Kicking it old skool...
The sky was Bible black in Lyon
When I met the Magdalene
She was paralysed in a streetlight
She refused to give her name
And a ring of violet bruises
They were pinned upon her arm.
Two hundred francs for sanctuary and she led me by the hand
To a room of dancing shadows where all the heartache disappears
And from glowing tongues of candles I heard her whisper in my ear
"'J'entend ton coeur"
I can hear your heart
I was actually in a guild with a guy that recognized these lyrics.
Oh, and the question I had to research today... what constitutes High Grade Wastepaper? I love my job :)
Not every occupation makes you learn things. I have a great potash lecture :)
So... a Rick story. Stalker #2.
Working at a c-store in the middle of the night is a horrible experience. You really have no idea the type of people who are habitually up at that time of night. Like, say... Rick...
How do you respond when a strange crazy person walks up to you and starts telling you about the time he was raped?
Especially when he wasn't.
Not that it didn't happen... just... well...
One time the cops were hanging out at the store, and they got a call about a rape. Here's the story, told by the girl...
"Girl meets booze."
"Girl meets cute guy."
"Girl takes cute guy home."
"XXXXX XXXX XXXX XXXX"
"Afterwards, girl realizes cute guy didn't use a condom."
"That makes it rape!" The girl told to the cops...
K... the Rick rape story.
The night before going to marine boot camp... (late 70's) Rick was in a New Orleans hotel, waiting to catch a bus in the morning. He let a black friend into the room, and the friend then proceeded to hold rick down and forcibly fellate him.
(I'm sorry, I can't figure out a way to sanitize it any more...)
But you see the problem with the story?
And then Rick goes to boot camp, gets into trouble, and gets institutionalized for the rest of his term of service.
So, by the time I met rick, he was on full military disability... getting 2k a month (tax free)... which he spent on ganja. He would go from c-store to c-store in the middle of the night, and hang out with the clerks while drinking a 12oz can of coke. Then go to the next store, get another coke, and repeat... sometimes I had to see him twice in a night.
Rick's dream was to move to Vancouver, where he'd heard there were no black people, and dope was legal.
Rick was crazy. I mean, really really crazy. He went the VA hospital every 3 weeks to get shot up with anti-schizo meds... and sleep for 48 hours afterwards... and you could always tell how close he was to that point... afterwards he was mellow, just before, well... severe paranoia. He would flinch anytime someone walked near him, and then stare at whoever...
Bad idea around drunk teenage boys.
It would be easy to say Rick was a hardcore racist... but I think it would be a mistake... Rick simply didn't understand what the hell he was saying. One of his favorite stories was about a notorious case that happened in Louisiana back in the 70's... a mixed race couple walked into a county bar... one of the people at the bar looked at the black man with the white woman, pulled out a gun, and blew the guy away...
Rick thought the date should be a state holiday.
Imagine having a conversation with this person two to three times a week. One fav topic of his... buying porn from the store, and then talking to me about it. *Shudder*
If I had to pick one story to sum up the Rick experience...
Rick liked hanging out on friday and saturday nights... mostly for the same reason that cops liked hanging out on friday and saturday nights... drunk college girls. Dressed like they trying out for girls gone while.
Cept... well... I think I mentioned that I've had a LOTTA experience with creepy guys? Rick was hanging out in front of the store with his friend Rusty. Rusty was what his friends called him. We at the story called him shaky. Cuz he shook. Uncontrollably. He did nothing all day but take mini-thins, drink coke, and smoke. And he shook like day five after giving up heroin. He had a 64oz cup that he would refill with coke... all the way to the top, neglect the lid, and spill half of it on the way to the register.
We hated him.
Oh yeah, before he destroyed his life, shaky used to be a pharmacist.
So anyway, Rick and shaky were hanging out in front of the store, waiting for us at the store to say no.
Cuz at a cstore, next to 5 bars... people are gonna want to use the bathroom. And there is no way in hell that we're gonna clean up a bathroom after it's been used by a thousand drunk teenagers. So... people would come in, ask to use the bathroom, and be told no.
And then they would go around back, and use the side of the store.
*Girls* would go around back, and use the bathroom on the side of the building.
And Rick would get a cheap thrill.
So, one night... well... imagine a bean pole skinny white guy with grizzly adams beard, glasses, a cap, and overalls... coming into the store, and announcing in a loud southern drawl to the dozen of people inside... (customers and a long suffering clerk)... "Thersa girl with her panties down around her feet takin a *** outside! It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen! Rusty wouldn't look, but said that just thinking about it made his *** hard!"
It was about this time that I started washing my hands a dozen times a day, a habit that's stuck with me.
So maj logs into arathi basin, just as the horde takes base number 5. Two minutes later, 12g and 600 honor.