drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i almost crack but do get a good ghost story My day started out by me waking up late, which of course meant that I had to call my boss and inform her of the fact, and endure silent disapproval, and be rushed showering and dressing, and finally end up with not enough time to get the resturaunt ready. I know, I should use my alarm clock, but it's earsplitting and makes me shake convusively all day after being woken up by it. And that was basically the way my day went. The soda cabinet door fell on me again. At lunchtime everybody. in. the. whole. town. decided to come and eat at our resturaunt, right on cue after my boss decided to send the other worker home in anticipation of a slow day. It was a nightmare. I nearly cracked. "Why the fuck do you gluttons have to eat so much bloody fucking food? I will get your fucking iced tea as soon as I put a gun to my head and blow my brains out. Goddamnit we need air conditioning. Anyone ever heard of anorexia?" No, I didn't say that, dumbass, I'd have been fired. Working at my job I have come to this valuable conclusion: People are stupid. Other shit happened, but I'm too annoyed to recount it. On the upside, Trev regaled me with a highly doubtful story about how he was parked in front of this decrepit old ex-Satanist's house one day. This guy (Trev, not the Satanist) is a master storyteller. The house was completely rusty, dirty, and dilapidated except for the doorknob, which was shiny and brass and 'looked like it was polished every day'. He was hanging out with his friend Ekk (I know!), a Thai guy whose family is cursed (and apparently plagued by ghosts). As they were sitting there, an old woman came up to the car and smiled at the other guys, but glared and snarled at Ekk. She went into the house. I guess they were going to follow her, but a cop came by and said, "What are you doing, get the fuck out of here," and the guys said, "This old lady just went into the house," and the cop said, "What? No, nobody goes in there. You can't. It's condemned. Nobody lives there, you can't even get in." So they went to leave, and this van comes out of nowhere and starts following the car that Ekk and Trev are in (apparently they had a caravan of some sort). They're trying to dodge it, going all over the place, making sharp turns and generally going crazy, and they can't shake it. And it's only following Ekk's car. So they get on the Bay Bridge and somehow manage to pass the van, and they turn around and look, and all they can see is a big green fireballish looking thing floating in the middle of the console. Needless to say, they avoided that house (and were probably more deferential to Ekk) from then on. And then Trev said that one time he saw Ekk getting beaten up by a ghost (I know, I know, but I've heard of it before). He said he was getting knocked around and Trev turned on the light, and Ekk had a black eye, and his nose and mouth were both bleeding. I love talking about ghost stories. Nothing makes me happier or more excited. Well, okay, not nothing, but it does make me abnormally happy and excited. I love hearing other people's tales. I believe them wholeheartedly, despite being a professed cynic. (Hey, I don't believe in love, isn't that cynical enough?) Everybody at the coffee shop loved my "Property of Alcatraz Swim Team" T-shirt. We got into a big Alcatraz conversation and I elicited offers to take me there. As part of my Alcatraz fixation, I have an enormous aching need to go there, but so far whenever I've been there and asked, everyone has looked at me like, "Are you fucking crazy?" I guess visiting an old haunted jail just isn't everyone's idea of fun. Go figure. 4:09 p.m. - 2003-08-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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