It's bad enough that the economy is just now recovering from 2001, with employers being extra hesitant to hire new employees. It's even worse that the ex-employees that got laid off back within the last three or four years are having trouble getting hired back into the workforce. So some of them have apparently turned to placement agencies.
Somewhere, someone decided it would be a good idea to do three things: promote their apartment rent specials, decide a budget for advertising, decide that within that budget there was enough money to hire a dancing banana.
That poor woman.
Most of us have bad days, whether we lose clients or someone yells at us on the phone. She has to go home having been a banana all day. And not a particularly cool banana, either. This is the banana version of the Penn State Nittany Lion suit from the 1970s. Moreover, when someone asks how her job hunt is going, she has to pretty much say that she's 'working the corner'. And, it's not like she can hide her identity, because on one of the busiest corners in Northwest Columbus, the outfit has a cutout for her face. And she has to wave colored flags. As if she weren't drawing attention to herself already.
I'm not the smartest person, but I don't think that a dancing banana is going to make me rent an apartment.
Wonder what the "work now, get paid now" catch is?
Now you know.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Just Don't Stalk Me... Please
Given our random midwestern weather, it's no surprise that at night when the budding flowers are frosting over and dying, the daytime temperature flirts with 80 degrees. This is Ohio. Which, yeah, is weird, but I have visited a lot of places and I think that Columbus is one of the most rewarding cities to be in when the weather suddenly gets nice because the people suddenly get nice, too. The tightly-zipped Columbia fleece people are out in tank tops with their hands out the car window catching the passing wind. The black-rimmed coffeehouse people are laying out on a towel in the park with their dogs. And the bloggers, taking a break from their daily content writing, are also out in the park playing basketball with the Creepy Chesters.
Ok, maybe that is just me.
I have this weird idiosyncracy, if that is what you want to call it, where if it's sunny outside I too must be outside. It doesn't matter if I'm tired, or busy, or whatever. If I waste a nice sunny day, I feel guilty until the next nice sunny day comes around. Refer back to the living in Ohio thing. So, this week I decided to dust off all of the hairballs and weird fur that had been collecting on my Rollerblades this year and go test out the trail for the first time this spring. I felt pretty good putting on some shorts that I haven't been able to wear in a number of years, pairing them with a form-fitting UNC Nike tank that I got on sale at some discount store. I had gotten a slight tan from the previous day so as I bladed I could see my tan darkening with every ten minutes or so. Life was good.
I finished the trail and decided that I hadn't had my fill of skin cancer-causing sun, so I drove up to the basketball courts to shoot some hoops and get some more sun. Now, maybe this is the same kind of thing that makes it difficult to pee when someone else is in the restroom but I hate playing basketball when someone else is just hanging out watching. First of all, why drive over and park to watch to some people you don't even know playing basketball? That just strikes me as kind of weird. There were three guys down on the other end playing half-court, and since I really didn't feel like playing with them either, I cleaned out my truck instead - a task much overdue. Sure enough, the strange basketball-watcher decided to leave.
I decided I could deal with the three other guys being down at the other end, so I got out my ball and started to bank some shots. I think nearly three seconds went by before they stopped their game and were staring at me.
"Hey," the fat one yelled, "Do you want to play?"
"Um, dribbling is not my strongest point, but thanks," I lied.
Looking at his shirtless chest glistening in the sun, I was immediately reminded of my senior year in college, playing basketball for the school team. We had daily practices, as all teams do, but our coach strongly advised that we play some pick-up games with the locals during our down time for some extra practice. When you go to school in the country, playing a pick up game with the "locals" meant that about five of us girls from the team would show up, and about fifty beer-swilling, uncomprehensibly-sweaty-for-so-little-moving-around, old men would also show up. They would then try to sweat on us as much as possible, guarding us way too closely and throwing up an armpit when completely unnecessary. Am I still trying to get that smell out of my clothes? Yes. So do I want to play? Hell no.
I was doing pretty well, over there on my own half-court, when a minivan drove up parellel to the parking spots and stopped. The passenger side window rolled down and I saw an older man in the driver's seat staring at me. Just what I love. People I don't know staring at me.
I sank a couple more baskets from the elbow, and the third one I missed. I heard a voice from the van.
"Keep your elbow straight and follow through!" The man yelled.
Was I getting coached on how to shoot a basketball from a man in a minivan? Why, yes I was! I had to defend myself.
"Basketball isn't my first sport," I said, walking over to the van. The man laughed, as if he sensed my defense.
"Is that right? Well what is your first sport?"
I, too laughed, "Ice hockey," I replied, "Different part of the body."
We then had a nice conversation about his grandson, who was going to some East Coast prep school near Princeton to play hockey. We also talked about the Frozen Four and about my hockey team and my hockey background. He asked if I was going to public skate. I said no. He apologized for coaching me, but he said as having been a former coach, he missed it a lot. I said it was totally cool and thanked him. Aw.
I went back to shooting hoops with my newly-aquired advice. I sank the next shot effortlessly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the group at the other end of the court dissipating. The two younger, more in-shape guys started up the bank back to their cars, while the fatter conversation-initiator started toward my end of the court.
If you've ever seen Kevin James' Sweat the Small Stuff standup special, you know what he was talking about when you know someone you don't want to talk to is about to talk to you.
The guy approaching was probably about in his late 30s or early 40s, not in bad shape, but sporting an impressive beer belly. His hair was not balding, but graying and he had crows feet around his eyes indicating maybe that he was a smoker or just hadn't gotten enough sleep. He kind of sounded like a stoner.
"Hey," he mumbled, "Can I play over here with you?"
I couldn't really say no.
"It's just so nice out and I don't want to go inside yet."
I have to admit he had a point. His name was Doug. Doug had a point.
He threw me the ball and I had a pretty good showing. I told him we could just play HORSE. Refer to sweaty man-belly store above.
After he started speaking, I began to think that playing HORSE with Doug was not such a good idea. He said something to lead me to believe he might start preaching to me about Jesus or something.
"Hey," he started, "What are two of the worst things that you think came out of society?"
I thought about it. I also thought about how much I didn't want to answer it. I came up with some lame answer about what I thought. He was looking for something way more shallow, I guess, because he shook his head and replied matter-of-factly,
"Computers and Cell Phones," he nodded, "They have hurt society. Like, all aspects of society. When Armaggedon comes, it's going to be because of computers and cell phones. It's overkill."
I was trying to process all of this, when he asked me another question.
"What do you think is most important in life?"
I considered answering, "Playing basketball and not talking to your Weird Ass." Instead I said something like, "Being happy".
He then went off on this tangent about how he had partied too much when he was younger, blah blah, and etc., and how he hadn't listened to the people who were telling him to stop drinking and doing drugs (hey - you did drugs? shocking really!) and how he'd wished for ... something. I don't know, I was more busy being creeped out than listening.
I said that ever since the current administration I'd been living my days to the fullest because I thought we were going to get bombed.
He grabbed the ball and looked at me and honestly said, "Oh really? Do you want to get naked then?"
I must have looked horrified, because he grabbed the ball and his knees dropped and he put his head down and rolled back in totally forced, totally weird laughter. Like a crazy person.
I can't even remember what I said, but it must not have been too threatening, because he didn't leave. Instead he asked me about my work. I should have lied, but I told him that I work in bars at night doing promotions.
"Well where are you going to be tonight?" He asked, stopping play.
Thinking of someplace not close to where the park was, I said, "Gahanna".
"Well what specific bar?"
I said I didn't know. I started to feel cornered, despite the fact of being in an open court in an open park.
Ironically, he had H-O-R.
Uncomfortable silence filled with the hollow sound of the dribbling ball followed.
"Well, after you're done working, then what are you doing?"
"Going to bed!" I said, visibly irritated.
"Well what about on days you're not working?"
I started to think that perhaps I was in a bad movie. Where it's so obvious to anyone outside of the situation just how painful it is to be within the situation.
I started to throw the game so that I could lose and go home, which under all other circumstances, I'm totally against.
"Well what are you doing after this game?"
The questions kept coming.
H-O-R-S... and E. Finally.
We started walking up the bank, with me hoping that he hadn't glanced at my license plate. I was pretty sure I had made myself clear about being creeped out, but apparently not.
"You can give me your number if you want," he said as if he absolutely expected me to give it to him.
I looked at him flatly, "I have a boyfriend."
He laughed - probably used to getting rejected.
He said some other stuff about meeting back at the park, but I just took note of what kind of car he drove, and took off.
Moral of the story: Creepy people hang out in parks during the day.
Ok, maybe that is just me.
I have this weird idiosyncracy, if that is what you want to call it, where if it's sunny outside I too must be outside. It doesn't matter if I'm tired, or busy, or whatever. If I waste a nice sunny day, I feel guilty until the next nice sunny day comes around. Refer back to the living in Ohio thing. So, this week I decided to dust off all of the hairballs and weird fur that had been collecting on my Rollerblades this year and go test out the trail for the first time this spring. I felt pretty good putting on some shorts that I haven't been able to wear in a number of years, pairing them with a form-fitting UNC Nike tank that I got on sale at some discount store. I had gotten a slight tan from the previous day so as I bladed I could see my tan darkening with every ten minutes or so. Life was good.
I finished the trail and decided that I hadn't had my fill of skin cancer-causing sun, so I drove up to the basketball courts to shoot some hoops and get some more sun. Now, maybe this is the same kind of thing that makes it difficult to pee when someone else is in the restroom but I hate playing basketball when someone else is just hanging out watching. First of all, why drive over and park to watch to some people you don't even know playing basketball? That just strikes me as kind of weird. There were three guys down on the other end playing half-court, and since I really didn't feel like playing with them either, I cleaned out my truck instead - a task much overdue. Sure enough, the strange basketball-watcher decided to leave.
I decided I could deal with the three other guys being down at the other end, so I got out my ball and started to bank some shots. I think nearly three seconds went by before they stopped their game and were staring at me.
"Hey," the fat one yelled, "Do you want to play?"
"Um, dribbling is not my strongest point, but thanks," I lied.
Looking at his shirtless chest glistening in the sun, I was immediately reminded of my senior year in college, playing basketball for the school team. We had daily practices, as all teams do, but our coach strongly advised that we play some pick-up games with the locals during our down time for some extra practice. When you go to school in the country, playing a pick up game with the "locals" meant that about five of us girls from the team would show up, and about fifty beer-swilling, uncomprehensibly-sweaty-for-so-little-moving-around, old men would also show up. They would then try to sweat on us as much as possible, guarding us way too closely and throwing up an armpit when completely unnecessary. Am I still trying to get that smell out of my clothes? Yes. So do I want to play? Hell no.
I was doing pretty well, over there on my own half-court, when a minivan drove up parellel to the parking spots and stopped. The passenger side window rolled down and I saw an older man in the driver's seat staring at me. Just what I love. People I don't know staring at me.
I sank a couple more baskets from the elbow, and the third one I missed. I heard a voice from the van.
"Keep your elbow straight and follow through!" The man yelled.
Was I getting coached on how to shoot a basketball from a man in a minivan? Why, yes I was! I had to defend myself.
"Basketball isn't my first sport," I said, walking over to the van. The man laughed, as if he sensed my defense.
"Is that right? Well what is your first sport?"
I, too laughed, "Ice hockey," I replied, "Different part of the body."
We then had a nice conversation about his grandson, who was going to some East Coast prep school near Princeton to play hockey. We also talked about the Frozen Four and about my hockey team and my hockey background. He asked if I was going to public skate. I said no. He apologized for coaching me, but he said as having been a former coach, he missed it a lot. I said it was totally cool and thanked him. Aw.
I went back to shooting hoops with my newly-aquired advice. I sank the next shot effortlessly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the group at the other end of the court dissipating. The two younger, more in-shape guys started up the bank back to their cars, while the fatter conversation-initiator started toward my end of the court.
If you've ever seen Kevin James' Sweat the Small Stuff standup special, you know what he was talking about when you know someone you don't want to talk to is about to talk to you.
The guy approaching was probably about in his late 30s or early 40s, not in bad shape, but sporting an impressive beer belly. His hair was not balding, but graying and he had crows feet around his eyes indicating maybe that he was a smoker or just hadn't gotten enough sleep. He kind of sounded like a stoner.
"Hey," he mumbled, "Can I play over here with you?"
I couldn't really say no.
"It's just so nice out and I don't want to go inside yet."
I have to admit he had a point. His name was Doug. Doug had a point.
He threw me the ball and I had a pretty good showing. I told him we could just play HORSE. Refer to sweaty man-belly store above.
After he started speaking, I began to think that playing HORSE with Doug was not such a good idea. He said something to lead me to believe he might start preaching to me about Jesus or something.
"Hey," he started, "What are two of the worst things that you think came out of society?"
I thought about it. I also thought about how much I didn't want to answer it. I came up with some lame answer about what I thought. He was looking for something way more shallow, I guess, because he shook his head and replied matter-of-factly,
"Computers and Cell Phones," he nodded, "They have hurt society. Like, all aspects of society. When Armaggedon comes, it's going to be because of computers and cell phones. It's overkill."
I was trying to process all of this, when he asked me another question.
"What do you think is most important in life?"
I considered answering, "Playing basketball and not talking to your Weird Ass." Instead I said something like, "Being happy".
He then went off on this tangent about how he had partied too much when he was younger, blah blah, and etc., and how he hadn't listened to the people who were telling him to stop drinking and doing drugs (hey - you did drugs? shocking really!) and how he'd wished for ... something. I don't know, I was more busy being creeped out than listening.
I said that ever since the current administration I'd been living my days to the fullest because I thought we were going to get bombed.
He grabbed the ball and looked at me and honestly said, "Oh really? Do you want to get naked then?"
I must have looked horrified, because he grabbed the ball and his knees dropped and he put his head down and rolled back in totally forced, totally weird laughter. Like a crazy person.
I can't even remember what I said, but it must not have been too threatening, because he didn't leave. Instead he asked me about my work. I should have lied, but I told him that I work in bars at night doing promotions.
"Well where are you going to be tonight?" He asked, stopping play.
Thinking of someplace not close to where the park was, I said, "Gahanna".
"Well what specific bar?"
I said I didn't know. I started to feel cornered, despite the fact of being in an open court in an open park.
Ironically, he had H-O-R.
Uncomfortable silence filled with the hollow sound of the dribbling ball followed.
"Well, after you're done working, then what are you doing?"
"Going to bed!" I said, visibly irritated.
"Well what about on days you're not working?"
I started to think that perhaps I was in a bad movie. Where it's so obvious to anyone outside of the situation just how painful it is to be within the situation.
I started to throw the game so that I could lose and go home, which under all other circumstances, I'm totally against.
"Well what are you doing after this game?"
The questions kept coming.
H-O-R-S... and E. Finally.
We started walking up the bank, with me hoping that he hadn't glanced at my license plate. I was pretty sure I had made myself clear about being creeped out, but apparently not.
"You can give me your number if you want," he said as if he absolutely expected me to give it to him.
I looked at him flatly, "I have a boyfriend."
He laughed - probably used to getting rejected.
He said some other stuff about meeting back at the park, but I just took note of what kind of car he drove, and took off.
Moral of the story: Creepy people hang out in parks during the day.
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