Realistically, there’s no romance between us, and no chance of romance. Maybe there’s a friendship, though. Nothing wrong with that.
♦ ♦ ♦
At some point during my Saturday afternoon with George, whose name isn’t George, I mentioned that when I’ve mentioned him in the zine, he’d become George. This morning he left a note on my desk, saying he thinks of himself as more of a Stanley, which is also not his name. This a problem easily solved. What was Istanbul is now Constantinople, and George is henceforth Stanley.
♦ ♦ ♦
Darla was working in one of the stores today, because everything is crazy in December. Absent the boss, I took a long lunch, raided Darla’s stash of gummy bears, and later snuck out of the office early. As Mondays go, it was better than most.
Kallie worked all day, unlike me, but she shouldn’t have. She’s approaching the peak of some vicious virus that’s having its way with her, and she looked and sounded miserable. There’s no sick leave, and she can’t afford time off without pay, so she’ll be at work no matter what. I’ve done it, too. The only sensible strategy is to cough toward management, and hope to spread it up the chain of command.
By the weekend, several people in the office will be hacking hoarsely, sniffling or completely wreaked, and of course they’ll all bring their sicknesses home for the holidays.
Why are jobs without sick leave even legal? Because despite unfounded rumors of liberty and justice for all, America's mission is to help the rich and powerful and giant corporations. Little people like Kallie and me? We just work here.
From Pathetic Life #7
Monday, December 19, 1994
This
is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago,
called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but
might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting
things, so parental guidance is advised.
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