The Pill Stealers

I woke up this morning in a room that was not my own. Last night, after a delightful dinner with a female friend of mine, followed by some cocktails at a bar called DIVA, I meandered to my boyfriend's house and wound up falling into a blissful sleep next to him. This morning I was rudely awakened at 6:30 AM by my beeping phone, persistently calling me to awake from my partially alcohol-induced coma.

And that's where the real fun began.

I walked back to my place, which took half an hour, even though it usually takes twenty minutes. As far as I know, I didn't take any long roads home, so I have no way of accounting for this time lapse. Prior to getting a shower I looked down at my legs and realized that they bore the brunt of winter weather and it's only October. My thighs were red and callously chapped by the icy morning wind. Note: I was wearing pants outside (jeans). After my shower I quickly realized that I needed to take my meds, since I forgot them yesterday. The night before, I took my antidepressants in the kitchen. The bottle was not next to the microwave. It was not sitting on the kitchen table. I checked my desk - not there. Not under my bed, not on the floor, not in my pile of dirty clothing, not in the bathroom. Could I have accidentally flushed an entire bottle of pills? Did my cats hide them from me? A panic began to set in. Meanwhile, Charley and Le Tigre, my cats, were chasing one another around the house. Charley, the older cat, stopped in my room and began to make what I can only explain as "the hairball noise" - a horrific hacking beginning in her bowels and shaking through her body, rendering her powerless to the mass attempting to out itself from her system. Shit.

Fifteen minutes into the great pill search of 2008, I did not turn up empty-handed. My hands were occupied with collecting the mucus and food particles barfed up by Charley. Scrubbing the rug at 8:00 AM, knowing I needed to be at work by 8:30, I gave up. Someone stole my fucking pills.

At work, I scanned my desk for the bottle of depression curing miracle pellets. Not there. The worst part - I just called in an RX for these puppies two days ago and they're already gone. How does one lose an entire bottle of pills? Who does that? A drug addict? A dealer? I'm neither! WTF?!

Must have been the pill stealers.

In other news: I'm quite certain that my upper wisdom tooth is growing in a manner that will knock my back molar out of my mouth. Pain. Blood. Dentist? I'm reluctant. When I got the bottom suckers out, those idiots gave me an IV. I don't think I can deal with that. I slapped the nurse (not intended to, of course). I'd like to keep my veins to myself, yet I don't know if I can deal with this extra added bonus wisdom I have now acquired.

Tonight: Juliana Hatfield's reading and performance at the Kenmore Barnes and Noble. More on that later.

Blasphemous

11:56 AM, Tuesday.

Customer (in baseball cap, smelling of cigarettes): I really hate books, you know?

Me: No. Can't say I do.

Customer: It's just the price, the...you know, everything. You know, what I mean?

Me (growing angry): No. I'm a writer. I love books.

Customer:...? Oh... That's cool.

END TRANSACTION.

Is there any hope for this world?

I don't care for air.

Without further ado, this is the first entry of my blog. I will use this blog to share details about my life in the retail industry, and my daily meanderings on the job.

Last night, while at a bar and wearing a lovely dress, I noticed that the room temperature went from "comfortable" and "almost warm enough!" to "balls-out-cold." In October, particularly in New England, I would never dream of being in an air conditioned room, arctic air blasting forth from the metal ceiling vents. But, so be it. I froze in my dress, which I expected to withstand October's relatively mild tempteratures with a coat over it out of doors, and pantyhose beneath indoors. No, no. The club owner apparently thought "meat locker" would be the best temperature for his venue.

I CANNOT STAND AIR CONDITIONING.

Going out on a limb, here: To me, AC gives me the same experience as standing in a room full of smokers as the sole non-smoker. Perhaps most of the large, padded people able to guzzle booze and breathe fire will remain temperately relaxed. I am by no means scrawny, but I am proud that I don't have this extra American padding like many of my young and already bursting-at-the-seams peers. If your large tank of an ass is so warm in a room at seventy degrees, while you are merely drinking beverages and conversating on a cool, autumn day, perhaps you should get your blood pressure checked. In the mean time, keep the AC OFF unless it's boiling outside. We'll save electricity, fossil fuels, and, most importantly, my ass from falling off like an icicle from a frozen tree trunk.

To my dismay, and, as usual, my workplace today also feels like a Siberian wonderland. My store is located in a large, state-run facility. One would think that air conditioning in autumn would waste energy that, oh, you know, taxpayers are paying for. Nonetheless, sitting at my desk is much like sitting atop a windy hillside in January. I prepare, I bring sweaters, wear layers, properly attire my feetsies with socks, yet the air keeps a-blowin.' Give it a rest!