Security Guards: Part DeuxI'm amazed at the turn over rate for security guards at my place of
employment. Since I last wrote about them, the security guard
population has been purged and replenished several times over. All of my
favorite characters have long since departed, but a number of interesting folks
have taken their place. The most harmless of the lot, and the least likely to
take a bullet for me, is the pudgy guard with the bowl haircut who possesses on
oddly-deep voice that is completely out of character with his physical
makeup. His forehead is consistently covered in trickling beads of sweat. Like
an epileptic with a nervous tick he twitches madly when he talks, causing me to
bob and weave to avoid the flecks of sweat as they desperately jump haphazardly
off his face while he drones on about the weather and his uncle, who apparently
owns a sex shop downtown. He says he took this security job to get away from
his uncle's shop because overweight guys who frequented that fine establishment
kept trying to ask him out for "dates".
Another guard is a lanky kid who always sports black rings around his deeply sunken eyes. This guy likes to hang out in his beat up Nissan that he parks right in front of the main doors. He'll sit there for hours on end, one leg in his car, the other firmly planted on the pavement as Marilyn Manson violently screams from his blown speakers while he weirdly crunches his upper lip and stares intently off into space. I often wonder whether he's guarding the place, or staking it out. Conversations with him never go further than "Uh, yeah" and "I don't know...lemme ask", which is more than fine by me. Then we have old reliable, the one guard that has remained a constant throughout the ebbs and flows of security guards. When I say hello to him, he furtively looks me in the eye for half a second while he mouths a guttural response that I've managed to interpret as either a "Why, hello there! I'm sorry I can't talk with you at the moment, but I must be off. Duty calls!" or "Gawdamnwhothefarkdoyouthinkyouareyouslimynogood...". I'm still undecided, but will continue to attempt a translation. Posted: Sun - August 7, 2005 at 07:01 PM | |
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I had a dream last night about a dog that was made out of grass. It looked like a cross between a Bull Terrier and Labrador, and it seemed very happy. It had deep expressive eye sockets, but no eyes. It was circling me, wagging its grassy doggy tail and staring up at me with its dark grassy eyeless sockets. Green drool was dripping off its grassy tongue and onto my shoes. Slowly, it began to change color. Splotches of tan spread across its body. The grassy tail stopped wagging. It turned, and the dog made of grass walked through the gate and into my backyard, where it laid down and died. Its green body had turned to the color of wheat. Apparently unable to hold the shape of a dog any longer, it now resembled a small pile of dead grass that was slowly being blown away by the wind.
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