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Adios, Unusualia.

Today was my last day of regular work at Stevi & LeeAnn's shop, and if I wanted to be a little unhappier than yesterday's giddy joy, well, I was. 

Not because I'm leaving — hey, that's good news. I don't want to retire with a gold watch after handing out flyers for a second-hand shop for forty years. Leaving Unusualia isn't sad. I was unhappier today because it was just a shitty day.

In three months working there, I'd only broken two pieces of merchandise, but today I dropped half a $15 pair of brandy snifters, and then a few minutes later a $248 wooden statue, chipping off a few of its fingers. Apologized profusely and felt lousy about it, because yikes, a couple of hundred bucks is more than the shop sells on a so-so day.

Stevi didn't shout at me, because despite being big and tough she rarely shouts, and it was my last shift so she couldn't very well fire me. She just frowned and told me to get into the skirt and cape and hand out flyers.

So, one last time, I pushed those annoying flyers at people, and all evening most of them said "No thanks" or ignored me, and then with a handshake from Stevi and a hug from LeeAnn, I was gone. "Stay safe," LeeAnn said, and I don't think either of them ever figured out that I'm not gay.

Things I'll miss about being flyer-boy:

• Stevi and LeeAnn, who were always kind to me
• sexy dykes in sensible clothing
• the distant laughter of drivers on Market Street agog at my costume
• making faces or flipping off the tour buses
• men trying on drag in the shop
• laughing at the bitch running the shop downstairs, and at the lawyer-ass upstairs
• and wearing that damned cape and skirt, which would be the craziest outfit I've ever had to wear at work, if it weren't for a job once where I had to wear a necktie.

Things I won't miss about being flyer-boy:

• the bitch running the shop downstairs
• the lawyer-ass upstairs
• pushing the same flyers at the same faces on the same sidewalk day after day
• polishing silver and brass without an apron, because the proprietors were too stingy to buy one, and so was I
• and strangers expecting me to make their babies smile and their kids laugh when I was wearing the cape, as if I was Ronald McDonald or something.

From Pathetic Life #13
Friday, June 2, 1995

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.

Pathetic Life
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