A Saturday...

...at the one (Irish-y) burger joint in the first floor of a historic hotel, where I now work:

1) For like a week, my one (short) (young) (bearded) (vaguely Jewish) (local) coworker had said here and there that he was needing a haircut, and that he always knew it, because his curls got severe around down towards the back of his neck.

And, when I show up to work one Saturday for dinner shift, he'd finally gotten one, and it was very disconcerting, since you're used to seeing people out of the corner of your eye all the time, and his silhouette was now all different and I couldn't register him as him right away, since his haircut was sleek and like every single out-of-control curl on his head had been shorn away.

"Maybe I could position cardboard to stick out from my head if that would help you," he was like, when I mentioned to him the difference in his silhouette, and its consequences.

We also were working in the same section, and the way the tables fell out, he helped this one (mid- to late 50s) (professional) (light-skinned black) couple all the time right through the end of the meal, apart from my checking in to see if their food was all right when I had a spare second and also my pre-bussing some stuff off their table right before they were ready to leave.

And, they left $20 on a $42 bill.

 "See, that's your new haircut," I told him. "Maybe I should get a haircut, so I can get better tips."

 I also calculated it, and it was something like 265% over what a standard 18% tip should be.

"That's what you get when you invest in yourself," I was like, to him.

2) When towards the end of the night I popped into "the server's alley," the one (big personality) (redheaded) (Irish-American) owner was texting on her phone, and it was all I could do not to put on a personality and stop her confidentially and be like, "Hey, you better be careful or [her first name] will see you."

But, it had been a long day with a catering order for the football team of the local university, so I didn't.

3) Towards the end of the night, three (younger) women came in, one (white) and two (black), and the two (late 20s) (black) women were all dressed up nice and chic with like cleavage-revealing tops and short skirts and nice boots and one had a leather jacket on, too, and my one (short) (young) (bearded) (vaguely Jewish) (local) coworker sat them down and I gave him room to go back and take their drink order, only, he didn't.

So, when I took their order after a bit, I mentioned that to them, that he had gotten a new haircut and that I had been leaving him room to "get in there," but he didn't, and I apologized for the delay.

And, they were greatly amused.

I also said the same thing to him later on as well, and he also seemed amused, and he said that he was appreciative of my trying to set him up like that.

(His girlfriend dumped him earlier this year, after getting back from study abroad in Italy.) 

A take on that recent Odyssey movie.

The girlfriend of the one (lesbian) sister of my one (former) (assisted living) client with (disabilities) really had a hard time watching that recent Odyssey movie.

All those soldiers had supposedly just finished fighting a long war, but their helmets weren't distressed, she said.

And, some female character had pierced ears that you could always see on-screen.

"Cover them up or put something in them!", she was like.

Beyond all that, too, she didn't think that the script was that good. 

. . .

(She's done costume design and set and backstage stuff for like ever, including professionally.) 

Addendum.

 In reading Brian Dirck's 2008 book Lincoln the Lawyer, I had come across this factoid (p. 24):

"He was an uncouth looking lad," [lawyer Henry] Dummer later remembered [about Lincoln], with an "insane love in telling dirty and Smutty stories." 

So, when I saw her, I relayed that factoid to the one (lesbian) sister of my one (former) (assisted living) client with (disabilities).

"My god," she was like, "Just when I thought that I couldn't love that man any more."

Conversation (2 of 2): Favor.

Because she's having surgery with a longer recovery time and her girlfriend is having back problems, I offered to the one (lesbian) sister of my one (former) (assisted living client) with (disabilities) that I could help them when I'm able, if they need me to run an errand or if they need me just to pick up something heavy and carry it, since that's now beyond the two of them for the indefinite future.

And, like two days after her surgery, her girlfriend was asking me if I could get a table out of the basement, since they needed it for beside the recliner where she rests a lot now because it allows her to sit in a position that allows her to heal best.

And, of course I could help them, so I confirmed times with her by text, and at the end of that exchange she's like --

Sound good. The front door is unlocked, just walk in.

-- to which I responded that that felt like a conversation on Grindr.

After I helped them there that day and I was about to leave, too, I was like, "Oh, yeah!", and I asked the one (lesbian) sister of my one (former) (assisted living client) with (disabilities) if she saw what her girlfriend texted me.

"Yes," she was like, "Because I told her to text you that."

She set me up! 

Conversation (1 of 2): Therbligs.

Because some stuff that he's teaching led him to therbligs and their look is somewhat reminiscent of ancient writing systems like hieroglyphs, my one (gay) (Brazilian) (STEM) friend messaged me a chart of them --

 

-- and, I wasn't aware of them, so I thanked him, and I also sent him the chart back, marked up --

 

-- and I said that that was like what happens when a guy finds him in a gay sauna. 

 He responded back something to the effect that "Transport Loaded" is like what happens when you get a car-ride afterwards, with all of a guy's jizz inside of you.

Untoward thoughts (2 of 2): Mutual aid.

Like the past month-and-a-half or so, there's some young (queer?) things in keffiyehs sitting on the high-traffic part of the sidewalk right before you're at the farmer's market on Saturdays, just sitting there in the shade of a wall and selling water bottles or "popsicles for Palestine" (I think the hand-drawn sign on their cooler actually said that, at least one Saturday).

And, I wonder what would happen if you started talking to them, but instead of saying "mutual aid," you said "mutual masturbation."

Like, if you asked them who they were with, they would explain the genocide to you, and that they were raising funds independently to send to affected Palestinians, and as they said all of this you would just nod along like you dug it, and then at an opportune time, you'd just slip in and say, "So, this is like a, what do they call it, a mutual masturbation thing?".

I really wonder what they would do if you said that at just the right moment, and all deadpan. 

Untoward thoughts (1 of 2): Pride.

When I was having coffee last week with the one (older) (white) (female) artist who's been cancelled who I know from around town, she was saying how "unhealthy-looking" so many young queer-identified people are.

"You used to go to Pride and it was all of these gorgeous men, and now it's all these unhappy young things with their breasts sliced off," she was like. 

"And I don't know about you," she was like, "But if I was a gay man, I would be pissed."