Yea, so my bed collapsed. Not the whole thing, just the part I had propped up with the lumber that I wound up buying from Home Depot.

The head of the bed had been elevated for two days and I wasn’t feeling any better in the mornings. I had decided I would leave it like it was for a few more days, and then take it down if I still didn’t feel any better in that time, because frankly, it looked retarded.

In the middle of the second day I sat down and leaned back to watch some TV and suddenly THUMP. The whole bed jolted and I was back in a 90 degree sitting position. Shortly, my downstairs neighbor knocked on my door to ask if everything was OK. It had been an extremely loud thump. I assured her that everything was OK, and in trying to explain what had happened, I realized how incredibly stupid the whole idea was.

Today I might try to reassemble the whole contraption, this time using some duct tape or something. I only hesitate because I dread the thought of having to explain it twice.

At the advice of my doctor, I went out in search of a few bricks to prop up the head of my bed, thus reducing the amount of acid reflux from my stomach to my esophagus whilst I sleep. This was from a cadre of home remedies that included such winners as “Don’t drink fluids during meals,” and “Don’t bend over.”

I found myself lost in Home Depot and, despite my better judgement, I decided to ask one of the employees for help. I said, “Excuse me, I’m wondering where I can get, like, six bricks.” I can’t say I was surprised when he immediately asked, “What do you need just six bricks for?” At that moment I could have chosen to be serious tell him I was propping up my bed, but for some reason I didn’t want to. Instead, I chose to be a smart-ass as I looked him in the eye and said, “I’m building a very small wall.”

I knew from past experience that the Home Depot employees were going to treat me like a moron anyway, I just figured I’d play the game.

I should mention that I once applied to be an employee at Home Depot. I won’t say I was desperate for work, Home Depot is not the end of the line. But after you’ve earned a BFA, you hope for bigger and better things.

Needless to say I didn’t get the job. I failed the written test, which is pretty god damned funny. I was being honest and I guess I just wasn’t enough of a customer’s bitch. I chose -

C: I am sometimes annoyed when customers insult me.

Instead of -

D: I love being insulted by customers. Thank you sir, may I have another?

The other questions where like this:

Home Depot Employment Test

2. If a customer is soliciting you for help, do you:
a. refer him to another isle
b. drown out the sound of his complaining by using the power saw
c. kill him, using the power saw
d. kill yourself, using the power saw

3. A customer needs only a small piece of lumber that could easily be cut from one of the larger pieces. Do you:
a. refer him to another isle
b. refer him to your manager
c. tell him no, and ask him what kind of dumb-ass question was that
d, tell him about the briefing you were given during training; when they told you the lumber was taken from a magical forest and every time you cut it, God kills a kitten.

State and Federal laws require that all potential employees participate in a mandatory drug test.
Please answer truthfully:

Are you high right now?
a. Yes
b. No

This concludes the mandatory drug test.

(Shout out to Greg, the only intelligent, approchable person that Home Depot ever hired).

I had a job interview this week. For those of you who don’t remember what it’s like to play the field, a job interview is where you gather up your portfolio, dress up, go to the potential employer’s office and, essentially, be their bitch for a half hour or so.

The place I interviewed seemed cool though. The one thing that caught me off guard was the size of the office. It was roughly the size of my car. I had expected bigger because in the SIX times I had tried to call the CEO, he had never once answered. This led me to believe that he was out in the fields, or walking around the factory floor amongst the people.

That minor quibble aside, it had a friendly atmosphere and I got the impression that it was the kind of place I wouldn’t mind working in. I shall now cross my fingers and kiss my graphic design voodoo doll.

Laundry Day

When cleaning out my dresser for my semi annual fall laundry drive, I discovered that I owned five different kinds of deodorant. And the strange thing was that there were no duplicates. It wasn’t as if I simply bought my regular brand and forgot about it when I got another; there were five different kinds of odor and wetness protection in my drawer. If I didn’t live by myself I’d think that someone was trying to send me a message.

My usual laundry place was over-crowded today so was forced to seek another establishment for my laundering needs. I found a place called Crystal Cleansers. I already had issues with the name. Why were they “Cleansers,” and not, “Cleaners?” Cleansers makes me think of some firebrand preacher standing on a stage yelling, “Begone you devil coffee stain!”

This place took “coin-operated,” to a whole new level. Beside the coin operated washing machines where the coin operated dryers which were in turn next to the coin operated vending machine (no dollar slot) and the pay phone which sat under the coin operated television (it had a timer). This, ladies and gentlemen, is the future of commerce.

The machines were horribly expensive too. The three single-load washers were all taken (all by the same person I might add), and the next step up was the “double load,” washer (roughly the size of my shoe), or the “triple load,” washer (roughly the size of my car). The double load cost 9 quarters to operate. The triple load cost 16 quarters to operate. I came in there with so many quarters in my pocket I had to walk with a limp, and by the time I started using the dryers I was smoothing out crumpled dollar bills to use in the change machine (which apparently doesn’t accept American currency).

And the children. Oh lord the children. They ran around, screaming and yelling things in a variety of different languages. I’ve honestly never wanted to drop kick a child before today. They ran free, free of the bonds of parental supervision as their parents busied themselves watching the dryer spin. One such toddler was running laps around the place. Every time he reached where I was sitting he would attempt to turn, which was a maneuver his young, newly discovered legs couldn’t handle, and he landed face down on the tiles. “SMACK! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” It was ear splitting. Eventually his older brother would come, pick him up, and bring him over to his mother. I didn’t pay any attention after that, but no sooner do I start reading my book again than I hear “SMACK! WAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Little Mario Andretti fell again. It went on like this for an hour.

I was running two dryers, one for regular clothes and one for woolens. They both finished at roughly the same time, but the woolens were not particularly dry. I only hesitated a moment to consider putting more quarters in when I heard “SMACK! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” again and I just decided I’d hang my sweaters up when I got home.