revolver journal

I don’t want to limit myself here, but I am 99% sure that I had the best cup of coffee that I will ever have this morning.  More on that in a minute, but first:

I love coffee.  I drink it everyday.  I can’t remember the last time that I’ve ever gone a day without it. 

The Brown Line was especially slow this morning.  I got on at the Belmont station (I transfer from the Red Line) where we stood still for ten minutes (in this time period the train became completely packed), we then proceeded through the next two stations and then had another ten minute standstill at the Fullerton station.  We slowly made our way to Armitage and then, about midway between the Armitage and Sedgewick stations, we came to a complete stop.  At this point it was 8:30 in the morning, when I should be at work.  The train car was completely crowded (shoulder to shoulder) as we stood still waiting to move to the next stop.  The engineer announced that there was a problem with the track and that we would be standing momentarily.  Thirty minutes later he announced that the track was too damaged to proceed and that we would have to reverse directions. 

At this point we were the lead train in a huge backlog of trains, so I knew that it would take forever before we would start moving.  I began to wonder, as I stood in my little tiny square of personal space, how the air circulation was on a jam packed train like this (as I noticed it was slightly hard to breathe).  As I was pondering this people from the other end started yelling to push the emergency button and to call 911 because two people had just passed out.  The engineer came back and opened the windows in our car and made sure that the two people were okay (they were both alert at that point).  Everybody was really nice to each other, and we were all very patient.  At one point somebody said what I had been thinking since we came to this dead stop “all I really want is a cup of coffee”.  I was tired, I was out of it, my legs hurt from standing for so long, everything (the screaming, panic and then return to ”normal” — as normal as it could be, I guess) just seemed so surreal to me.  All I wanted was my morning cup of coffee.

Around 9:45am  we actually began to move back toward the Armitage station. We moved back slowly because there was another medical emergency on the train that was two ahead of us.  It took an additional thirty minutes to get to the station.  I got off of the train and like a bright beacon I saw the Starbuck’s store just accross the street. Sure the fresh air and open space was a welcome change, but I had my mind set on something else.  I waited in an extremely long line (apparently I wasn’t the only one on these trains that had this idea), but that was ok with me.  I waited this long, I could wait some more.  I finally got that cup of coffee.

 I’m not very good at vividly describing a moment like this, but I guess I could sum it up by saying: You could give the best commercial actor 1,000 takes and they wouldn’t even come close to the extreme look of pleasure and satisfaction that I am sure that I had at that moment. I got on the bus (no drink rule be damned) and made it to work at 10:45, about two and a half hours later than usual.

The best part of being stuck on a train for over two hours…

With one of us pursuing a career move that’s going to have them working with monsters, and the upcoming October scaretacular, maybe it’s time we discussed — MONSTERS!

So, there’s this bar on Clark St called Merkle’s, it’s an Iowa bar. So, our attention was drawn to it this weekend owing to the football game and it being festooned with Iowa banners and other spirit-raising flair. I admitted that I never felt inclined to go in that bar (although maybe I should feel very inclined) because Merkle’s sounded like “merkin” to me.

Well, I guess that was the new thing that a few other people learned for the week, but a merkin is a “pubic wig”. Rob was good enough to find this site. Educational!

And here’s a new tongue twister for you all:

Merkin-making Marvin makes mighty marvelous merkins!

Quit your job.  Right now.  Don’t have a job?  Get one.  Now quit it.  Open Microsoft Word and draft a short letter giving your two weeks’ notice.  Tell them how you’ve found something new.  Tell them you’ve found a better opportunity.  Tell them your job has become “dead-end”.  They don’t even have to be truths.  Just extrapolate on how inadequate the position and company have become.  Finish it with a “Sincerely,” then skip a few lines down and type your name.   

Print out the page.  Watch the printer give birth to your creation.  Put your face close to the printer and feel the warmth as it spools out.  Grab a set of tongs, yeah, a set of tongs!  And pull it off the printer like a horseshoe out a blacksmith’s forge - a horseshoe that you’ll fix to the beast on which you’ll soon ride out of town.

You’re not done.  Grab a pen.  Sign your name and make it law.  Take the last letter of your name and extend it in garish fashion.  Maybe do a revolution or two around your whole signature.  Give yourself a logo.  Take a needle to the other side and try to spell your name in Braille.  Because they’re obviously blind if they’re gonna let you walk so easily.  Add an “Esq.” at the end.  Or give yourself a fake title like Dr., Atty. Gen or Grand Marshal.  No, put CHESSMASTER!  If anyone calls you on it, make a reference about how difficult it is to pull off a successful Grob Opening.

Put the letter in an envelope.  Put that envelope in another envelope.  Put that envelope in one of those interoffice mail folders where you have to unwind the string to open it.  Cut the string off of other interoffice mail folders and wind those strings around yours.  Make ‘em work for it.

Spray the folder with Febreeze.  Put a couple Lisa Frank unicorn stickers on it.  Draw your favorite Care Bear on the front.  Make ‘em think there’s fantastic news inside! 

Now hold it up.  Does it look right?  Does it feel heavy and important, considering the message within?  Good.

Tear it up.  Use a document shredder if you have to.  Or maybe your company has one of those lock boxes in which to put documents awaiting shredding. 

Don’t let anyone know what you just did.  Go back to your desk.  Resume your normal routine.  Everything is fine.  All is calm.  All is bright.

Repeat as necessary.