![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Feb. 3rd, 2005 12:57 pmI've been told I look pale twice this morning. Yuck. No one's called me "peaked," though. Do people say that (PEAK-ed) everywhere to mean pale or sickly? Rodney T. Riddle, my boss at BK used to say that all the time about pretty much anything that was sub-standard. "Those fries are lookin' kind of peaked--I think it's time to waste those." "Heller, you need to wash that tie--it's lookin' a little peaked." I always wanted to tell him: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
I kinda wish I could see Rodney again one of these days just so I could tell him that I was responsible for the tube of Vagisil that mysteriously appeared in his inbox that day. He wasn't a bad guy, I guess, just an absolute tithead. He was a lot like Matt Foley, the van-down-by-the-river guy. A total bull in a china shop. You'd see Squad coming, and you'd get right out of the way 'cuz he was liable to bowl your ass over if you didn't. He'd been in the service and worked as a prison guard, and even at BK he wore a military haircut and some big shit-kicker black shoes. Strange cat. He even recruited his family to work at BK. His wife quit a newspaper job to go work at another store in the area, and even his mom worked at the Blacksburg store. I'll bet anything he's still with the company; he told me on more than one occasion that he was in it for the long haul. Scary. Yikes, I think he has one kid who's old enough to work now. I'll bet that kid is slopping grease too.
Crazy dreams last night. I dreamed that I was living with a bunch of people in a big-ass house in Starkville. We were having a huge party, and I was sort of bummed that I didn't know any of the people there. They were the same sort of burnouts that I hung out with over ten years ago, but it was a new crop. But then KISS went onstage. Or I thought it was KISS, but it turned out to be Aerosmith, which fracked me off. But then I was quite pleased to see special guest Rick James onstage. And this was the vintage 1981 Rick James, not the post-prison imposter. I was totally psyched until I thought: "Hey, wait, how can that be Rick James? They buried him!" Then I realized they were showing a movie and Rick wasn't really there. So I was bummed again.
CCR's "Lodi" and GWAR's "The Sexecutioner" are having a mash-up in my brain today. It's a strange place to be, believe me.
I kinda wish I could see Rodney again one of these days just so I could tell him that I was responsible for the tube of Vagisil that mysteriously appeared in his inbox that day. He wasn't a bad guy, I guess, just an absolute tithead. He was a lot like Matt Foley, the van-down-by-the-river guy. A total bull in a china shop. You'd see Squad coming, and you'd get right out of the way 'cuz he was liable to bowl your ass over if you didn't. He'd been in the service and worked as a prison guard, and even at BK he wore a military haircut and some big shit-kicker black shoes. Strange cat. He even recruited his family to work at BK. His wife quit a newspaper job to go work at another store in the area, and even his mom worked at the Blacksburg store. I'll bet anything he's still with the company; he told me on more than one occasion that he was in it for the long haul. Scary. Yikes, I think he has one kid who's old enough to work now. I'll bet that kid is slopping grease too.
Crazy dreams last night. I dreamed that I was living with a bunch of people in a big-ass house in Starkville. We were having a huge party, and I was sort of bummed that I didn't know any of the people there. They were the same sort of burnouts that I hung out with over ten years ago, but it was a new crop. But then KISS went onstage. Or I thought it was KISS, but it turned out to be Aerosmith, which fracked me off. But then I was quite pleased to see special guest Rick James onstage. And this was the vintage 1981 Rick James, not the post-prison imposter. I was totally psyched until I thought: "Hey, wait, how can that be Rick James? They buried him!" Then I realized they were showing a movie and Rick wasn't really there. So I was bummed again.
CCR's "Lodi" and GWAR's "The Sexecutioner" are having a mash-up in my brain today. It's a strange place to be, believe me.
