Monthly Archive for July, 2004

hehehe

Published on July 30, 2004 in life. 3 Comments

XD
was talking to myself online (furcadia) and remembered some of the fun stuff we do at work :D
my boss-lady (leilani) likes to think in “families”, so we’re all “related” to eachother.
it’s really fucked up too cause she’s got a buncha “kids” (different “dads”) and even one by her own “Daddy”!!
XD
she’s my mommy, of course. her sister is caiyun, so caiyun’s my auntie (she’s the other boss-lady).
our department manager (software) is my mom’s daddy, so he’s my grampa (or lolo, as she has me call him).
he hates being called lolo XD
my “husband” (mom says I have three husbands at work) rexie is also my brother. my -other- brother, nick, is also my other husband, and is also rexie’s husband.
=o.O=
and Jason, the guy over in AT, is my third husband.
enough about husbands.
my daddy, Jeffrey, is (hopefully soon) gonna be manager over in jason’s department.
aaaand uhm.
there’re more relatives.
it’s hard to keep it straight sometimes, and also hard to keep a straight face.
I wonder where david fits into this warped family >.>
oh oh!! hehe. david.
I’ve got lotsa epithets for him.
he’s perfect for writing in a journal about.
if anybody who reads this has ever gone to palo alto fry’s and asked this guy named David, over in games, for help finding a game, you’ll know who I’m talking about.
if you’ve ever gone to the palo alto fry’s game’s section and cursed the lack of order, you’ve also inadvertantly met david. XD
he’s been with fry’s for going on six years, I’d say. he’s been bounced around from department to department, and somehow managed to get stuck taking care of aisle 9 (aisles are gonna get stirred up soon to make room for xbox and ps2 games) for at least the year I’ve been here.
previously (the only anecdote I heard about a different position he’s been in) he was in Returns. He was there for less than one day. A customer decided their tv didn’t work, so they brought the box back, and david refunded the customer’s money and took their box. the customer kept both the money and the tv.
after discovering the empty box with david’s associate number on it, they decided to move him somewhere where he wouldn’t do more stupid stuff.
one thing I have to say about david, when he’s got his head screwed on the right way, he does know how to sell stuff. he’s also an awesome fucking liar (have I ever mentioned previously how much I hate liars?) but lies about things that couldn’t -possibly- be true.
here’s a really good example:
any console games over 20 dollars -have- to be clammed, regardless of how in-demand the game is and how quckly it leaves the shelf.
it is absolutely mandatory.
I wander down nick’s aisle (11 currently) and out of the corner of my eye, I see true crimes: streets of LA for Xbox unclammed and on the shelf. the game had come out the day before.
at the time, we’d been having a shortage of clams (the plastic thingies we used to lock up the games). usually what we do when we need games on the shelf, we take other games out of their clams and hand them down to the games that are not on the shelf. especially new games.
an interesting tactic, then, this brand-new game being on the shelf without a clam.
I, of course, remove the games from the shelf and clam them.
on a hunch that these weren’t the only unclammed fifty dollar games, I checked all four sections, and found eight each of several other games, unclammed.
I brought them to our department manager and explained that I’d found them on the shelf.
he confronted david (since nick didn’t do it and I didn’t do it) and david’s reason was: “oh uhm yea. no clams, huh. uh huh. yea, I put them on the shelf. vill said to.”
boss: without clams?
david: uh, yea.
boss: vill said to put them on the shelf without clams?
david: uh. huh.
-end of convo-
ok, so the games supervisor, who’s very paycheck depends on games -not- being stolen, -told- david to put brand new games on the shelf without a clam.
riiiiight.
when vill came in the next day, he confirmed this.
not once had he told david to put games on the shelf without clams.
soooo.
in retaliation for us discovering his ineptitude, david started clamming games. very nice of him. UPSIDE-DOWN.
which means when we try to shove the games around on the shelf to make room for more games, we -can’t- because what’s sposed to be the bottom of the clam is smooth, and it’s also up in the fucking air.
annoying lil prick, yes?
whatever.

soo, we’re going on our daily lives, la de da.
vill decides to alphabetize the ps2 section, does a great job of it, takes a good part of the day.
finishes, goes home.
david closes that night, tons of go-backs everywhere.
vill comes back to work the next day, and whaddaya know.
ps2 games are -no longer- alphabetized.
doesn’t that beat all??

our other supervisor (before he went to washington) wanted to give everybody in games a test to see if we knew the alphabet.
david had been dropping those subtle hints for a while, see, about how he doesn’t know the alphabet.
unfortunately before vitaly could give us any tests he was transfered.
damn it.

soo, la de da again, for a while.
poor nick, gets 15 huge boxes of games around 9:30 one night. usually we get stuff on the floor until 9, not past it.
nick already had a bunch of other boxes to take care of, before the new arrival of the 15.
they didn’t get out of the store until either 12 or 1, I think, when the PIC kicked them out, so nick had five minutes to top-stock all the boxes he didn’t manage to put on the shelf, get his stuff, and be at the time-clock.
oh, and scribble “go backs” on the fronts of the boxes.
I think there might’ve been five boxes in top-stock when I got to work the next day, and a couple boxes were in the aisle.
the dept manager asked david why there were go-backs in the games aisle, and david’s response was, “oh, it’s cause laura and nick never do any work.”

well don’t that beat all.
ha. ha. ha.
I’m lazier than nick, and I still manage to do more than david does.

another story:
had to close with david one monday, since he can’t do anything but games, I had to close productivity (windows, norton and the like).
david’d been in a foul mood all day, and on mondays, our dept. manager isn’t there so there isn’t any strong male presence to boss david around.
since Leilani is just under our dept. manager, she was the strong female presence there to boss david around.
unfortunately for leilani, david has a thing against bossy females. (should hear him cussing his mom out).
she left for the day around eight. my lunch was from six to seven. on my way to get my lunch, I heard leilani asking david to please bring those bottles of water over here for her.
and then I heard him say no.
*clears throat*
I must interject here, since I realize and understand his reasoning was probably along the lines of not wanting anybody to know what a wimp he is.
he struggles with tape guns, has trouble lifting a box of half-life (one cd in a paper insert, no manual, in a mini-box. each box light as paper). a small box. maybe sixteen of these boxes inside this other box.
he struggled! gah! it was confounding. how the hell do you get that weak?? [insert comment about drugs]
anyway.
he told leilani no, she couldn’t boss him around, some such.
she said “you have to david you have to do what I say”
so he said no.
so, whatever. she did it.
later she asked him to go do his go-backs.
“no!” was the firm response, “I don’t do anything but help customers until nine”
yea, right!
help customers.
I’ve seen him confuse customers, make them angry, and make them go away. haven’t ever seen him help one.
well, I take that back.
maybe once.
his usual act is:
david: need some help? [lean on any handy surface, stare off into nothing]
cust: yea, I’m looking for the xbox game Halo.
david: uh, ok. [stare a while longer] uh…[look down, pick up handy gamecube game Super Smash Brothers] this is a good game. [offer to customer]
cust: I want halo. for xbox.
david: uh, yea. ok. I’ll go look that up for you. [continue leaning on whatever was handy]
cust: [tapping foot]
[minute-or-so passes]
david: so, uh. did you want me to look that up for you?
cust: yes, please.
david: you wanted super smash brother’s, right?
cust: nevermind. [stomp off]
david: oh, ok. [shrug]

fortunately when I see him leaning near a customer like that I march over and rescue them.
I guess I shouldn’t worry bout it so much but damnit it’s fucking annoying.

anyway.
so yea, he decided he didn’t do go-backs until 9. of course, since he was only being rebellious, it was just for that one monday.
we didn’t leave until almost 12 that night (david takes approximately 4 hours to close, with only a normal amount of games to occupy his attention span. two hours before nine, and two hours after. that night he had more go-backs than usual, and had to top-stock most everything since he didn’t get started until nine. out of fucking spite.)
grr! growl!
what an ass!
anyway.

my only consolence is he makes me feel smart. XD

take, for instance, the length of time it takes him to put eight cds back on the shelf.
count ‘em folks, eight.
same genre, rock.
uht oh. here’s where it gets tricky.
there’re LETTERS! and the rock section is ALPHABETIZED!
oh shit, where the hell do these things go?
yea, so. an hour later, he’s still wandering up-and-down aisle 24. still has eight cds.
our hero Nick comes in, an angel from above, and confiscates those cds so david has to go do “real” work (anything that doesn’t involve alphabet or finding items for customers)

I spose I could go on and on about david.
really outta write a book.
he’s one of the most interesting people I know, but also really annoying. and his mood changes from one day to the next, so I never know if I’m gonna hate him, or if I’m gonna hate his fucking guts.
but at least he’s a source of amusement, yes?
without him, we would have nothing to base stupidity on.

Writing a Story

Published on July 6, 2004 in life. 3 Comments

jus using this nifty livejournal dealie cause it does the text wrap thing. :D
plus you guys can tell me what you think and uhm…
yea…
input = good :D

Purple Light
©2004 Laura Guist

Chapter One

Strength, she felt for once. Not the stuff you get when you finally can bench-press 350 lbs ten times without screaming; this was much more powerful.
Even as she felt the vibration of tracks beneath her tennis-shoes, shaking her, encouraging her strength to ebb, she held fast to it.
Tired, if she thought about it, but soon she wouldn’t even be that. The thought relaxed her almost completely. She was one of a scattered few who held a sacred key, and she alone was the one able to hold the one she had. Relinquishing it was out of the question, since the place where it was held was not physical. It wasn’t a thought, not a feeling — though she’d certainly felt it — but more of a light that’d attached itself to her when she was born. She’d heard people describe the incident to her, time and again, so her imagination knew the event in high detail.
Remembering, with the help of that imagination, she felt the light pulse within her. As she recalled the odd sight of a deep purple light, the shape of a dust-bunny, leaping through the window of the room where her mother had lain in the trembles of birth, she tilted her head up to meet the bold gaze of the train full in its face.
A movement to her right caught the corner of her eye. Since a mass of fluttery things was all she could make out, she tilted her head to focus more clearly, distracting her from the task at hand. Her whole body was now moving with the force that was train, and with a gasp she leapt from the tracks. What were those fluttery things? She stumbled toward the light-purple pile, feeling weak from the station vibrations. Crouching down between the two sets of tracks, she felt the force of train pushing at her, and groaned in dismay as the feathers flew up in the air. Grabbing for them, she managed to grasp one in her hands. Instantly, the feather melted into her hand, disappearing completely except for a purple glow. Gasping, she realized her hand was only glowing in one area, and the area was the shape of a key. A celtic knot on one end, tapering down and then up into a single tooth. She pressed her fingers to the glow, mezmerized when heat pulsed into the tips of her fingers.
A sound from her right jolted her, and she jumped to her feet, prepared to fight off whatever was after her now.

Muttering to himself, he glared at the hunched form. A long cloak of deep purple covered most of, if the waist-length hair was any indication, a female. Brown leather boots, crusty with who-knew-what, peeked from under the cloak. She was staring, transfixed, at her hand. Another drunk, fed up with the world and with life, he guessed. She wouldn’t have been the first, certainly not the last, and most definetly not the most unusual. He’d seen just about everything when it came to the dregs of humanity. Purple coats were at the bottom of a long, drawn-out list.
He ran a hand over his forehead, preparing himself for another long, drawn-out process involving paperwork and jail cells, and human contact.
Ten years ago, if you’d asked Phillip if he liked his job, he would’ve given you the full five-dollar show. He really did like his job, he told himself, willing the band in his head to ease up on the drums. He’d just gotten tired of the same thing, again and again, and wished humans weren’t so stuck with the same natures.
His day had started with his neighbor knocking on his door, a full hour earlier than he’d intended on being awake. She’d thrown those puppy-dog eyes at him, asking him if he would please watch her precious pookie while she flew to the store. Apparently she was out of a few things, and just needed to grab a few groceries.
She’d gone out alright, and was probably gone all of ten minutes. Hearing her heels on the stairs, he’d grabbed the dog and stood near the door, ready to relinquish all rights to thing to its owner. Instead of knocking on his door as he’d anticipated, she’d trotted past it to her own door and slammed it open, and then shut, in some kind of hurry. Trying not to be angry, he’d dropped the dog to the floor — gently — and plopped himself in his chair to watch what was left of the morning news. During the silence between the end of news and beginning of commercials, he heard knocking from the wall behind him. The blare of commercial blocked out the sound, so he reached for the remote to turn down the sound, his brow furrowed in concentration. Was she knocking for him to bring the dog over? He leaned toward the wall, prepared to knock in return, when a loud “Oh George!” came from the other side, followed by more rapid knocks and a loud masculine groan.
Beating his head against his palm, he’d squinted his eyes shut, cursed a few times, then had gone off to shower.
By the time he was out, his neighbor, along with whoever had been in her apartment, were gone. He assumed. They may have just fallen asleep, though that was probably just the way he was thinking, due to being awakened so damn early. He’d sworn at the dog, then sworn again when it whimpered and licked his chin. He’d wiped his chin on his shirt, then stomped to his apartment, slammed the door open, grabbed his keys and wallet from table by the door, then locked the door and shut it as hard as he could. He’d stomped down the steps, into the parking lot and through it to his car, dropped the dog in the car and slammed the car door shut. By then all the slamming was replaying in his head, jarring his thoughts in a pulsing beat.
Standing on the platform at the station, he glanced at his watch. 11:15 glared at him, the little colon between the numbers blinking at him, daring his headache to try to go away. He growled in his throat, then turned his head and jumped to the tracks below him.
Crunching toward her, he planned his attack. She would most likely back up against the wall, then sneakily move her hand to some strap on her leg and pull out a knife. Possibly even a gun. He’d be ready, snap his hand into her wrist, then flip her around and cuff her. He didn’t know why these suicidals always got so violent when you didn’t let them kill themselves. Opening his mouth to alert her of his presence, he halted in his tracks, watching in stunned amazement as she flew to her feet.
Six feet. At least. Her hair flowed down to her waist, the black glossy in the places where it curved. Piercing mint-green eyes were deep-set and framed by lashes as dark as her hair, with long black slanting eyebrows furrowing her brow into her eyes. A rather short nose for her face turned up on its end, and led a short journey to dark pink bow-shaped mouth. High cheekbones with a sharp pointy chin, along with the widow’s peak at the top of her head, made her face into the shape of a heart. His eyes wandered lower, admiring the sleek neck, strong shoulders, then wandered lower to appreciate the rather large endowments she barely constrained with what could pass for a shirt. If shirts were more bra-like, and ended shortly after the breasts, and were made of what appeared to be soft supple leather. A long, curved torso of muscle and skin ended near her hips with a skirt that seemed to start too late and end too soon. It also clung to her hips, displaying more than it hid, and starting the journey of her legs to the ground. He admired her long, muscular thighs, but decided to stop there, since he’d seen those awful crusty boots. He slid his gaze up to her chest for one last look, then returned his eyes to her face. Quite the package, he decided, and wondered what a woman who looked like this could possibly want with suicide. Maybe she was looney.

She watched his appraisal of her. Without looking into his mind, she could see his thoughts in his eyes. She prefered people like that, but when it came to females and appreciation, guys always showed their feelings in their eyes. She couldn’t trust him just based on that. Returning his favor, she started with his shoes. Black high-tops with black laces, black jeans that bagged over them slightly, then tightened on their journey up to his hips, and a black belt that carried all manner of beeping electronics. She appreciated the way his pants fit his body, admired the length of them, and what they led up to. A neatly tucked black t-shirt stretched across his chest, displaying his muscles in a most delectable manner. His arms were big, but not overly so, which was preffered for her since muscles just got in the way. Her eyes finally rested on his face, peering into the slate grey of his eyes, admiring the fringe surrounding them. A long straight nose led to his parted lips, and her heart caught in her throat for just a second. Quickly moving her gaze up, she approved the wavy blonde hair, especially the rakish look he achieved by wearing it to his shoulders. Slightly darker brows bushed lightly above his eyes, and his square-shaped face brought the whole thing together. Quite a package, she thought, then shook her head. She couldn’t think abou that. Since the key had, once again, kept her from rushing into permanent departure, she had to continue her quest. She stalked over to the guy, brows turning down even more as she watched him.

uhm I’m sleepy so I’ll work on it more later. not sure what I even wrote.
meow.