I don't watch the news anymore because it's horrifying but I just saw cable news transition from a story about how beneficial it is for Diplomatic Immunity to exist because sometimes rich people got to murder, immediately followed by a story about how being poor gives you heart disease and cancer.
Random Do-Gooder: "Hi, there's a lady outside with very heavy bags, who didn't want to come down the stairs if you don't have what she's looking for."
RDG: "It's a horse racing magazine."
Me: "Sorry. We only have comic books and graphic novels. No magazines unless they're comic related."
RDG: "Yea. That's the vibe I was getting."
Me: "I would check The Coop. It's the big Barnes & Noble monstrosity on the corner. They and Out Of Town News are your best bets for magazines."
RDG: "She said they might also have them at 103 Mt Auburn Street?"
Me: "Ummm. I don't know which way the numbers go on this street, but we're #99, so #103 is either a bank, a Verizon store, or a store that sells eyeglasses.:
RDG: "So they probably don't have horse racing magazines."
Me: "It seems unlikely."
RDG: "I'm going to have to walk her back to The Coop, aren't I?"
Me: "I think you can probably outrun her, if you have to."
Selina: EXCUSE ME.
Me: Oh no.
Selina: PARDON ME.
Selina: I HAVE NOTICED THAT YOU SHUT THE WINDOW YESTERDAY.
Me: It's autumn, which means it's cold outside now. The window stays shut.
Selina: BUT THERE ARE PEOPLE OUTSIDE THAT I TALK TO IN THE MORNING. AND IN THE AFTERNOON. AND AT NIGHT. AND ALSO AT OTHER TIMES.
Me: If someone wants to talk to you, they can come in and hang out with you.
Selina: BUT YOU ARE NEVER HOME. AND WHEN YOU ARE NOT HOME. AND IT IS JUST ME AND MOTHERFUCKER. SHE DOESN'T TALK TO ME. AND THERE ARE NO PEOPLE TO TALK TO ME. SO I HAVE TO SAVE ALL OF MY ALL OF MY ALL OF MY VERY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS FOR YOU WHEN YOU GET HOME.
Me: You do that anyway.
Selina: I COULD DO IT MORE.
Me: Actually, I doubt that.
Selina: I COULD TOTALLY TALK MORE. I HAVE MANY MORE OPINIONS THAN I USUALLY LET ON.
Me: Get a blog.
Selina: YOU KNOW I CAN'T TYPE. OR READ. AND IF I COULD, I WOULD JUST TYPE WHATEVER NONSENSE WAS IN MY FURRY BRAIN AND CALL IT FACTS EVEN THOUGH I KNOW NOTHING OF THE WORLD OUTSIDE A DESIRE FOR ATTENTION.
Me: In the 2010s, we refer to that as Being Presidential.
Selina: I KNOW YOU HATE THE PERSON YOU CALL THE PRESIDENT. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO CONSTANTLY BE MEAN TO ME. I AM ALWAYS NICE TO YOU.
Me: So whose vomit is that next to my sneaker?
Selina: IT IS A GIFT. I AM GIVING YOU SOMETHING THAT WAS ONCE A PART OF ME. IT IS ROMANTIC.
Me: Go away.
Selina: REMEMBER THAT TIME YOU GOT MAD AT THE DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBOR AND STARTED SINGING WHITNEY HOUSTON'S "I HAVE NOTHING" TO THEM? I HAVE BEEN PRACTICING MY WHITNEY IMPERSONATION. HERE GOES. DON'T. MAKE. ME. CLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE ONE MORE DOOR. I. DON'T. WANT TO. HURT ANYM---
Me: Selina, shut the fuck up.
SELINA: AREN'T I A BEAUTIFUL SINGER? IF YOU WOULD JUST OPEN THAT WINDOW UP, I COULD GET A RECORDING CONTRACT, AND--
Motherfucker, walks up to her, gives her a quick headbutt.
MF Doom: Please be quiet.
Selina: YOU ARE NOT IN CHARGE OF ME. I AM OLDER THAN YOU. I HAVE LIVED WITH THE HUMAN LONGER THAN YOU. I AM--
MF Doom: Or I will fucken murder you.
Selina walks over to her box and lays down. Quietly. Motherfucker hops on the chair I am sitting in, and falls asleep.
Last night's featured performer did a poem about former roommates who left their sex toys in their shared shower.
After the poem was over, I leaned over to Dude. "One of my terrible ex-roommates used to leave their dildos in the shower all the time. So I used to drown their dildos in shampoo."
Dude looks appalled. "Adam. Don't you know how much that would hurt?"
Me: "Oh, I would then aim the shower head to rinse the shampoo off. I wanted them to notice the clean smell, so that they would realize that I had noticed their dildos were in the shower, and that I thought they were filthy. I would never want them to feel shampoo burn in their sensitive area."
Dude: "Ok. Whew."
Me: "Not when I had that whole kitchen cabinet worth of ghost peppers to rub on them."
Trying to keep track of whether I am angry at my job, or whether I just have free floating anger while I am in the place that I work is, itself, a full-time job with no benefits.
Intense Loiterer: "Hi. What happened to the Cambridge Phone Company?"
Me: "I have no idea."
IL: "They used to be HERE."
Me: "Not in at least thirty years. Probably more, if at all."
Me: "I've been here for about a decade, but I shopped here before that. I remember a fortune teller, a Russian book store, a bootleg anime DVD store, a cake shop, and a series of failed nail salons, but no phone company."
IL: "THEY WERE HERE."
Me: "Nope." Puts *Cambridge Phone Company* and *Mt Auburn Street* into Google. "I don't know where they were, but I can't find any record of them being in this building."
IL lets out a primal scream and walks out.
Other Random But Way Less Intense Loiterer prarie dogs up out of the Indie Wing.: "Wow."
Me: "I was going to wish him a good day, but it seemed way too late for that."
Me: Hey, there. Long time, no talk. How's it going?
Dude: Good. Super horny. You?
Me: I'm doing laundry. The unsexiest chore.
Dude: I bet you could make it sexy.
Me: I don't think so. Dryers can't consent.
Dude: Our conversations never go the way I hope.
Me: Sorry, but I am like this All The Time.
Selina: GOOD MORNING!
Me: Ugh. What do you want?
Selina: YOUR ALARM DIDN'T GO OFF. IF YOU GET UP NOW YOU CAN STILL GET TO WORK ON TIME. BUT YOU MUST HURRY.
Me: Fine. Thanks.
Selina: AREN'T I JUST THE BEST CAT EVER? I'M SO HELPFUL. I EVEN VOMITED RIGHT NEXT TO THE VACUUM CLEANER. WATCH YOUR STEP ON THE WAY TO THE BATHROOM.
Me: No one likes you.
Random Clueless Person: "Hi. I'm looking for a collection of comics for my boyfriend."
Me: "Sure thing. What's it called?"
RCP: "I don't know. It's a collection of comics."
Me: "That's, like, three quarters of our store. Do you know what it was about?"
Me: "Can you ... find out the title?"
RCP: "It's definitely not The Flash."
Me: "That's specific but not helpful."
RCP: "It's volume ten."
RCP: "Not The Flash."
Me: "You are going to have to call him and find out the name."
RCP makes exasperated noise. It's not at me. They're not being entitled. It's a noise of frustration that the world is too complicated.
RCP: "Can I just look around?"
I go back to putting comics away.
RCP: "Kramer's Ergot!"
Me: "Wow. Yea, that wouldn't have been in my first five hundred guesses."
RCP: "Do you have it?"
Me: "Right here. Volume ten."
RCP: "How do I pay for it?"
Me: "Just bring it over to my coworker, and they'll check you out."
They walk past my coworker.
Coworker: "Over here, darling."
They walk past my coworker in the other direction.
RCP: "I'm too short."
They are not. They are of average height and, like all but small children, have to put something down on the counter, not reach up to it.
Eventually they get to the right spot, pay for the comic, and cheerfully walk out the door. Probably into oncoming traffic.
"We can do it right here. No one can hear us." I heard her say before I shut my window.