2010: A Brief Retrospective

I guess 2010 is pretty much over at this point. It's weird to think about, but it is.

I'm looking at where my life is right now, and it's sort of scary, truth be told. I'm honestly not sure what I'm doing. But I'm trying to do something and I do think that's what's important. I'm start of sorting to realize that I might not ever be on the cusp of great things. I'm getting older. I'm a man, now, and I think the best thing to do is just try to lead a life I enjoy doing things I enjoy and being around people I enjoy.

Which isn't to say I can stop. I'm still young, as weird as it is to thing about being an adult, there's still so many things I haven't had the opportunity to do yet. But then, I guess this entry isn't supposed to be about the future, is it? I think that'll be another one.

This is about 2010. Which I have to say has been the most eventful year of my life by a wide margin. As it draws to a close, I can see that every aspect of my life is and will be different than when it began, and because no one reads this, I can be as sappy as I want to when I think about it.

So here it is:

To all the friends I've made.

To all the enemies too.

To all the people I knew.

That aren't here anymore.

To all the little victories.

To all the massive failures.

For better or worse,

I think I'll always remember

2010 as the year

That everything changed.

Or, maybe...

...Hopefully...

Became the way it is.

Cheers.

-The Management.

And Good Will Toward Men

Because someone had to do it, I was stuck working the grave-yard shift in the Gas N' Go on the corner of West and Third on Christmas Eve this year. My boss had appealed to me desperately. He didn't offer holiday pay. He didn't offer over-time. But he did threaten my job, which was encouraging to say the least.

So it went, on December 25th at 2:30 AM, rather than being asleep at home, visions of Sugar Plums dancing in my head, I was standing behind a cash register slinging cigarettes and hard liquor to what I have to assume were the less than reputable inhabitants of Mansville, Alabama.

Mansville is not the sort of place that I belong. I think the fact that someone could waltz into an area, establish a town named, "Mansville" and have no one raise an eye-brow at that for two-hundred years sums up the general population of this quaint little community better than I ever could given the limits of the English language, so I'll just allow that to speak for itself. That said, deservedly or otherwise, I do have quite a high opinion of myself when compared to the other residents of the town. I mean, I'm no Shakespeare, I'm no Einstein, but I'll say this: The fact that I'm working in a gas station at the age of twenty five is a god-damned crime.

The bell on the door jingled, rousing me from thoughts. I looked up from the counter I had been absent-mindedly staring at to see one of our regulars, A Mr. Evan Schaal walking into the store. As usual I kept an eye on him as he sauntered around the store, glancing up at me every two to three minutes as he jammed various products into his pocket. Like I give a fuck. Finally he approached the counter and addressed me, "Pack 'uh Marlboros," he grunted as he slid a case of Keystone onto the counter.

I turned to get the man's smokes and heard a quiet little voice pipe up from beneath the counter, "Daddy, will you buy me this?" I spun back around and faced the counter. I peered over it to see a golden haired little girl standing beneath the counter. I hadn't even noticed her. Where had she been? I hadn't even noticed her. She was holding one of the little wooden dolls from our frankly lack-luster toy-shelf up towards her father.

"Gloria, if I told ya once, I told ya thousand times: We can't afford shit like that right now. Necessities only." Something about this outraged me. Evan Schaal robbed the store blind every time he entered. For the most part, he knew I didn't care (or at least cared more about my physical health than I did about the financial security of the Gas N' Go) and yet he still didn't have the time to steal a dinky little convenience doll store for his daughter.

I turned and set the smokes down on the counter, "You know, Evan, it's Christmas and stuff, so if you just want take the doll, I could cover it," I said to him, doing my best impression of someone who didn't utterly despise him.

Evan Schaal stopped and blinked at me rapidly in a stupefied fashion. What I assumed was that he had been taken aback by my self-less attitude and willingness to help out my fellow man. I actually had begun to feel pretty self-righteous by the time he finally opened his mouth. "Th' fuck did you say to me?"

I stammered, clearly confused, "I-Er-I was just offering to help out Evan. I just thought, your daughter really seemed to like that--"

"Zip it pencil neck." Evan barked at me, "I don't need your fuckin' charity. My family," He beat on his chest, "Don't need your fuckin' charity. An' where I come from? That's a damn insult."

"Listen man, I didn't mean anythi--" was all I got out before I woke up on the floor. Head throbbing. Someone was flecking water on my face. I groaned, "What happened..."

I opened my eyes and was staring up at my manager, "Looks like you got robbed again, Mitch. Who was it this time?"

I struggled to my feet, "Evan Schaal."

"Again, man, Mitch, if this keeps happening, I'm going to have to let you go."

"I know, Dave. Can I just... Can I just get the hell out of here? It's Christmas. I think my girlfriend got me an ice-pack." Dave sort of laughed. He really didn't want to, but I got him with that remark. I rubbed my shiner as I walked out the door. It was a two-mile walk to the apartment. It was snowing.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Nobody.

Though the odds of it are slim, if anyone is reading this, I'd just like to wish you a very Merry Christmas. Thanks for reading. Hope I've amused you at some point. And I hope you get everything you wanted.

Because, I love you, nobody. And I'll always love you.

Keep it real.

-The Management.

Twisted Metal

Last night I crashed my car. Not content with just ruining my own singular mode of transportation, I also went ahead and ruined someone else's in the process.

Eye-Witness Account

The experience was harrowing to say the least. A car crash isn't really the sort of thing you plan for (I think that's called vehicular man-slaughter) so needless to say, I was kind of caught off-guard. The thing about driving is that you wouldn't really be going 45+ miles per hour were it not for the steel container carrying you. The other thing about that is, when that metal hazard stops going suddenly, you do not. For those of you unfamiliar with the basic laws of physics, what this means is, if I hadn't been wearing my seatbelt I might have flown on the windshield face-first. Instead, what I did was lurch forward violently until my head connected with the steering wheel, at which point my head bounced and (apparently not content with a single helping of blunt-force trauma) went back for another.

I've often found (and honestly, this is probably just adrenaline) that after what should have been a very debilitating occurrence (on prior example was the time I accidentally jumped my friends mini-bike. I ended up doing some sort of superman thing mid-air, which was probably pretty impressive until the bike flew out from underneath me and I landed flat on my stomach) I can often hop right back to my feet. This instance was no exception. I hit the other car and leapt out of my own in what I can only describe as a heroic fashion, pausing to inspect the damage on the way. This is what I found:

Along with the obvious cosmetic damage to the front of the car, there were glass and metal shards littering the general area and an unknown fluid leaking out onto the ground. I couldn't see it, but the inside of the smashed machine sounded like someone had turned on a faucet, so I had to assume the radiator had burst or something. As for me, I managed to get out with little more than a bump on my forehead and severely damaged pride. The police were really cool about everything; I'd stupidly left my wallet at home that evening and had to run it to the police station that later in the night, and some numbness in my left side warranted a trip to the emergency room but everything worked out all right all things considered.

Sincerest apologies to the man's car that I smashed up. You're free to hate me. I would if I were you.

-The Management

A Dialogue With a Blog: Blog's Response

Oh... Salacious. It's you.

You've got a lot of nerve, coming here at this hour, asking me to take you back. It's been quite a while, and I was just starting to get over you. The neglect you put me through.

It was... Unbearable.

You want to write on me again? I don't know about that, Salacious. Maybe, we can hang out sometime get some coffee or something, but until I know what's what... I just don't know if I'm ready for that.

Though... I must confess, I do still think about you sometimes.... Late at night... When there's no one to write on me, I remember you. You weren't the best, but you did fine, and, to be honest, I found your flustered, floundering style sort of endearing... The reason I had such a hard time being ignored by you is because... I really miss you!

Oh, who am I kidding! I can't make you jump through these stupid hoops!

Write on me, Salacious! Write one me now!

-The Blog

A Dialogue With a Blog

Hey, Blog.

How have you been?

Me? Oh, I've been good. Can't complain. Thanks for asking.

I know it's weird, coming to you now out of the blue like this after all this time, but, the truth is... Well, I've been thinking of the good times. Do you remember, blog? The fun we used to have? I'd come to you late, in the dead of night and I'd whisper something like, "Sphincter". Sometimes I'd write a review of something that was too old to be legitimately reviewed, or I'd just generally muse about life. Sometimes I'd just try to be funny and fail spectacularly, but you didn't care. You let me write on you anyway.

And it was good. No, it was great.

I guess, blog, what I'm saying, is that... I want to try again. I want to give us another go. I want to muse on you again! I want to write outdated reviews on you again! I want to make short cop-out posts and use pictures as a substitute for actual jokes!

If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, blog, I promise you'll never regret it.

Yours Truly

-S. Crumb.

I hate it...

When my boxers don't have button flies and my dick falls out of them.

-The Management