I found this picture on the blog of another faceless acquaintance. I've stared at it long enough, though, that I decided I should post it somewhere I spend more time: Re-reading my own lovely words. I feel like a tool doing it, but I tend to read my old posts at least two or three times a week. I've always said that no one amuses me more than I do, and it's true. I really do write for my sake. I get all my jokes. There are many people who tie for a close 2nd in the amusement department, but I'm just the kind of jackass who derives joy from my thoughts (and sentence structure). I am hilarious.
We watched Happy Endings last night, and as a result I had insane massage-related dreams. I got a horrible massage at some place, where the woman attached me to tubes and started hitting me with something (certainly not her hands), which resulted in my convulsing on her table. SHe left the room for a long period of time, at which point I decided to make my escape. I ended up at my massage school, where Alton Brown was my instructor. He was free to give me a massage, so I of course took him up on the offer. We ended up back at his enormous house, which was peppered with Andy Warhol-like art of him on every possible wall. He set me up and prepped me for massage with lots of tomato-based product...stewed tomatoes, soup, etc...and I passed out. When I "woke up" (in the dream, as I'm still asleep in actuality), I learned that he had sex with me while I was passed out. He had told his wife and child to leave, and had also told Jeremy, who was now upset because I cheated. "But I didn't do anything! He took me in my sleep!" I cried. "But you liked it!" he argued. "I have no feelings about the buggering whatsoever, as I can't even prove it happened!" I argued back. It sucked, I was pissed at Alton for not only getting me in trouble with Jeremy, but also for not actually giving me a massage, which was the reason I was there in the first place, and what I was ultimately trying to get out of the dream.
Camper Man has been at the store every day. We're starting to find empty soft-core film boxes throughout the gallery. The other night he wanted us to contact him if Bad Education came in. But it was on the shelf. It was there. And the contact information he left was a Jay PO Box. So were we supposed to mail him to say "your movie is here!"? He didn't even have an account! Not until last night, that is. On a previous visit, he wanted us to help him find soft core films with guys in it, but was clear to remind us every third sentence that he "isn't gay". Last night he made Anna go around the store with him for half an hour, to help him find pornos with no men this time, because he "isn't gay". So not only was Anna creeped out, but thoroughly disgusted at having to find this man's porn, and smell him the whole time (he smells TERRIBLE. There's a stench radius around him that if you're within 10 feet of where he is, or has been, within the last five minutes, you'll involuntarily gag. I'm not exaggerating). Anyway, last night he also opened an account. Suddenly he was a cell phone, and an address in Augusta, and two valid forms of ID! And his name is Bernal! And he's 62! And he rented a lot of porn! So what we all want to know is:
-why is he coming to Jay?
-did he steal the movies that once filled the empty movie boxes? (since in the last week he's been there at least three hours a day. And I have to say, if he's not criminally insane, he's a genius, because of course no one wants to approach a man who spends several hours not renting movies a day, and smells like death reheated. Very tricky, Camper Man. And on an occasion where I was reshelving movies in his general vicinity and caught him off-guard by walking toward him, he bolted to another part of the store. Literally! He quickly escaped, to avoid me. I know avoidance when I see it.)
My newly-formed theory is that he's opened an account so we can't be suspicious as to why he's in the store, even though the 72 accountless hours before that tipped us off already. I'm hoping that he signed up with false information, and that maybe he'll steal the movies he just rented and disappear. What we fear more is that he'll keep coming back. I've gotten past "fear and moved onto "mild disgust" with him, but the others...younger, more fragile...especially Anna. Anna closes alone tonight, and asked if she could call me to come visit if he comes in. I said yes. I'm across the street. And even though Anna, body-builder that she is, could bench press him into oblivion, you can't not fear the unknown. And he's a weird one, Bernal Camperman (I feel I should probably not give his last name, just because he's creepy). He never used to approach us, or talk to us. It's an unfortunate turn of events.
And with that, I'm going downstairs. It's taken a surprising amount of time to type this. Oh, today's my first day off this week! CELEBRATE! (even though I might end up in Portland to help Michelle and David move. I should call them.)
No comments:
Post a Comment