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Wednesday, Jun. 19, 2002 / 3:26 p.m. ~The Daredevil Fly � Surely There�s a Lesson to Be Learned in This~ 70 miles per hour and it�s hanging on, and not only hanging on, but traversing the windshield wiper blade. Wings uplifted, back and forth it walks, straddles, one side of the blade and back, up the other, and I slow to a stop, anxiously watching, hoping it makes it, this silly little fly, hoping it�s not damaged, hoping the wings are left intact at the end of this journey, wanting to coax it to fly away now, at its normal speed, and wondering what that speed is. It does. Fly away. And when I find a new parking space in the back parking lot here at work, because mine has been stolen, I park and walk back inside, noting a dead bird just under the eave of the building. It must�ve flown into the smoky colored glass, sort of a kamikaze style death mission, perhaps quite by accident. And I stood and looked and felt so bad in that moment, wanted to pick it up and take it away, and what?, bury it? What?? Funny anecdote here today. First, some background� Lulu and Laverne actually share the same name, in the world outside of Diaryland. Neither name is used by either, but something quite ordinary instead. And they tend, in the world of Customer Service, not to give out their last names, so when people call for them it�s a puzzle to figure out. Which one? Who was it? How about if I help you instead? Today a young man called, an employee of the HUGE multi-national corporation for whom we work, under contract with an entirely different company (blech!), anyway, yes, he called to speak to one of these two, one Lulu, or one Laverne, and who knows whom?, and I asked Lulu, who was on a personal call and seemed a bit irked to have to answer me, and it was not she, and the other, one Laverne, was away from her desk, I offered to help, but one of these two had promised him a special favor, and I don�t do those. No, I won�t process your request extra special. FAX your request now, as in NOW, and we, as in WE, will process it as soon as we can. Oh, no, he really wanted her, she had said something else. I tell him there are two, and he tells me, this is the funny part, ready?, �She sounded Black�. �Everyone here is black�, I say, ��but me. I am the only white person in the department.�, and I laugh and laugh, because it is funny, it is. He didn�t seem to think so, and I refused to offer him special favors, but I did give out Laverne�s last name so he could call back and ask for her later. Serves her right for offering. And if he did call, I�m sure he mentioned how rude the white woman was. Laverne actually asked me if I went to the movie last night. �No.�, said I. �I didn�t either.�, says she. Fine. Do I care? You�re too funny. I tried to tell Lulu the anecdote about the guy who said Laverne sounded black, but when I started by saying, �You know how you and Laverne never give out your last names, so no one knows which one of you he talked to?�, she said, �I give my last name, what are you talking about?�, so I said, �Never mind. It was a funny anecdote, but never mind.�, then I realized she may not know what an anecdote is. Did I mention how the other day when we were all sitting around talking she, Lulu, was describing something which happened at some shopping mall (an anecdote!), and she told how �these white women� looked askance (isn�t that a great word?!) at some �sistahs�, and then she looked at me, and back at Laverne, kept talking, saying, �Well, you know how white women are�, and my god, I was blown away, I couldn�t believe it, but I didn�t say a word, didn�t say, �OMIFUCKINGGOD, LULU, are you a fucking bigot, racist, whatever, or what?!�. But hey. It reinforces what I�ve been saying in the four and almost one half years I�ve worked here, black people are FAR more racist, on the whole, than white people, at this point in our history of interacting with one another. Yes, yes, I must leave here and never look back. One day my time will come, yes? Yes? Please? We know I want to leave, always, I simply tend to forget from time to time. The occasional postponement of desire can make the experience somewhat more tolerable, temporarily. Temporarily tolerable tenacious temerity. Ahhhhhhhliteration. Must go. Work to perform. Hah! Perform!!!! Wheeeee� 2:25 p.m., cubicle time. Free weekly to read, hot off the press!!! Music to listen to, package from Land�s End to open! Yea! Environment be damned, Quarter Pounder Mit Cheese to digest!!!! Yum. I love fulfilling a craving!! And Aimee, your note in my guestbook lifted my spirits indeed! I, too, would love to discuss cats and tattoos over Cosmopolitans any day, well, knowing me, not quite any day, but yes, it would be nice. But I�m a freak and you�d hate me. And yes, this is personal, huh? Is it too personal, what I write here? It�s a diary, isn�t it supposed to be personal? And you the voyeur, right? Isn�t that how we play this? Actually, I write far more personally elsewhere, for my eyes only. Some things, believe it or not!, I won�t write here on Diaryland. Crazy, yeah. But thanks for the kind words, far too kind, I�m not deserving, but surely it�s my self-effacing wit which so endears you to me. I gotta put an emoticon right here! ;) (I hate the smell of microwaved popcorn right after lunch. Or any time, really. It should be banned from the workplace, in my humble opinion. Whew, stink!) (One more parenthetical notation: Did I already mention that Jon has agreed to write to me of why exactly he would never fall in love with me? Only I need to give him time? Oh, okay, just making sure. Can I say I�ve really lost interest, big time? No one says that anymore, �big time�.) Cost of the War in Iraq
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