picture of several AOL icons in the middle of a napkin. Having no idea what the fuck he was talking about, I agreed to take a look, as he is apparently terrified to ask his enraged daughter to help him anymore. Turns out his task-bar had mistakenly been stretched over half the screen. I showed him how to find the edge with his mouse and minimize it. I got a free sandwich. It was a very good day.

But Monday was better! Better than a free sandwich, you say? Ah, yes, better. While I was reading and chowing, the female-half walked over and put a brown paper bag on my table. I asked her, "What's this?" She patted my shoulder and said, "It's for you." It was a blue Chinese purse/bag. Is that not the fucking cutest thing? Granted, I don't carry a purse, but she melted my stone-cold heart so much so that now I just might.