Before I Forget

I was getting on the bus earlier today, and I overheard a black guy whose voice sounded exactly like a dijuridoo.  And yes, I did have to look up how to spell dijuridoo.  And no, I'm still not confident that's the correct spelling.  Nevertheless, that guy is fucking awesome.

What a Morning!

This morning I had to undergo one of the more demeaning procedures I have yet to experience in my short life.  No, I am not talking about airport security, although that is equally if not more dehumanizing.  This morning I was administered with a drug test.  Why am I being drug tested?  No, I am not on the brink of a career-making job opportunity.  Quite the opposite.  I have been offered a tentative job at Sola Squeeze, a smoothie stand, all pending a drug test.  I know what you're thinking: "Gabe, aren't you a college graduate?"  You bet.  "Then why on Earth are you working at a smoothie stand in the middle of a mall?"  First of all, it is not a stand, you hypothetical jerk.  It's a fully-realized shop/venue situated comfortably between a US Bank and a Starbucks.  I applied to become a smoothie chef (and, yes, I will be referring to my new position as such here on throughout), because I desperately need some extra money while I'm working in the theatre.  I think, out of all of this, the more pressing issue is the need for me to be drug tested in order to make people delightful, yet highly caloric smoothies.  There's no point in analyzing, I've simply come to accept.  Fortunately, it's given me a topic that I've all ready deemed high in "blog-worth."

So, I go into this lab, and the physician greets me and admits me immediately.  I can immediately tell she's done this job for a long time.  She knows what she's doing.  Not wasting any time, she asks if I need any water.  Feeling very confident in my bladder's abilities, I say I'm good to go.  Then she hands me the cup, and my immediate reaction is a mixture of anxiety and slight arrogance.  It's a decent sized cup, but I can't help but think to myself: "When I take a normal one-sie, I produce way more urine than ever could be contained by that cup.  It's going to overflow!  Or worse, what if I have to transfer the stream into the toilet bowl.  That could be a rough transition.  What if excess urine dribbles down the side.    I can't give her the cup like that.  Or worse, what if I get it on my hand?  I'm already doing a one-sie into a cup I am forced to hold; this is icky enough as it is.  And, under no circumstances will I ever interrupt a stream.  That can't be healthy."  Then the physician draws a line near the base of the cup specifying the minimum sample she needs.  I almost laughed in he face.  

Regardless, something much worse than I could have ever expected occurred while I was in the bathroom.  First of all, I was very right to assume my bladder was up to this challenge.  I began my one-sie almost immediately.  And, at about the half way point, I quickly realized I had grossly overestimated the volume of my sample.  I think I could have only reached maybe half way up the cup.  I stress "think" in that previous sentence because, I am not actual sure how much I filled it up.  The reason being is that near the end of my one-sie, the cup, the very cup containing the majority of my sample, slipped out of my hand, and fell directly into the bowl.  Fortunately, there was little to no backsplash of any sort, and so there was minimal mess of any kind.  And, because I was near the end anyway, I was, somehow, able to finish into the bowl.  Yet, not surprisingly, I panicked.  My sample, and the cup for that matter, were now in the bowl!  I didn't know what to do.  I zipped up, opened the door, and and had to face the waiting physician without a proper sample and with a multitude of embarrassed apologies.  She certainly was not happy, but she was not as upset as I thought she would be.  Well, she wasn't as upset as I would be if I was in her position. 

After I explained the situation, I offered to retrieve the misplaced cup, but, for some reason, the physician told me not to.  Again, I at this time really stress that this woman has definitely been in this business a long time.  I felt very guilty, yet very relieved.  I don't want to put my hand in a toilet bowl.  I'm not sure how she retrieved it.  Regardless, I did not doubt that she washed her hands. 

Yet, worse now was the realization that I could not just go back in there to give another sample.  That is not an ever-flowing source.  Now, I had to pound down more water, while sitting in the same room as the physician.  It's a small lab.  Sure, she busied herself wit other work, but I could feel her judgment the entire time.  It was penetrating, to say the least.  It took me about 20 to 30 minutes to feel ready to go again.  It was excruciating.  I refuse to read magazines in a doctor's office, because of the possibility of their possessing the contagion of past patients, or, in this case, the urine of past patients.  Finally, I was ready to go, I went in, and this time it was a success.  I signed all the necessary paper work, and got the hell out of there. 

From now on, if I am offered a job pending a drug test, I will categorically turn it down.  I don't care if the job is delicious cheese cake tester, I will turn it down.  All I know, Sola Squeeze better be the best job I've ever had.  

Interestingly enough, after writing this post, I really need to use the bathroom.

Am I at fault?

As I've mentioned, I intern at a theatre in Minneapolis.  Shockingly, it's quite an upscale, well-off joint.  With that comes a massive green room.  I've been attending rehearsals pretty regularly, and so the other day, we were on a ten minute break.  Actors and other artists are milling about and chatting in the green room.  I, since I'm still too awkward and nervous to talk to anyone, keep to myself with a magazine that I pretend to read.  Also, I should mention, since this is a large non-profit theatre, they have a huge volunteer program.  One of the volunteers I see often is an old blind woman who is accompanied by a seeing-eye dog.  Yet, I've often questioned the dog's current credentials, as it always seems to be dragging her around.  Regardless, she enters the green room.  I notice her, but think nothing of it, and go back to my fake-reading.  Suddenly, as she walks by, she bumps right into me.  I, of course, am very startled, and so is the woman, who frightfully apologizes and keeps passing by.  I look up and everyone in the room is giving me the exact same look.  The "What the fuck is wrong with you.  You just got in the way of a blind person" Look.  Now I didn't say this, but I don't think that is my fault.  The dog is leading her; he's her SEEING EYE!  I think the dog dropped the ball.  And if you want to make the argument that a dog can't be held accountable for the very reason that it's just a dog, then why has it been bestowed with the lofty responsibility of a blind woman?!

I don't think I'm at fault.   

A Brutal Realization

Recently I have moved to Minneapolis to pursue an internship at a theatre.  Now far away from my friends and family back in the East Coast, I thought it would be funny if I started lifting weights to bulk up, the comedy of this underscored by the surprise of my friends to find me "huge" upon my return.  As of right now, I possess a relatively skinny and  "fragile" figure.  After a few moments pondering this, I immediately decided to abort this plan, as the very crux of the plan demands that I, literally, lift weights.  Hence, I shall remain slender and "fragile."  This does dot sadden me.  What does sadden me is the realization that my dedication to comedy and all things "jk" is not as steadfast as I once assumed.  Learning something new about yourself is always the hardest lesson, yet it is the swiftest. 

Bathroom

Q: Why are all my posts concerned with bathroom decorum?

A: I think about possible posts while engaging in bathroom activity.  I think about much of my writing while in the bathroom.  Someone told me that makes me a tactile learner.  I'll be sure to look into this more.

Before I Forget

I've noticed something odd in the shower of my new apartment.  Whenever I take a shower, the tub fills up, although I've made certain that the drain is unplugged.  It fills up for about 5 minutes, and then begins draining usually around when I'm washing my face (I work head to toe).  It does this every time.  I feel somewhat uneasy about this.  Earlier today, I dropped my bottle of Old Spice body wash in the tub as developing pool reached its apex depth.  I felt uneasy about this as well, yet, I can't throw it out.  That shit is expensive and I just bought it.  I figure if my feet can be submerged, so can my body wash.  (Note to self: Regular check feet)

Also, I googled "Shaq attack-esque" to see if my new blog would come up, as I assumed that phrase would not be a popular internet phrase.  This proved wrong.  Either it is a popular phrase or Google does not acknowledge my blog, because it asked me to search again without quotation marks.  I was saddened by this.  Then, I was further saddened by the realization that I am searching for myself on the internet.

Finally, can anyone tell me the appropriate amount of time that should pass between washings of linens (i.e. sheets and linens)?  The reason I ask is I cannot remember when I last washed them, yet I'm not worried.  Should I be?

Goals for a New Year

1. Do something that a witness describes as "Shaq Attack-esque"
2. Say "Kick it!"  among a large crowd, followed by something awesome occurring
3. Create a blog (check!)
4. Do something doopid.

Things I rarely finish

• Pen
• Chapstick
• Toothpaste
• Deodorant
• Book