Squinting to write

I have been awake more than 24 hours now. After that 4 hours of sleep, I woke up at 7:00 and was at the airport by 8:00. The flight went well, and I saw the thrilling site of iceburgs breaking into the sea. I'll put up a photo post when I'm not so tired.

Japan is still not quite real. I meet my host family on Friday, but I know at least a little about them. I'll be living with the Kawashimas, Akira and Yuko. They are both high school teachers, around my parent's age. They like hiking and music; that, I feel, is quite positive. They have a cat, but it's an outdoor cat. The commute will be about 40 minutes to school; not so bad, when they warned us we might have over an hour for commute.

I've already started making friends among my program folks. More on them later.

So now it is 8:15 AM in Atlanta, and I am spent.

4.5 Hours Until I Have to Wake Up

7 hours until my plane to Japan takes off.

I'm not yet asleep. Hopefully this isn't a huge detriment to my health. It's gonna be hell to adjust 14 hours ahead, but you know I'll do it.

Green tea, here I come.

Our internet is down, so I'm stealing wireless from the neighbors. When Alan and Carl first got their laptops for college, we drove around looking for unprotected wireless to tap into. We didn't do any harm, but it was fun, like a secret mission or something.

I keep meaning to update with some more thrift store stories, so here are a couple for you. I stopped working last Friday, so these are all from last week.

Vegetable Lady

I was cleaning up the store, minding my own business, and I walk around a corner... to find boobs confronting me. I made a O.o face and backed up as the woman chuckled. There is a mirror by the plus-sized women's rack, and people will sometimes try things on there (which inevitably leads to them tossing what they don't walk onto the PSW rack which PISSES ME OFF), but generally over their clothing. I grumblingly went to Joe and asked,

"Joe, are you allowed to tell the half-naked woman over there that we have dressing rooms for a reason?"
"Yeah," he said, and headed off. Shortly I see him coming back, and he looks a little perturbed.

"That's the Vegetable Woman. Just leave her alone. She's crazy. She'll talk to herself over there and she starts ranting if you talk to her. She collects rotting food from outside grocery stores and keeps it in her trunk and gives it away to people."

"Uh. Okay."

She bought some ugly t-shirts and left.

Update on the Turtle Man
One day as I was walking out to my car during a break, I saw the Turtle Man going to his car. I had to see his bumper stickers, which were just a little too far for me to read, so I walked nearer discretely.

This man has Cthulu stickers. Like, serious, believes in Cthulu bumper stickers. I got a good snicker out of that, and thought I would post it.

Before I posted it for your enjoyment, however, I found out that we like Turtle Man--his name is Mr. Brooks, and he's an antique book collector. He isn't as crazy as I thought, and Joe really enjoys talking to him. He and his wife come in most weekdays, but never Monday--it's too crazy for him then. I asked Joe about Cthulu, and obviously he didn't know anything about it--he said "Oh yeah, Mr. Brooks told me about Cthulu once. Some god he believes in or something."

Patricia Harris, or FUCK YOU STUPID LADY GO AWAY Lady
I was sitting behind the register, minding my own Thursday night business (which is to say: drinking some water, picking my fingernails, trying not to be bored), and suddenly Joe comes up and mutters, "Get ready, I have to get that woman to start checking out now or we won't get to leave on time." I looked at my watch. It was 7:50. "Oh god," I muttered, and he looked at me and nodded. "Oh yeah. She'll take at least twenty minutes to check out, and YOU get to do it!" Joe likes inflicting a certain amount of torture on his favored employees, but it's all good-natured and it's not terrible torture or anything. So. Patricia Harris. I know her name from her credit card.

She comes up to the counter with a buggy FULL of stuff. She proceeds to pull Each. Item. Out. and then Look At It. Very. Slowly. After all, she couldn't have decided when she put it in if she wanted it or not. Then she proceeded to haggle over EVERY GODDAMNED ITEM, regardless of its price. She got upset because we wouldn't take anything off the minutely chipped vase that was 69 goddamned cents. Get a life. Please. Sure enough, it took her a full fucking twenty five minutes to get checked out. I snapped at her several times. Joe said she'd be back the next day, in order to show him what she was not rung up correctly.

I mentioned it was was 7:50 when we finally induced her to check out, right?

She came in at 1:00.

The Four Indian Girls

There are a lot if Indian people in the vicinity of our thrift store; in unrelated news, it allows me to get beautiful Indian attire that I then don't wear because I feel a little culturally icky (though a woman came in and bought several salwar kamises and was wearing one as well, which I didn't notice, which she used as evidence that I should wear mine whenever I feel like because, after all, Indian people wear our clothing; why shouldn't we wear theirs? It's an appreciation thing anyway--the salwar kamises I have are simply gorgeous. But anyway.) So these four Indian girls came in with one of their mother. Their ages ranged from about 8 to about 14. They were loud, obnoxious, ran around the store knocking things over, and just generally pissed us all off.

You don't piss Joe off. That is what we call a Bad Idea.

Joe is a great guy to work with--awesome manager, really funny, interesting person. But you do NOT get on his bad side. He will make life hell for you. That is why I worked and didn't fuck around in the store, because Joe will let you get away with a lot more when you are a good employee and don't slack off all the time.

Anyway, these girls were being really disrespectful. At one point, they took off their shoes to try some on, and then just left their own shoes there while they ran giggling around the store. I muttered something about hating little girls even when I was a little girl, and Joe got an evil smile on his face. He went away briefly, and when he came back he told me he'd hidden their shoes in the back. "I threw them away," he said. "Let's see if they try to wear our shoes out of the store."

Eventually, after we discovered that it was the 8-year-old's shoes he'd hidden, Joe got them back and told their mother/adult-person, "Your girls are really disrespectful, aren't they? You can't just leave things lying around our store." They all just smiled, and Joe muttered, "You'll all be married off by the time you're 16 anyway."

He told me later that he knows some of the language they were speaking (I forget what it's called). When he gave the shoes back, they stared at him and one started talking to the other in the language. He understood enough to know they were saying nasty things about them, and he said in their language, "You shouldn't talk about other people in front of them, either." They were shocked. I was also shocked, when Joe told me he knows bits of that language solely from working in the store for 6 years and with some of the Indian employees in the back.

Anyway, that's all I've got for now. I may post more thrift store stuff when I remember it, but now I'm focussing on Japan.

Expect my next post to be in a few days, when I figure out how I'll be communicating from Japan.

Until then, さようなら！

The Girlfriend

I have a rant for you.

It's about The Girlfriend. Capital T, capital G.

I was sitting in a bar with my friend Misha the other night (I love saying that), with one of her friends, Dara, and Dara's friends (all guys). Dara animates for Adult Swim, and all of the friends she had there do, too. Misha wanted to get to know them, and have them know her, for internship possibilities for the future. So anyway, there we all are, cracking jokes and drinking beer and eating boiled peanuts.

And then, she comes back to the table.

The Girlfriend. You all know her. She's obnoxious. She's got boobs nearly the size of her head. She wears a t-shirt or a babydoll that's maybe a size too small. She often has her hair up in a ponytail, and is wearing cute little earrings and probably too much makeup.

This one was no exception to any of those physical characteristics. She comes back to the table, after ostensibly touching up her lipstick in the bathroom. It's a shame there weren't other girls there to go with her--she probably felt unprotected, alone in an alien world, without her gaggle of BFFs to go with her. Anyway. She sits back down. She doesn't say hi to Misha or me (or anyone else for that matter, but everyone else had already been sitting there when she left). She just sits back down next to her boyfriend and stares off into space, ignoring the conversation and looking petulant. Every now and then she'd say something in whispers to her boyfriend, and he'd get kind of a pained look on his face, or just smile, or kiss her. Finally, after about half an hour, she whispers something to him. He nods and stands up, starts putting on his jacket.

"Oh, are you guys headed out?" his friend asks. He nods and The Girlfriend smiles.

There are so many of these girls out there. Let's review the social characteristics of The Girlfriend, shall we?

1. She adds NOTHING to the table. She'll just sit there and look annoyed or very self-sacrificing. After all, this isn't where SHE wants to be. SHE'D rather be at a movie or a nice dinner, not with her boyfriend's friends talking about ever-loving ANIMATION (or fill in the blank for whatever your interest is), for Pete's sake. I mean, gosh. She's so nice to have let them go here at all, he'd better be SUPER AWESOME to her later.

2. She's a wet blanket. She'll either A. insist she and her boyfriend go at an early hour, B. whine until they do something she wants to do or C., make everyone else do what she wants to do. This last one depends on the group, and how close they are to the guy (or girl) in question.

3. She's not ever going to even make an attempt to be part of the group. Ew.

And as for your friend--

He knows it sucks. It annoys him too, but everyone understands because she's sleeping with him. Everyone likes sex, so they're not gonna begrudge him his girlfriend's company. Everyone knows that if he didn't ask her to come, she'd probably be mad and wouldn't sleep with him later. And everyone knows if she doesn't get what she wants, the same thing will happen. If you want to include your friend, you either have to find some way to get him alone or just do what his girlfriend wants him to do, because he sure as hell isn't going to do something different. Or, you can just not invite your friend, but that sucks because you like him, he's a good guy, and it's not as much fun without him.

So The Girlfriend spoils everyone's time. She's either whines enough that she doesn't want to do something such that no one ends up doing it, sits there looking martyred, or keeps your friend away from you.

Don't be The Girlfriend, people. Have a little respect and if you hate your significant other's friends, don't go out with them. If you don't hate them, try to be part of the conversation and not just talk to your boyfriend the whole time or complain about what everyone's doing. Try to be part of the group. And barring that, just sit quietly, try to enjoy the conversation, and don't be the one who makes everyone do something you want to do, just because you hold sex power over their friend.

Thank you, this has been a Bridget Rant.

The Coming Thunder

Less than two weeks until I go to Japan.

I was thinking about it a few minutes ago, as I sat on the old playhouse my father built my brother and I when we were younger. There is something about being outside for a coming storm that I just love; I'd love it even more if I lived near the beach and could go there to watch the storms form and rush in from the ocean. It's exhilerating to feel that power in the very air, the oppression that comes right before a storm. The wind is picking up; all the weather channels cry "Storm! Storm!" and their radar shows a blank green wave heading inexorably towards Atlanta; and the sky is a dismal magenta-sulphur color, city lights reflected from clouds. The air is warm with increasing energy.

I love it. I just love it.

Anyway, as I sat there with the wind pulling at me, swinging my legs, I started thinking about Japan. I really, even now, have no idea what it's going to be like. People ask if I'm excited, if I'm looking forward to it; and I am, in an academic sense. But I haven't felt it yet. I don't think I will really feel it until I get there, and then I'll probably just adapt. I get excited so much about little things (thunderstorms, leaves uncurling, etc) that I don't feel as excited about the big ones (living in another country for four months). Yes, of course I'm excited, but it's just not real the way the cry of one bird in the empty parking lot is.

Well, I'm off to a bar, maybe. Being 21 amuses me.

The Regulars

Ahhh... and after 13 hours of sleep, Bridget is back on course for awesome!

I'd forgotten how good getting a lot of sleep feels. I woke up with a song in my heart and a smile on my face. For all of you who think that's a dumb cliche, it's not; get enough sleep sometime after a week or two of getting five, six, and seven hours of sleep a night, and you'll know what I mean. I feel FANTASTIC.

See, I generally have this inability to go to sleep before midnight. I just can't. I hate sleeping enough because I feel like I've lost so much time out of my day. If someone said "If you give me half of your stuff, I'll magically make you only have to sleep two hours every night to end up feeling as fantastic as you do after 13 hours of sleep on a little-sleep week," I would do it in two seconds. And I'm an incurable packrat. To let you know how bad I am, I have some paintchips that I displayed on a shelf in my room for years that came from a slide I liked as a child, that got squished by a falling tree. I still have them, somewhere.

So anyway, I thought I'd finally get around to posting about The Regulars. But first, Sarah.

Sarah is a coworker. I don't see much of her, but she's a sturdy black woman who always wears a headscarf. She's very sweet, although not that bright. Thursday, I went into work and didn't notice anything; shortly thereafter, police cars came into our parking lot, and I asked Joe about it.

"Oh... Sarah's boyfriend came and bashed her car windows in with a sledgehammer. While her five children were in the car. Now he's gone back to her house and is vandalizing everything."

"Uhh..."

"That's Last Chance Thrift Store for you. This is actually the fourth time they've been here today. Must be something in the moon cycle or something."

Oh yeah--and yesterday, we got the fun and exciting experience of a guy taking a shit in a dressing room. I heard this guy kind of grunting in one of them while I was cleaning up the returns rack outside of the dressing rooms, but didn't really think twice about it--sometimes people put on clothes that are too small. But then, about ten minutes later, I noticed that there were boxers sitting in a room. Sighing, I went to hang them up, because we do sell boxers and lots of people leave things all over the floor in the dressing rooms. The moment I went in, though, I smelled the stench of shit, and backpedalled out to find Tara, our general manager. She called Victor the custodian to the front, and while I was waiting for him to get a mop, a girl went into that dressing room. I ran over, eyes huge, and told her friends to get her out of there. They thought the whole thing was hysterical.

Anyway, The Regulars.

Apparently, a whole bunch of our business is done by people who come in a LOT. There are people who come in to the thrift store EVERY DAY. Listen, I don't get it either, and I love thrift store shopping.

So let's begin.

OCD Book Guy

OCD Book Guy was the first regular I heard about. He's an elderly fellow, looks kind of like a professor. He comes in every other day or so and after perusing our behind-the-counter stuff (things that cost a bit more), he goes over to our book section. Where he proceeds to put EVERY. SINGLE. BOOK. in a special order that only he understands. It's alphabetic, but no one knows how he organizes by section. Joe warned me to just let him do it; he gets really angry if anyone bothers him. Joe's had to escort him out a couple of times so that he doesn't bother other customers. Also, if he's not done by the time we close, he freaks out and yells about how he has FIVE MORE MINUTES!

Miss Mary

Miss Mary is harmless, but I see her pretty much every day. She bought $80 of crappy jewelry the other day, and she is fairly discerning in her taste. Her taste is Really Fucking Weird, but somehow she ends up making it look good. She's very sweet, but her hair is in this weird teased style, and it is orange. I can't decide if she's one of those black women who just naturally has really light hair, or if she dyes it. At any rate, she always asks me if I've seen a particular kind of clothing ("have you seen any white shirts with puffy sleeves today?") and she always asks me "How are you doing today, girl?" She's a pretty nice regular, as they go.

Crazy Glasses Man

Not much to say about this guy--he looks like a turtle, and I think he's an antiques collector. But he always wanders around the store kind of aimlessly, until he sees something he really likes--and then he pounces on it, his round eyes huge behind the severe magnifying effect of his glasses.

Six Kids Butch Woman

This woman has a weird haircut that looks a little military, and she's usually wearing camouflage pants. She has at least six children (although yesterday, Joe saw her with one in her cart and said "Only one today, huh?" and she nodded, unsmiling), and she often brings all of them with her. They proceed to run screaming around our store, hiding in clothes racks, abusing items that are not toys (ie, the exercise bike we had in yesterday), and generally creating havoc. Also, they are big fans of our wheelchairs. For some reason we always have at least two wheelchairs for sale. Go figure.

Constantly Drunk Guy

There are probably a lot of these, but there's one in particular who always comes in and mumbles a lot at us. He usually buys four or five things, and rips the tags off the clothes. We aren't supposed to sell things that don't have tags, but Joe will usually name a price just to get him to leave. He always gives a price that is higher than what he thinks it would normally be, though, and that's how we feel vindicated. This guy's hands are always filthy, and Joe gave me some hand sanitizer afterwards.

Good Work Man

I've actually only seen this guy twice--my first day of work, and my second day of work. He came up to me, leaned down, and said conspiratorially, "You do good work," and stood back up to regard me. "Thanks!" I replied with a bright smile. The next day he comes up to me and leans down close to me and says conspiratorially, "You do good work," and stands back to regard me. "Uhh..." I said. Joe, who was standing nearby, says "Oh, leave her alone," and the guy walks away, cackling. Creeeeepy, anyone?

Scary Eyes Penny Lady

I've only seen her twice as well, but Joe tells me she's in a lot. Thursday, this little old lady came up to us with this crazed, excited look in her eyes, and hands us a lollipop each. She giggles like a little girl both times, and then goes off with her cart. After watching Joe put his in his mouth, I did the same. "Interesting. She usually gives us pennies," he remarked. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, there are some other old ladies who give us lollipops, but she's the penny lady."

And, finally,

Eyepatch Scrubs Guy
This is one of our nuttiest regulars. We call him Doc because he says he's a doctor, although we know he actually isn't. He's always wearing blue scrubs, and has an eyepatch over his left eye. He comes in near closing, and wanders around singing at the top of his lungs, looking at things in all our departments. I asked Joe about him.

"Well," he said, "he's a wealthy nurse who once got an eye infection and then didn't tell anyone about it. It got so bad that they had to remove his eye. In the process of healing, he got addicted to pain medications, and now he's always on them. He's usually so drugged up that he doesn't really know where he is. Sometimes he'll walk up to you and give you a twenty dollar bill. As long as Tara doesn't find out, you can keep it."

I haven't gotten any money from him yet, but I'll post if I ever do.

That's all the regulars I can think of for now. Hope you enjoyed it!

I didn't register that one, sorry.

Went into the thrift store lateish today. I'm scheduled to work at four, but I generally go in earlier, to have more hours. Today, I could have gone in at 12; instead I dawdled around the house, talking to my dad about politics (which we agree on, of course; everyone who has ever met my dad says he's one of the coolest guys ever), and drinking coffee and reading comics. It was nice, and I was in by 2:50.

Joe (the best manager of all) trained me on the registers today. I was doing great until I totally fucked up this one woman's purchase. Of course, it was kind of her fault; she had me total all her stuff, and after I'd hit "open drawer" (by accident; you're supposed to hit subtotal first) she hands me this other receipt. It's for a bedframe, and she needs to pay for it, too. Thanks, lady. So I ask Joe, he helps me and tells me to staple it to her other receipts...

...and it suddenly goes missing.

It took me about ten minutes to find the damn thing. It turned out that I had dropped it in my search for a stapler. Thank god. The whole affair took about 15 minutes and I felt like an idiot.

Another post soon, about our regulars. Now I'm off to the symphony with my parents.