When the rain comes...

It’s been raining for days, torrential downpours and violent thunderstorms that crack tree limbs and spirits, turning summer into some nether-season...warm with a cold wind, the depth of the grey in the sky fluctuating throughout the day until nightfall comes and more rain falls in the darkness, fat raindrops wind-whipped against the window drumming a steady beat interrupted periodically by sharp crackles of thunder, flashes of lightning illuminating the skies for seconds of eerie brightness, making you grateful to be home, to be indoors and protected from a storm that feels like a Hollywood special effect, like the living room has suddenly morphed into the cabin of Andrea Gail in “The Perfect Storm...”

Funny too how rain like this leads you to introspection, forced indoors and into the contours of your mind, the mindless diversion of television no longer a diversion at all and the music you play in the background mirrors the mood and the lamps providing more of a soft backlight, a warming glow instead of the bright shine of luminescence...you feel your mind wandering, thinking back over your recent past and the highs you’ve felt, the beautiful moments you’ve shared with her, the days you made special for her because she’s made every day special for you...and then the lows, because so much of the future seems uncertain...you know there’s a way out, that there’s a path for you to follow and all you have to do is follow it, keep pressing on because that’s the only option and really, what the fuck do you have to complain about anyway?

But those lows...those cringe-inducing memories of telling an inappropriate story, of opening your mouth and hearing something so offensively stupid come out, seeing the expression on her face change, the smile draining away and that beautiful moment become one of awkward ugliness and you want more than anything to just take the moment back, to go back 4 minutes in time and talk about the Red Sox instead, anything at all...It’s too late though, and you proffer your effusive apologies and because she’s better than you are, savvier, she gamely tells you that it’s OK, it’s over, and you say your warm goodbyes, still feeling the electricity when her body presses against yours but you have to go your separate ways for the evening...and the rest of that evening you’re distracted, unable to focus on much of anything other than that nauseating pit in your stomach, the sting of imaginary bees piercing your brain and you just want to make it right, because until you do the rain will just keep coming down and you’re ready for the sun to shine again, you’re ready to dance in the sunlight with her...

People Are Strange...

The Doors had it right...people are very strange.

Now that my month-long consulting gig at WUMB is finished (although I may be back on the air filling in later this Summer, stay tuned), I am back in the library until the next project begins. And henceforth, the strangeness...

First, some crazy woman with tribal tattoos on both wrists keeps periodically shouting out random things like "take that, Shannen Doherty!" or "you're so fucked now!" to whom I can only hope is a fellow role-playing gamer. At one point, apparently, her laptop froze, because an audible gasp was followed by a loud "how dare you!" directed at her Dell (weirdly, she sort of looks like that kid from the old "Dude, you're gettin' a Dell!" commercials-you know, the kid who's probably only a season or two away from joining the cast of "The Surreal Life" or equivalent loser VH1 has-been reality show.) Other times, she looks up and smiles at me, and then breaks out this demonic cackle that I'd find unnerving normally...but this is Worcester after all, where the freaks come out in the daytime.

Then, there's this old man shouting at the librarian about a newspaper he needs to read from 1927...he's got that old-man phlegmy rasp to his voice, a voice which nonetheless functions at the same volume it did back in the Roaring '20's. Statements like "you don't know how important this is to an old man!" and "do I have to put a quarter in this thing to make it work?" (in reference to the microfiche machine...and no, you don't, you just have to load the microfiche into it).

Earlier today, I had to go to an AT&T Store to get the SIM card replaced in my BlackBerry. AT&T is a horrible company with horrific customer service-so much so that it will be the entirety of an upcoming post-but I'm stuck with them until March 10, 2009 (I refuse to pay an early-termination fee; the cellular service is abhorrent and "customer service" is a notion entirely foreign to them. Wait until your new iPhone starts dropping calls every few minutes, sucker.). Anyway-I figured it should be relatively painless to get the SIM card switched out...

I walked into the local store, to be greeted by...no one. There was one kid working in the store, no more than 19 or so. He was at a desk with a customer and didn't look up when I entered. So I sat down in the tiny waiting area and waited...after 10 minutes, I noticed the kid-and by now, the customer-staring at me. He mumbled something along the lines of "be right with you," still without looking up. Just making faces at the phone in his hand. Finally, the customer left and after a few more minutes of him making weird faces, like he was trying not to fart or something, he spoke up. "Can I help you?" he asked. "Yes, I need a new SIM card. My account should be noted that this is a no-charge service." He looked it up, verified it...and then answers his phone in the midst of it! Leans back, smiles, and begins speculating with whomever was on the other end about the sexual preferences of the previous customer! I couldn't believe it...and as both of my regular readers know, I'm hardly a prude. It was just so inappropriate. Anyway, a few minutes later he finishes transferring all of my contacts from the old card to the new one, hands me the phone, and says simply "you're all done, have a nice day." No "is there anything else I can do for you today?" No "if you have any problems, bring it right back." Nothing.

I hate people. I mean, except you. You, I like. People in general. You know.