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I am excited to be alive.

I am also scared.

But in the end,
the kids will still go to school
The adults will still work
Wal-Mart will still be open
And it will be business as usual
for the most part.

My job requires me to talk to people who do not want to talk to me

I make phone calls soliciting votes for a candidate running for senate. I like my job and I like my coworkers. I think my coworkers like me and if my job was animate, I feel as if it would like me too, maybe.

The people I call on the phones don't like me. Truth be told, I don't like most of them either.

Sometimes, I like to play games with them. I'll pretend my name is Woodrow or Sterling or Lou or Jean-Paul or Jean-Marc-Robert or a variety of made up names. This is fun because I get to be someone I'm not. I obviously lack comfort in my own skin.

When I'm calling people in the rural areas, I make my name Buck or Guy.

This endears me to them. I win their votes this way. Lying endears you to people, I have learned.

But some people are rude and sometimes I'm rude back.

I ask a man if he has a second to discuss the issues:

Him: No
Me: Really? One minute?
Him: No.
Me: Are you sure?
Him: Yes.
Me: Are you going to hang up?
Him: Yes.
Me: Wait.
Him: Why?
Me: You've just won a new car.
Him: What?
Me: Do you want to pick it up or have it delivered?
Him: Is this a joke to you?
Me: You hurt my feelings.
Him: How?
Me: You wouldn't talk to me.
Him: Sorry.
Me: It's okay. Do you have a minute?
Him: No. Good-bye.
Me: YOU TALKED MORE THAN A MINUTE I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT I KNOW YOUR ADDRESS.
Him: Bye.

Sometimes I feel bad after someone hangs up me. It really hurts yr self-esteem. Sometimes after I've been hung up on, I get angry and yell at the phone, telling it to die in a pit of AIDS, and then I remember that the phone can't get AIDS and that the senior citizen I had called probably will die soon and I took up some of their last moments. But this makes me feel good because when they die, I may be on their minds as that last fucker who called them.

It's not the sausage house

I went to eat breakfast at the Waffle House this morning because last night I was hungry and told myself I would go to eat breakfast at waffle house. I don't think there's a clean waffle house anywhere but that's okay; the grease on the walls and the dirty cups are part of the experience, I think.

There were maybe five people at the waffle house and I made six. Next to me at the front bar was a basketball player from my school and his girlfriend. He seemed drunk. I talked to him because he's my favourite basketball player at school. I don't know his name but I call him Smiles. Smiles was very drunk.

The two waitresses were talking about their vacations, how one went to Idaho and the other went to New York. This sent Smiles on a streak.

"New York? I'm from mother fucking NEW YORK!"

The waitresses didn't say anything and kept talking. Smiles wouldn't stand for this.

"Now where the fuck did you go in New York? Man, I'm from mother fucking New York CITY!"

I looked at his girlfriend and took a sip of my coffee. She shrugged at said it was true, that he was from the Bronx.

"MOTHER FUCKING NEW YORK CITY UP IN HERE"

He stopped after this and ate his waffle and sausage. His girlfriend picked at her food. He asked her what's wrong. She said the sausage doesn't taste good. He said this is the mother fucking waffle house not sausage house, bitch. And then I felt good. Because he was right. This was the mother fucking waffle house. And I was happy.