Thursday, March 13, 2003
Stupid cold is dragging on. One of my customers gave me a handful of fisherman's friends, which helped with the fact I was losing my voice. Hard to serve people when they can't hear what you're saying very well in the first place on account of they're all over 75 and have a huge hearing aid in each ear. If I lose my voice we're doubly screwed... Lots of "WHAT?" today.
I'm having next week off work. Kids are home for spring break, and we're going to hang out. It's really too early to study for my finals and I'm almost finished all the assignments for both my courses, so we should have time to do some things. I'm hoping it doesn't continue to rain with the torrential fervour of the last few days. At least it melted all the snow.
I'm supposed to be writing about drug policy. So I'm going to watch Survivor.
I'm supposed to be writing about drug policy. So I'm going to watch Survivor.
Monday, March 10, 2003
I want to remove one of my toes. It itches constantly and keeps me awake. Perhaps it's my conscience.
Lots of stories, today. The little old people come and tell me about their friends' operations (a tumour that was Just About to pierce through his kidney, just terrible) How their mother sent fruitcakes to the boys at the front during world war two (possible use as alternate weapon? Incoming dried-fruit baked goods) How the government is trying to get everyone to register their guns so that they can later come by and collect them all when they declare martial law. Come on, this is Canada. We don't have a big enough army to declare martial law. We had to come back from the Gulf this time because our one helicopter fell in the sea. Another one I enjoyed was the little man who told me that the lottery is controlled by invisible beings, and that they talk to him while he's in line to buy his tickets.
So, I figure, either all this will rub off on me and I'll start sending fruitcakes overseas and wanting to talk about operations, or I'll have to use my unregistered firearms and talk some sense into these people. That's the problem with retail, on the whole, you have to just nod and smile and agree with them. I wonder if the customer can still be said to be "right" when he is talking to someone who obviously isn't there?
Lots of stories, today. The little old people come and tell me about their friends' operations (a tumour that was Just About to pierce through his kidney, just terrible) How their mother sent fruitcakes to the boys at the front during world war two (possible use as alternate weapon? Incoming dried-fruit baked goods) How the government is trying to get everyone to register their guns so that they can later come by and collect them all when they declare martial law. Come on, this is Canada. We don't have a big enough army to declare martial law. We had to come back from the Gulf this time because our one helicopter fell in the sea. Another one I enjoyed was the little man who told me that the lottery is controlled by invisible beings, and that they talk to him while he's in line to buy his tickets.
So, I figure, either all this will rub off on me and I'll start sending fruitcakes overseas and wanting to talk about operations, or I'll have to use my unregistered firearms and talk some sense into these people. That's the problem with retail, on the whole, you have to just nod and smile and agree with them. I wonder if the customer can still be said to be "right" when he is talking to someone who obviously isn't there?