Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
There was a lot of free floating anger in Harvard Square today. An old man shouting at his grandson for interrupting his reading. When a concerned dude sitting next to him asked him to calm down, he started shouting "Fuck off you fucker. He's mine. He's my grandson. If I want to fucken yell at him for being a fuck, I fucken will." Both the dude and the kid said they were ok. (I asked.) And the dude works for social services and started making a call, after telling me I could leave.
Also, the shitty Christian guy with the Bible Quiz put up a sign reading "Pray for police." which is fine but prayer is empty, and he never put up a sign for any of the Black humans killed by police or for elementary school children massacred by gun violence. Shit, we're within reasonable walking distance of The Boston Marathon and this dude never even wrote Boston Strong on his sign, so he can eat and choke on a splintery cross the size of Texas. All this and Life had me in a terrible mood, and then I saw two four year old girls posing as mannequins in The Urban Outfitters window, sticking out their tongues at strangers walking by, and the world felt ever so slightly less heavy.
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Today's Successful Navigating Crazy Moment:
An entitled Harvard Professor left her bag in the middle of the staircase that leads to our business, the print shop, and the bathrooms. One of the angry copy guys went out to take a smoke break and flung her bag on to the floor, growling "What is wrong with people?" Entitled Harvard Professor, coming out of the print shop asks "What's wrong with you?" Angry Copy Guy says "Don't leave your bag in the middle of the fucken staircase. Someone's going to trip." Entitled Harvard Professor: "Don't throw peoples' bags into the middle of the floor where they could still trip over it." I do not stick my head out the door and say "Shut up. You're both assholes, and you're both wrong. Go about your shitty lives." I am debating whether or not to approach Harvard about teaching a series of seminars called "Reading Signs And Understanding Privilege In Retail Environments."
Students will learn that when lights are out and a sign reads "Closed" with hours posted on the door that their asses should have made it into the store earlier. They will learn that textbooks don't come from comic book stores. They will even be convinced that, despite what their mommies, daddies, and Ivy League professors may tell them, their insistence that they are beyond rules does not make them either special or beyond the consequences for breaking said rules. The next bunny thumper that comes into this store dressed in shorts and a maroon Harvard T-shirt stating the name of a textbook, not asking to purchase one, not wondering aloud if (s)he is in the proper store, not making eye contact, but just saying "Business Strategy For Lawyers" and then rapping their fingers on the counter is going to get their shirt ripped off and fed to them. And it WON'T be sexy, There will be a lot of coughing, drooling, and crying on their end. Two self-absorbed Harvard frosh just walked against the light into the street where the driver of the oncoming UHaul was turned, talking to his friend in the passenger seat, and I didn't know who to root for. Except Darwin.
Random Weirdo Cambridge Mom: Are you guys still open for a few minutes?
Me: For two more hours. RWCM: The Blue Laws don't apply to you? Me: No. We're a bookstore. RWCM: Why are bookstores exempt? Me: We............don't sell alcohol. RWCM: That makes sense. Hey shirtless twenty-something hanging out on Mass Ave with a PBR in one hand, and the other hand raised up. Yes. Yes, I will give you a high five. It's no thing at all. I'm glad to be of serv---brah? Brah, are you CRYING? Nawwwww. You can't cry after I give you a high five. We even got good volume from the slap, direct contact. It echoed. You can't CRY after an echoey high five from a stranger. What is IN that PBR bottle? Ya. Ya, of COURSE I'm walking away right now. Your friends are sitting on the stoop laughing. BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY, brah. Really. Really funny.
I'm sorry to announce that our store is not participating in National Stand In The Middle Of The Store, Yakking On Your Cell For An Hour Even Though You Have No Intention Of Buying Anything Day. Might I suggest taking your non-business and your conversation about What It's Like To Be A Harvard Grad to a Best Buy in the suburbs where that sort of topic is considered important or, at least, interesting?
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