March 11, 2002 — Expires six months from purchase

I’ve come to the conclusion that all people with guns think all twenty-year-olds with beards (or with anything close to one) are up to no good. And I’ve two entire anecdotes to back this rash generalization up with, so prepare to be convinced.

In the first, I was taking the garbage out at work. While hauling it into the alley where the dumpster is, a police officer on a bicycle drove by and slowed down to look at me. Then he turned around and went by again, more slowly this time and staring at me the entire time, twice. He undoubtedly thought I was dumping a body, but I just stared back, vaguely proud to be looked up and down by the fuzz for the first time in awhile.

Then, on my way home from work, an armoured car was making a pickup at a bank. Two security guards came out of the bank as I was walking by, one carrying a bag of what I will assume to be unheard of riches and one watching passersby. As I approached them on the sidewalk, the second guard tensed up and reached for his gun, not moving his hand away from it until I walked by. This leads me to believe that I look the type to spend my time casing and then holding up armoured cars. Which also leads me to think that I might be onto something with this whole beard thing.

Speaking of being onto something, Liam commented in an email that, if nothing else, this would finally allow me to say things like, “Beards not beers!” when people ask me if I drink.

If not for the itchiness, I might miss it a bit after I finally shave it this Friday...

Right then. Another day of work.

Before starting on my way to the smoothie bar, I went to buy a postal money order. It ended up costing fifty cents less than my estimate of $150. I might’ve had a moment of excitement at how good I’m getting at working out currency exchange in my head, but handing the cashier eight twenty-dollar bills did a pretty thorough job of preventing that.

I sent the money order through the normal mail, and I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t arrive safely. I’m putting a lot of trust in the Canadian postal system.

And then work. It was another slow day for the most part. A girl from a nearby high school was working; it was only her second shift. We taught her how to prepare carrots and a little bit about how to use the cash register. Then she left and the night dragged by as we tried to find things to do.

Apparently a VJ from MuchMusic ordered a smoothie from me, but I didn’t recognize her and was only star-struck in retrospect. This lack of television is just killing my celebrity spotting skills.

Meanwhile, my tips from last night were, as expected, gone. And, being a bit on the slow side, I forgot them again tonight. I’m management material and then some.

Back at home, I’ve almost finished reading Survivor. Part of me is starting to get the feeling that every Chuck Palahniuk book is the same, and I don’t think I’m going to rush out to read the one I haven’t read yet, especially since Johnston doesn’t own it.

Speaking of books, if it weren’t for my general lack of funds these days, I’d really like to buy the collected short stories of JG Ballard. They were released a few months ago (I think?) in a single volume of over 1000 pages, but it’s a hard purchase to justify since I have a lot of the best stories in other collections. It is tempting, though. Maybe I should setup an Amazon.com wishlist and start whoring myself out more? The temptation is almost too much to take...

(When I searched for the JG Ballard book on Amazon.com to see how much it would cost, Survivor, the book I’m reading now, came up in the “You may also like” section. This confirms my suspicions that either Andrew or Johnston has been leaking my reading habits to online booksellers. [Which has been a huge job these last few months, to be sure.] One of them has a shower puff that I plan to pee on out of retaliation next time I have a shower.

(Or maybe I should just ask for fewer shifts with Nathan before he rubs off on me any more.

(Or maybe I should stop making references to things that only a small handful of people will understand, much less be amused by.)

Wow. Another senseless entry. I always start writing them thinking they’ll go somewhere, dreaming of writing something that isn’t fragmented and tedious, but then I end up throwing around breaks between sections and finding myself unable to go more than three or four paragraphs without becoming too bored with what I’m writing to write anymore about it and too lazy to think of a decent segue into another topic.

I’ll just pretend that writing anything at all is half the battle.