There is an unstable old lady who comes in every couple of months to ask me what time the copy shop is open, and to "steal" the free comic previews we keep by the door.
I think she gets a thrill from stealing, and, thusfar, she has only gotten far enough into the store to get her hands on the pile of giveaway comics we have by the door.
If you tell her a thing is free, she shakes her head, and sighs.
For the last couple of weeks, we've had a ton of promotional mugs for The Dead Don't Die. She noticed them immediately, and asked how much they cost. They're free, but I lied, and told her they were $10.
Unstable Old Lady: "Ten dolars that's very reasonable, I have a grandon who's ten. He likes ninjas but not ninja turtles. Is there anything I could buy for him? It has to be something good. He gets so mad when I give him the wrong things."
"I don't have any ninja books right now." I make a big presentation of looking at the all age stuff, as I hear her stuff one of the mugs in her tote bag.
UOL: "I wish Staples made copies."
Me: "They do. They have a copy center. As you walk in, it's on the left.
UOL: "They don't do copies, though."
Me: "They do. There are four or five machines where you can make copies yourself, or you can give them the originals and they'll make copies for you. Unfortunately, they closed at six tonight."
UOL: "They don't do copies, though."
Me: "Oh. Ok. They make copies for me. They must like me."
UOL: "Why aren't they open across the hall?"
Me: "They are closed on weekends in the summer. Their hours are posted on the door, if you want to check."
UOL: "What time do they open?"
Me: "You'll have to check the hours posted on the door. I don't know what time they open."
UOL: "How come?"
Me: "I'm new."
UOL: "Ok. Well, I will go and try and find another place to make copies. But I'll be back to buy more ninja books for my nephew."
UOL: "Hi Brandson. I'm Olivia. Nice to meet you."
Me: "Certainly a pleasure."
She eyes the mugs again, then looks at me. "Goodnight Brandson."
Me: "Goodnight, Olivia."
Wednesday, on my way to work, the orange line was fuller than full. I get on at the very first stop, and my car was mostly full before we left the station. By the time we got to Back Bay, people were sitting on laps, and people by the doors were sucking their guts in so the doors would close.
A bunch of us got off at Downtown Crossing, only to be replaced by even more people trying to get on. There was a group of seven twenty- or thirty-something year olds who were headed towards Alewife, as I was. But as we approached the escalator down to the red line platform, the whole troupe stopped, congesting the entire station to meekly call out "Ray? Raaaaaaay? Where are you, Ray? Sarah, have you seen Ray? Jason, do you know where Ray went?"
This probably only lasted fifteen seconds, but in a crowded station it felt like Forever, so I inhaled deeply and shouted "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!"
Since just about everyone in the station turned around, I have to assume Ray was one of them, and rejoined his party, who had parted in the middle, so that the loud person with the headphones could get on the escalator and still manage to miss the next train to Alewife.
Coworker: I read a really interesting article on Rejection Therapy today. It was really validating in a lot of ways. Want me to send you a link?
Me: I'll probably read it. I just wanted to see if the article had offered you any coping mechanisms for aggressive rejection. I Was Helping.
Coworker: You're a Dick!
Owen: Have you ever heard of The Imp Of The Perverse?
Me: It sounds familiar but I can't place it.
Owen: It's from Edgar Allan Poe. It's the tiny little demon voice that whispers terrible advice to you. You know when you're waiting for the subway and the little voice asks "What would happen if you pushed that person in front of the train?"
Me: Ah. I don't have that voice.
Owen: You don't?
Me: No. The voice I hear says "Look out. One of these assholes is going to try and push you in front of the train." I guess it would be the Imp Of The Paranoid? But, like, he's sort of right.
Parent 1: Jennifer, take your brother's hand when you cross the street.
Parent 2: How does that keep them safe? It's not like they're holding hands with you.
P1: It's not for their safety. If one of them gets run over, I can't afford the other one's therapy, so it's sort of all-or-nothing.