bj's gay porno-crazed ramblings

Sunday, January 19, 2003
No white truck. It's not always there when I get to work on Sunday mornings, and when I go down to the basement, I see the guys working on what must be going to the other restaurants. A bit later, while setting up for my shift, I can see the truck across the street, through the little opening to my left that leads into the restaurant proper, through the large plate-glass windows. While making bags (fascinating, isn't it? - I learned in college Lit class to use lots of tedious details to bring the reader in...) - while making bags, you know, stuffing a large paper bag into a plastic handled bag, then folding and flattening in a pile, I often space out staring into the kitchen. That's how it happened many weeks ago, when I saw Eyebrow Man with his face in the whipped cream. Well, looking at a certain angle, I can see the exit from the kitchen, which is only a few feet from the back door. Between the back door and the kitchen is the stairs to the basement, where the workers do all the prep work each morning. I can't see the stairs or the exit, but I can see the sunlight coming in through the door, past where the stairs are, reflecting against a wall. This is how I can tell they are loading the truck. I can even see shadows against that wall, but no people. I see a glimpse of a plaid shirt, but quickly realize that's one of the guys from the kitchen downstairs that I said hi to earlier. This goes on for a while, I get some call-in orders, and figure he'll come in and say "hey" at some point. But then I notice the truck moving, and it's making a turn which would give me a better, though brief, view as it passes. As it quickly goes by, I see the kid, the helper, in the passenger seat, but the driver doesn't look like Eyebrow Man. Like I said, it goes by fast, but still, I don't see the telltale beard, but at the same time can't figure out who it could be. Hmmmpf. Several hours later, I realize the truck (and it's usual adorable fuzzy contents) haven't returned to the store. Before I know it, it's 5pm, time to clock out and come home to my lonely apartment and wait for the other highlight of my Sundays, the Simpsons.

pre-empted by Something About Mary? There's a sad joke in there somewhere, but I ain't in the mood.