March 2nd, 2010

suicide gun

It's Like There's A Party In My Balls, And Everyone's A Freshman

The comic book store has signs like skin has pores.  Like an ocean has hydrogen molecules.  Like sororities have STDs.  Like lazy authors have analogous similes.  When our stores have sales, the signs cover the front window, the door, the ceiling, the shelves, the counters, and, in some stores, even the floors.

This is why no one can ever tell when we are or aren't having a sale.

When I was still fairly new to the comic book store,  I had a fairly terrible day.  I was living in Slummerville, but still had loads to do in Allston (and not the laundry kind).  So I got up early one morning, and discovered it was blizzarding.  I was in Allston in God May Or May Not Know Who's apartment.  I threw on my shoes, trudged through the snow to the Allston store, opened the door, and sleepily entered the alarm code to one of our other stores.  Now, I'm sure someone had told me what to do to clear out the alarm so you could enter the correct code, but all I could hear and think of was "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

I tried calling the alarm code company, but the siren was hogging the phone line.  So I just kept pressing the code until it worked.

I picked up the Chinese food I'd left in the refrigerator the day before, and hopped on the bus home.

Back at home, I was leisurely (read: naked) updating my Livejournal when my phone rang.

Continued at