off the grid
I'm not dead. I've moved somewhat off the grid, meaning that I am now living in a studio apartment without cable or the Internets. I have rabbit ears and comic books and Battlestar Galactica on DVD. It's really fucking good, and that's got almost nothing to do with this or this. But they both help.
Yesterday I was at a Jack in the Box, here in downtown just half a block from my office. I stopped there to grab a quick bite to eat before heading over to see Queens of the Stone Age (they rocked). Unfortunately, the concept of fast food seems to have escaped this town's understanding. It's shitty burgers at low prices served up sorta warm and really quick. I should have my burger before I finish picking up the change.
Now, I'm a patient person, but it was just taking forever. I was sitting at a vaguely clean booth with two flies flailing through their final death throes on the table. I didn't say anything. I don't like to get uppity with people handling my food, and it turns my stomach when someone talks down to a waiter/waitress/server. I've stopped being friends with people because of it.
I just sat it out. At the tables behind me was a Christian men's group talking about the scriptures. I wasn't really paying attention, but only because they seemed to be speaking in some kind of code. I wish I could remember the word the leader kept using. Proclivity? It's lost to me. I figured I had to be in the know. I had to be born again. Or initiated. Or something. I see the group in there all the time, and I always wondered why they chose to meet in a Jack in the Box. I would've at least sprung for a Carl's Jr.
Eventually, my name was called, and I retrieved my tray of food: a Sourdough Jack and a small curly fries. It's about as good as it sounds.
I finished up at the same time as the men's group. While I was at the garbage can dumping the paper wrappers, the leader came up to me and introduced himself. His name was John. He said the group met there every Tuesday. He kept looking at my shirt--for a local metal band--that had a minotaur on it. He asked me if I had a relationship with God. I told him I did "in my own way." When I said it, I felt like a douchebag. A simple yes or no would've sufficed. I just thought a definite answer one way or the other would've led into a deeper conversation, and I really just wanted to get drunk and see a rock show, and I was lucky enough to do both. I've become increasingly proficient at giving answers that aren't answers. It sounds like it could be an answer, but it's so open-ended and esoteric that it doesn't really say anything. It seemed like a good enough response, though, because all he said in response was, "I understand." I'm glad one of us did.
Yesterday I was at a Jack in the Box, here in downtown just half a block from my office. I stopped there to grab a quick bite to eat before heading over to see Queens of the Stone Age (they rocked). Unfortunately, the concept of fast food seems to have escaped this town's understanding. It's shitty burgers at low prices served up sorta warm and really quick. I should have my burger before I finish picking up the change.
Now, I'm a patient person, but it was just taking forever. I was sitting at a vaguely clean booth with two flies flailing through their final death throes on the table. I didn't say anything. I don't like to get uppity with people handling my food, and it turns my stomach when someone talks down to a waiter/waitress/server. I've stopped being friends with people because of it.
I just sat it out. At the tables behind me was a Christian men's group talking about the scriptures. I wasn't really paying attention, but only because they seemed to be speaking in some kind of code. I wish I could remember the word the leader kept using. Proclivity? It's lost to me. I figured I had to be in the know. I had to be born again. Or initiated. Or something. I see the group in there all the time, and I always wondered why they chose to meet in a Jack in the Box. I would've at least sprung for a Carl's Jr.
Eventually, my name was called, and I retrieved my tray of food: a Sourdough Jack and a small curly fries. It's about as good as it sounds.
I finished up at the same time as the men's group. While I was at the garbage can dumping the paper wrappers, the leader came up to me and introduced himself. His name was John. He said the group met there every Tuesday. He kept looking at my shirt--for a local metal band--that had a minotaur on it. He asked me if I had a relationship with God. I told him I did "in my own way." When I said it, I felt like a douchebag. A simple yes or no would've sufficed. I just thought a definite answer one way or the other would've led into a deeper conversation, and I really just wanted to get drunk and see a rock show, and I was lucky enough to do both. I've become increasingly proficient at giving answers that aren't answers. It sounds like it could be an answer, but it's so open-ended and esoteric that it doesn't really say anything. It seemed like a good enough response, though, because all he said in response was, "I understand." I'm glad one of us did.
2 comments:
I'm starting to watch Battlestar now...I'm waiting for the miniseries to show up in Netflix. Yay! I heard it rocks and I've run out of things to watch.
-Shawna
Battlestar rocks, yo. You're going to be stoked. And I just got the invitation. It was sent to my old address, but it was forwarded on. Yeah. I just moved. Again.
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