I gotta get out of this business.
Being the literary coffee house witness is beginning to take its toll.
I no longer have the ability to filter what comes out of my mouth or onto the page.
The only filter is one I developed, the one that tries to phrase everything in the most shocking or shitty way.
Its like the blogging version of PTSD.
The blog has touched my mind, but not in a good way.
More like a creepy uncle with clammy palms kind of touching.
And yeah, there is baggage that comes with that. (From the blogging, I don’t have a clammy-palmed uncle.)
But, I am not a danger to anyone else, unless you read the blog, then we are all victims together.
Great, lets form some sort of touchy-feeling support group to sob about “What the blog did to me!”
That might be a symptom of the problem in this country.
Previous generations, like your grandfather’s on back, the one’s that built this country? They worked, got shit done, and kept their issues to themselves.
They rarely missed work.
I could be wrong, but it seems like we are teaching society that, God forbid ANY problem pop up, STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND THINK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS!
Don’t move forward until you have coddled your inner child until they are every bit as spoiled as we are.
Recipe for disaster, but maybe I am being harsh.
“Time to cut bait.”
I hate having my thought process interrupted but that phrase caught my attention.
It’s one of those cultural adages that means “Time to get to work”.
The guy sitting next to me is wearing a pretty expensive suit and used that phrase.
Funny, he doesn’t look like a fisherman.
He is on an iPhone 6.
He looks like aging middle management in an expensive, but boring, suit.
It appears he is in insurance of some sort.
And, like his suit, the man is boring.
I have spent less than 15 minutes in his presence and I can vouch for the fact that the man is less exciting than toilet paper.
And thats pretty boring.
But, its a slow day, especially when your blog is about observing other people.
And he is the only cookie in the jar.
So what can we tell about him just from looking?
He has no taste in suits, but he is smart enough to go somewhere to buy his suits that the salesman has decent taste.
He’s a bad salesman, you can tell that just from looking at his hair.
Comb-over. Bad sign.
Also, fiddles with his pen as he talks, also a bad sign.
In poker, they call this a tell.
It means he’s nervous, bluffing and feeding someone a line of shit.
And there are lots of lines of shit in the insurance game.
For those who sell insurance, if you are offended, stop lying to yourself.
Time to get rid of him, he is souring my morning.
I look at him, smiling slightly and hold up my hand till he notices.
“Hang just a second.” He covers the receiver with his hand. “Can I help you?”
I look friendly and a little wide eyed at this point. (Or at least as much as possible. This is not in my wheelhouse really.)
“Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior? Can we talk for a minute?”
“I gotta go.” He says this into the receiver, packs up, mumbles some sort of excuse why we are not chatting and flees the scene in under 45 seconds.
And peace returns.