People, start washing your hands, when you’re done with your toilet business. Man, you’re gross. Modern apes! Thinking your dick is the cleanest, the best thing… is the epitome of self-centered consumer culture that will lead to human destruction. Flash news, I don’t want anything to do with your dick.
I broke a glass, he broke a six feet tall mirror. Then he spilled a glass of red wine on my white covers and couch. What should I do?
I have been recommended Sedatif PC by Lab Boiron. By a pharmacist I have never met, following a brief exchange of messages after another long pause in an otherwise platonic and lengthy online “relationship” (”conversation”?). I don’t know if I should be amused, amazed or outraged.
I might as well be in denial, but I am not medicating over the counter. That is if I have a choice.
Of, the tricks of unsolicited advice!
I know, and accept! we cannot eradicate stupidity. But can we please make it illegal?
So what’s up with the 30 ron cover no drinks included and old tickets printed for a nominal value of 10 ron?
Stay inside where it’s chilly or go outside where it’s sneezy?
I am looking for the phone number of a person. One of my last resorts was the text file I have saved and sent to myself a couple of times some time ago. Searching through my aggregated inbox, you see, not necessarily the best idea this aggregated inbox, I have learned that agenda is probably one of the most tired words in project management jargon: I have it in 453 messages.
But I haven’t told how I got stuck in the elevator, the other day!
How? That was pretty easy, but not that pretty.
Once upon a time there was the most depressing Monday of the year. People were committing suicides, help lines went red with cries for help, the shrinks’ couches were colapsing under the weight of patients. I was blisfully carrying on with my full day, totally unware, bless my ignorance. I was even laughing and talking too much to me, myself and you, over a cup of tea and a mug of beer. I suspect it was the mug that did it. A subway train or two later and following a brief crisp walk in the dark, I was pit-stopping at the famous corner, the one where you can only pay cash for your essentials and basic crap that one needs to wrestle with the power of the night. You know the likes of milk, bread, or beer, when you ran out of, you absent minded silly boy! Only I needed sour cream and yellow cheese to garnish my potatoes. I am telling you, I was drooling. Cash was exchanged for the goodies, and there I was carrying my heavy bag and soul back to my eight floor dwelling.
Now, my Monday was about to live to its full dementia and distress potential so well captured by the researchers across the world… Let me recap, I was acking to take a piss, hungry, tired, maybe a bit cold, but lookin forward to satisfying these basic Maslow needs. Let me rephrase that: I was looking forward to IMMEDIATELY satisfy these needs. And that was followed by my big eyes growing bigger when I noticed the elevator was being stuck at the ground floor. You must’ve noted above, I live at the eight. Long story short, blinded by urgency, I decide that I need at least try the elevator before climbing up the stairs, laptop on my shoulders, sour cream in one hand, and yellow cheese in the other. And so I did. I slammed the elevator door but it wouldn’t close. A little knob was sticking out in the frame, preventing the door to close. Ha! there was the clue to why the elevator was not working, I thought! Before thinking any better, I pressed that little fucker in, closing the door and now I was in.
A step by step process followed: closing the elevator inner doors, pressing the floor button, not moving at all. Repeat. Not moving at all. Yeap, at this point in time it actually occured to me there was a reason for the little fucker sticking out. Of course, in a civilized country, an explanatory note “Elevator out of business” would’ve rendered void the probability of those being able to read to actually be stuck inside the broken damn thing! without further mental processes.
Except for those occasions when I get terribly upset or plainly raving mad, I am a calm, rational and reasonable individual. Or at least I like to think so. The situation called for calm. I freed my hands, sticking the sour cream in one pocket of my overcoat, and the yellow cheese in the other, because fashion police was probably busy elsewhere. In reaching for my cellular I did not encountered any problem, but in dialing I did. My good friend and neighbour had both his phones off. My best friend did not pick up, he was later confirmed in a meeting. Another good friend who is living relatively close by was out partying, and she suggested I call a repair guy. Now, bless her soul, there was a mobile number plastered across the elevator, even engraved on the button dial. Not having anything else better to do I called, in little hope. After a long while, probably the longest possible before the connection would’ve automatically cut off my call, a heavily bored deep voice answered.
“Hello, you have reached the elevators’ repair shop”. Well, hurray, but wait, isn’t this too formal to be a human being? Was I possibly about to leave a message with a machine? The perspective of spending my night in the elevator, meters aways from my cozy place blitzzed and scared me pissless. But no, gods were watching over me. Their watch was more like a partial eclipse, but let’s get back on track with the story. “Hello, you have reached the elevators’ repair shop, oh, you got stuck, we’re sorry, it’s gonna take a while” were his words, although not word for word. Then, as I was pushing towards my minute-credit limit, he kindly explained what I should do to get out. OK, remove explain, insert repeat obsessively, with the exact same words. And that and the technical terms and the fact I was getting nowhere increased the level of my frustration, so I decided to hang up, free my hands and try my best. Which I did quite successfully.
And now, here’s the best part. As I was breathing heavily up the stairs I though let’s call guy, let him know I am out and thank him. “Hi, it’s me again, thanks for helping me, ’cause I wasn’t planning to spend the night in the elevator”, I said jokingly. To which he replied, seriously “Oh, that wouldn’t been the case at all. I live very closely, but I was just having dinner”.
The noise of my jaws hitting the floor was probably comparable only to the size of my eyes getting bigger, being totally baffled. And why you couldn’t say so? It was not like I was able to come chase your fat ass out of that chair to the fucking elevator that was broken holding me inside.
And there’s Romania for you! We’re nice and helpful when it doesn’t bother us at all.
And we don’t like explaining, because smart people don’t need explaining, they just get it.
So after not sleeping , then sleeping for 3 hours, I had to wake up at six thirty to get to the railway station. It was cold.
Another conclusion is people in this city are mad at any hour.
Did I mention it was cold?
Or I went to sleep too early?
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