Ah Bugger

The vapid utterings of a neurotic mind.

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Location: DC, United States

I ain't too proud to bug.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Tales from the 'vator

This morning I did what I do every morning, climbed into the elevator. Alone inside, the doors slammed shut. There I was. Trapped. Alone. I pressed my floor and Otis began to ascend. But I got to thinking. Why do we allow ourselves to be caught in these little boxes? I tried to pry the doors open mid-ride and they would not budge. So I looked around and pondered how I would escape, should we suddenly stop moving. The walls are smooth and there are no escape exits. When we first moved to this building, I was in the elevator and it made crunchy sounds between several of the floors. Then my co-worker was in it and it suddenly dropped two floors. One guy was trapped for 5 hours. They gave him a gift certificate to a restaurant for his trouble. Um, that happens to me, and I'll want a new car.
I have never liked elevators. Creepy boxes that everyone stands facing forward without conversation or eye contact. It's weird. The elevator at the Holocaust Museum is exceptionally creepy. It slams shut with authority and once inside, you are in a dark metal box with rivets. Terrifying.
My boss and I were in a packed elevator one time and someone farted. Loud and squeaky. We busted out laughing. We were the only ones who did. We had tears streaming down our faces by the time the elevator door open and we could pile out.
Once I was leaving the building and got into the elevator alone. I decided that it was a good place to let out a little tension, otherwise known as gas.. GOOD LORD! It stank so bad. That may have been the longest elevator ride of my life. I was slowly losing oxygen. I was terrified that someone would get onto the elevator and know. But luckily, I made to the lobby without further incident. As the doors prepared to open, I braced myself for the inevitable entrance of someone going up. I thought I might say, P.U. I think there is something wrong with this elevators digestive tract. But luck was with me and no one was there to witness what I could do.

I don't understand why people get into the elevator and then turn to face the door. I tried getting in and just stay facing the back, but people thought that was very strange and they were uncomfortable.
You know what I really hate? Is when people jump in the elevator. Stop it! we are going to go plummeting to our deaths!
Some bits of advice. If the elevator does drop, don't jump. It won't save your life. You should lie down in the center of the floor, flatten your body (though the debris may do this for you) and cover your head.

Here are some fun things to do in an elevator.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Today in history- July 12

In 1933, Congress passed the first US federal minimum wage law that paid workers 33 cents per hour. Woo. (Hey, what ever happened to the cent symbol?)
My first job paid me $4.00 an hour. I worked behind the counter of a photo lab and rang up people's pictures and dusted frames. I even got to develop film and take passport photos every now and then. That was my first job. (4 bucks an hour. How did that satisfy my Hostess cupcake addiction of 1988?)

Tonight in 1979, there was mayhem in Comiskey. Some braniac thought it would be a great idea to have a promotion that would allow people to bring their disco records to the ballpark in exchange for a 98 cent ticket to the game. It was estimated that maybe 5,000 people would come, but 50,000 showed up, clamoring over the walls to get into Comiskey. Harry Caray sat in the box and commented along with Jimmy Piersall about the "strange people" afoot in the park. The DJ who promoted the event went out to the field with a "bomb" to destroy the disco records which ripped a hole into the outfield and seemed to invite the fans onto the field to start their own little fires. Caray and Piersall used the PA system to ask the fans to leave, but "Holy Cow!" it took Chicago police and their riot gear to do it. The White Sox had to forfeit the game to the Tigers because their manager would not let them onto the field as he felt it to be too dangerous. It was the only game the Tigers had ever won. (Just kidding. They are actually pretty good this year.)

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Alphabet series - W

Walter Stark was in my English class in the 7th grade. I guess I was a bit of a smartass in that class because I recall more time in the hallway than in my seat. I also wrote an essay one time that ended up being one really long run-on sentence and my teacher wrote as a critique that "One sentence does not a paragraph make." I hated this statement of hers so much that 21 years later I can still repeat it verbatim.
Walter was short and looked like a character on the Little Rascals. He had black hair that stood up straight along his severe side-part and so many freckles. He was the one who named me "Bugeater". Because I had such a crush on him, (yes, my taste in men has always been a little wonky... First crush-Phil Collins.) I decided to like my new nickname as opposed to come completely unglued and hence began the Bug. Bug stuck and was cemented by my days at Bennigan's where my name had simply too many letters in it for the general populous of the restaurant. (Though we had nametags that were erasable and my name changed every day. One day I wrote "tired" on my nametag and people asked how to pronounce my name and so I told them Ty-Red. And they found it to be so exotic.)
At the seventh grade dance, I asked Walter to dance with me. I think he may have, or else it was a traumatic experience that I have shoved from my memory because he laughed at me. Don't quite recall.
Anyway, I am Buggie because of a short, dark-haired boy with a mazillion freckles. Walter.

Monday, July 10, 2006

They are showing mooovies on that flight!

I love the Home Run Derby! It's like field day for the really big kids. HR Derby is where I first discovered that Jim Thome lisps and that Mike Piazza has a kind of unfortunate giggle. (He was in the broadcast booth...) Speaking of MP, I am a little mad at you for not playing Friday. I came all the way to see you. (All the three miles to the stadium!) I know that what we had is over, but aren't we at least on good terms? I mean, sooo many years of my life, Mike.
I remember field day at my elementary school. I think I still have whatever pathetic ribbons I may have won for the three-legged race, or that balancing an egg on a spoon thing. But what I remember most is when we found a baby bird that had been mauled by a cat and we called the Humane Society. (Though I remember it as a bird specialist. Who knows who came.) And then some kids shot a squirrel with a BB gun. (Ralphie: [after BB gun shot bounces off target and hits his face] Oh my god, I shot my eye out!)
One time these men were playing softball at the Junior High and I got their autographs. Cool, huh? I think that I may have thought they were having the HR Derby RIGHT THERE! In my home town!!! On the patchy grass up the hill from my elementary school.
I was not a sports savvy kid.
Anyway, maybe we could have a field day at the BBQ this year? My mom has a whiffle bat. It might be a little jacked as I am sure I have used it to attack innocent bystanders. But that just adds to the fun, no?
I will totally kick your asses collectively! And proudly strut with all the ribbons and medals I will win. Because I will cheat like no one has ever cheated before.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

More proof- But it is blacker than it looks. Yeouch!