NEEDLING

Drinking coffee at Flightpath trying to wake up. Got knocked out cold on Brian and Tracie’s couch last night. Got crushed down by a paralyzing undercut Mexican blue trimmed glassware filled with the mighty punch of Tito & tonic with a quarter of lime squeezed on top.

On television, De la Hoya took a blow from Hopkins, and fell to the mat unable to get back up.

Incredibly enough, my head is in one piece this morning.

At work yesterday we did a testing of a new coffee liqueur – I’m not mentioning the name of the company because I think that particular company is evil and I’d hate giving them any advertisement whatsoever… not that anybody is reading this website anyway – and the Testing Girl gave me and my work colleague the left over of the coffee liqueur. We halfed it. It came out to a quarter bottle each. I did a couple shots of that in betwixt Tito mixtures. Towards the end, I started washing it all this down with beer.

After the Testing Girl had been in the store standing behind her little table for half an hour or something, she asked me if maybe she could take off her high heels and put sandals on, if I though that our manager would mind. I thought about it a minute. She took to explaining to me that she’d put in an overnight shift all night, that she works in one of those big fancy hotels downtown, had clocked out at 07h30 that morning, and had been running around all night in her high heels. Her feet were killing her. She kept changing her weight from leg to the other. This is not nice, I know, but the sight of her in high heels changing her weight from one leg to the other was a nice site to bare. I told her I didn’t think the manager would mind if she put sandals on. She thanked me profusely, ran off to her car, and came back a couple of minutes later and a couple of inches shorter. All the sudden she was just a tad bit shorter than me whereas before she had been just a little bit taller than me. That changed the perspective of things for some reason and I forgot about stocking shelves with booze for fifteen or so minutes. I stayed behind the register chit chatting with her about the un-mentionable liqueur she represented, the weather, her job at the hotel… and right when I’d worked up the conversation to Paris, how I’d worked in several hotels there… and she was starting to light up to the mentioning of Paris, France et all … blablabla… the manager, my boss, turned up stacking cases right in front of my nose as if to remind me that I was being paid to stack booze on shelves and to sale booze to customers, not to chit chat with the Testing Girl.

This morning, Catullus, Brian’s cat, woke me up begging to be let outside. I opened the door for him and went back to the couch for an hour or so. But it was no good, I needed a cup of coffee.

(Definition of Testing Girl : a woman anywhere from 21 to 30 something who’s job it is to stand there and look pretty. To welcome the customers as they walk into the store and ask them if they’d like to take part in the testing of the product being pushed on said customers.)