At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, June 14, 2015


This blogger leads an altogether boring life. Yes, occasionally exciting things happen -- a burning ache in my right foot that sometimes extends all the way from my toes up to my anus, due to severely twisting a muscle in my calf last winter, or all the boxes in the shower stall at work suddenly falling all over the place (unbalanced due to the injudicious addition of one more bit of bubble-wrap) with a startling series of crashes -- but on the whole, my life is quiet and calm.

Not so my apartment mate.

I asked her last night, at ten past nine, why the phone was unplugged, and if could be plugged back in.

The reason it was de-plugged involved the toilet at her place of work overflowing and spilling black sludge while she was trapped in a stall, followed by world's worst chow mein. Which was mahogany coloured, and had almost no ingredients other than noodles, grease, and soy sauce. She's Chinese American, so you can well imagine how cheated she felt at having to pay good money for a simple pasta preparation which, normally, Chinese Americans take for granted.

Overflowing women's rooms are par for the course, though upsetting, but chow mein cooked by a culinary idiot is just too much.

Both things happened in the middle of the week. Naturally I did not notice, because she and I work in different places, and I'm just almighty dense to the occurrence of bad cuisine in other people's lives when they dine at work. My chow mein is never miserable -- because I make it myself -- but it is sometimes too richly flavoured.

The density of her colleagues also figures into it.

Now, if you have severe Asperger's syndrome, as she does, there are causal elements and subsequent connections that tie all this together. Her discourse lasted for forty five minutes, while I sat on the edge of her bed and listened.

She described it as "mundane dreariness", and absolutely "not tragic". But she tells a good story, so it seemed quite exciting. Like her, I too would be upset over crapper-floods and horrible chow mein.

Apparently her co-workers are rather dense.

And not Asperger interpretive.

I am disturbed by the events in the women's room. It does not seem right that the loo overflowed and spewed forth black sludge. If that happened where I work, it would, in fact, be disruptive.

All over the Bay Area there are office buildings where the pipes are antique, and the bathroom users are vigorous and dense.
Pent up and farklempt.

We had an issue like that where I work once. The plumber ended up pulling a massive clump of tangled tree roots out, that had gotten wedged where the sewer line exits the concrete slab and the local plants had cracked the tube. It really looked like giant Rasta-head.
Or an outer-space alien.
With teeth.

I worry about these things.

My life is dull.

Thank heavens the Seven-Eleven nearby does not do chow mein.
It would make me peevish if they did.

Anyhow, the phone can be plugged in again, but she isn't taking any calls. It's been a long week.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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