When the going gets weird, the weird go pro.

Lazy.

Wed, 06 Mar 2013 13:46:16 -0500

I get lazy. Like, I get it. I get why people don’t want to do anything; why they get so tired that they just can’t do anything. I truly get it.

What I don’t get are lazy people who have no respect for themselves. Those who complain how fat they are while eating a hotdog covered in mac n cheese. Those who complain about how little they get paid but call in sick when they aren’t sick. Those who can get out of their shitty situation but don’t.

Prioritize yourself, dammit.

Queen fucking rocks

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 21:53:00 -0500

I wish bands today were more like Queen. So much variety in their catalog. Freddie Mercury wrote all of their songs and had the stage presence of a demi-god. Fun (fun.) reminds me a great deal of Queen. Their Some Nights album is cash money thrillionaires. I hope they follow up well.

Detox

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 23:02:11 -0500

Disclaimer: Much of this blog will contain tidbits of a book I am currently writing. This is not part of said book. This is just me writing about some shit that has happened in my life.

I deactivated my Facebook today. It’s not the first time. Facebook has always been the most useful yet useless part of my life. When I truly need it, it is the greatest thing under the sun. But those moments are few and far between anymore. When I first got on Facebook during my Junior year in High School I felt as though I had seen color for the first time. It was a bright new world full of light and sound. It evolved into the thing. Everyone had a Facebook page. Then everyone had a Facebook page. Your dad had one. Your gross aunt. You started getting friend requests from 50-something friends of your mom who are twice divorced and post e-cards about how the only thing they need in life is a bottle of wine and an orgasm. The shine had worn off, the secret was out.

Also, has anyone ever noticed that a high percent of the forty-plus demographic do not understand those phishing links such as YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT THIS ATTRACTIVE TEEN GIRL WORE IN PUBLIC where it posts on their behalf without you knowing? I would laugh at first when that would pop up on my timeline, then the humor would subside as I realize this person is a perv. But I digress…

I first realized I had a problem with my Facebook use about a month ago. I would open Firefox and automatically type in facebook.com without even registering it. It wasn’t even on conscious thought. It was like flipping on a turn signal while driving. If I didn’t get on Facebook it felt weird; as if I was missing something. Of course I wasn’t. It kind of weirded me out. I felt like a zombie.

Another thing that really bugged me was jealousy. I’m not a jealous person. I don’t look at my friend’s new car and try to one-up them by buying a better, newer one (even though I just bought a new car- awful comparison on my part. I probably could have chosen something better to write). But whenever I would see someone’s vacation photos or hear about them moving to a new city for a new job I would resent them. There are numerous things in life that upset me, my friend’s successes should not be one of them. Seeing them happy made me unhappy. For whatever reason, it would piss me off. It makes no sense because my quality of life is high and I am very blessed to be as happy as I am. Life is good on my end of things. It was almost as if Facebook was a drug with downer side effects. Again, that weirded me out.

Another part that made me kick the habit was how hard it is to leave. Like I said earlier, I’ve tried this before. Multiple times. Each time I came crawling back like a crack head to the pipe. Have you ever tried to deactivate your page? When you click the ‘deactivate my account’ link, you are sent to a page that shows individual pictures of your friends and the caption ‘(Friend’s Name) will miss you.’ It’s pathetic. But that’s not what makes it hard to leave. The hard part is all of the other programs and websites I utilize where I login with my Facebook account. Groupon, Spotify, ESPN. It was all linked back to the damn Facebook. I did some research and with some services you cannot change how you login without creating an entirely new account. *cough* Spotify *cough* There are probably numerous conspiracy theories that play around with the idea that Facebook is secretly attempting to take over the major power players of the internet. It probably already has. With a little bit of finagling I figured out how to access my accounts on other websites.

The way I killed off my Facebook for good was by typing up some garbled text (example: kldjvhdjvdvnl), copying it, pasting it as a new password, then deactivating my account. I have no idea what the password was that I created.

I feel free. I love it. The only craving I’ve had was earlier today when I encountered someone I went high school with at the grocery. She had gotten really unattractive and I wanted to find her page to compare new and old pictures. I guess I will miss that aspect of the Facebook.

Chapter 1

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 21:52:00 -0500

Growing up I never envisioned myself as a telemarketer. No one’s dream job is to take advantage of the old retirees with faded memories and checking accounts that have yet to be bled dry by their bankrupt children. Power of attorney is a beautiful thing if you’ve made poor financial decisions and you’ve still got a living parent with some cash. I do however get pleasure out of what I do. I provide the highlight of a baby boomer’s day. The sheer joy of hearing the phone ring. It’s like Christmas Day of old to them. The anticipation in their voice as they pick up the phone. “Hello!” They unwrap the present. Is it an Erector Set? Is it the doll you saw in the JC Penny Catalog? ‘This could be a long-lost friend,’ they think. Or their too-busy-to-be-in-their-life-anymore child. A world of endless possibilities, endless people.

“Hi, Mrs. Kravitz? This is Jeff from GloboTech, how would you like to be owner of the vacuum of the future? It’s cordless!” They end up buying the damn thing because they don’t want the phone call to go to waste. Hell, everyone needs a fucking vacuum. It’s the only thing that’s good when it sucks.

Scratch that. My life is good. It sucks. But it’s good. It’s the only one I got. It’s not like someone is going to ring me up with the deal of a lifetime. “Hi, Mr. Palmer? This is Kevin from VitaVersa. How would you like to be the owner of the life of the future?”

I am the cretin you pass on the highway on your way to work. You know the one. Compact car. A couple dents. A bumper sticker on the back window that reads ‘My Other Transport is the Millennium Falcon.’ Out of pure curiosity you look over at the driver as you pass. You’ve just gotta know what this guy looks like. You can’t help not too after reading that little gem of sticker. Watch out Obama/Biden 2012, we have a real badass on our hands. As you gaze through the window your first reaction is to laugh. For men, it’s a laugh of relief, “Hah! I’m glad I’m not THAT guy!” For women, it’s a laugh of reprieve, “Haha. Aw, this poor guy hasn’t seen pussy since birth.” Why, you ask? Why? Human nature.

If there is some solace, at least I have had my brief flashes of allure. My social circle has even commented on it. Rare instances where females have actually shown interest in me have occurred.

I’m not that skilled at picking up women in public, mostly because I don’t frequent public. Usually it’s not until I talk when the female callers lose interest. I don’t carry myself well. It’s difficult to win over a lady when you’re favorite band is Miami Nights 1984 and your crowning life achievement is beating Pokémon Blue in under a week. Yep, that’s me. Woefully overlooked, indoor kid introvert.

I don’t know how I got to where I am today. No real job enrichment. No real life enrichment. I would say I’m in a funk but I don’t know if a funk is something that starts in high school and goes until you are a mid-to-late twenty something. If it weren’t for the tremendous advances in video gaming technology I probably would have offed myself by now. It’s hard to believe there was a time before the internet. If you could have told seven year old me that someday there will be a device that could fit in your pocket which could literally answer any question you have in the world I would have shit a snow cone. But that’s not all! It also can receive phone calls!

I’ve found that my lifestyle is what causes me not to go insane. I live in a world of fantasy. Well, I don’t actually “live” in it. I’m I guess what you would call a “gamer.” Not casual, not hardcore, just a leisurely gamer. That means I play video games, lots of them. I always have. There is something about the warming glow of a television screen emitting cathode rays of a chainsaw attachment on the end of a automatic shotgun going through someone’s scull that makes me feel at peace. I live vicariously through these amazing worlds. How can a person not be drawn in by the allure of being anyone you want to be in a world that can have endless quests and characters? Limitless. Boundless.

When I’m not pillaging through the vast lands of EverWorld I can usually be found in Professional Wrestling forums and message boards. Wrestling is another hobby of mine. Of course 170 pound me does not partake in the actual wrestling. I’m a fan, a ‘mark.’ I follow the insiders, I learn about the backstage politics, all the behind the scenes stuff. It’s captivating. For all the pageantry that takes place in the squared circle there is just as much excitement behind the curtain. But of course pro wrestling knowledge and knowing how to obtain the Ocarina of Time won’t get me laid. Unless I want to score with a meth head or a fatty. Truth is all the hot gamer girls you see online are mostly models and the real ones are unobtainable. The sword in the stone. Excalibur.

I’ve been working at GloboTech since I got out of college. That was about three years ago. I took this job because they had open positions; I took this job because I couldn’t find a job anywhere else. It has nothing to do with my degree or my interests. The only thing that keeps me coming back each day is the pay check. Oh, the almighty dollar. I am your slave until the end. Money really isn’t a huge motivator for me though. I make just enough income here to maintain my lifestyle and pay whatever bills I have. I don’t dream of owning the biggest house on the biggest side of town. Cherry red sports car? Not for me. Maybe a nice stainless steel Delorean.

Tuesdays are my shit day in the office. That alone makes Mondays far more worse than default soley based on the fact that Tuesday is going to suck sack. Monday is the accessory to the murder that Tuesday committed. Tuesdays alone are a kick to the beanbag. It’s when we, the sales associates, get our numbers from the previous week. In other words it’s when I figure out how far behind I am.

“Hello, Mr Hixson. How would you lik-“

*JEFF PALMER. PLEASE REPORT TO THE FLOOR SUPERVISORS OFFICE. JEFF PALMER*

Christ on a cracker. Happy Tuesday to me. Usually I expect an automated email that tells me how our numbers totaled last week. I didn’t get mine when I checked my email this morning. I am sure this meeting is about my dismal performance as of late. Hopefully in this meeting I can let them know I didn’t get my email.

Walking down the bullpen to the floor supervisor’s office is somewhat of a walk of shame. No, I didn’t get laid, but I am about to get fucked. These meetings are never good. As I walk through the dim, fluorescent office light I can tell all eyes are on me. Dead man walkin’ down the Green Mile. I can hear all of my co-workers in the middle of their mundane scripted calls. Merry Christmas geezers. Buy a fucking vacuum.

I try not to break stride as I walk swiftly through the aisle. Around halfway to my destination I come to realize we have a new face in the office. Usually I don’t notice newblets due to the fact that we have such a high turnover rate that it’s pointless to make friends because they’ll more than likely be gone in a week. But this was not your typical Globotech worker. This is an attractive young female. Fresh out of college perhaps. She couldn’t be more than 23 years old. I hope she stays here forever. That may sound as though I’m jumping the gun but this job is awful. Having something to look at goes a long way, no matter how unobtainable that something might be, someone might be.

She looks up from her script and our eyes connect. Shocked by the unexpected gaze, the sudden beauty, the perfection, I break stride. Shit. I stub my toe on the cheap office carpeting. God damn it. Just a minor stumble. Totally noticeable though.. I don’t even look back at her. I can only imagine what her reaction could be. Ridicule? Maybe. Flashbacks to high school fill my head. Not a full kick to the beanbag, but a definite tap.

Through the wall sized window pane I see my supervisor. Smirking. This is the last thing I needed before walking into the bosses office for an inevitable butt-raping.

“Walk much Palmer? Hah!” Chuck Morgan, El Hefe. A real jokster. He makes Tyler Perry seem like George Carlin.

I force words out. “I, uh, the carpet. It’s-”

“I’m just messing with you bud! But I’m glad you didn’t try out for football back at North during the Golden Years. You would have tripped over the 20 yard line.” Another crack at humor.

I laugh slightly in an attempt to win him over some. “Hah, yeah. I know right?”

One of my least favorite phrases. “Yeah, I know, right?” It’s basically saying, “Yes, I recognize what you just said and I identify with you because of it. Do you recognize that I recognize what you just said and can you identify and I identify with you because of it?” Stupid.

“Take a seat.” I sit down in what I can only describe as a chair with legs so uneven it might as well be considered the Tiny Tim of office furniture.

“All jokes aside Palmer, we’ve got shit to discuss.” He has some sort of dried sauce on his chin just below his lip. This man is disgusting. I’ve never seen someone go through as many fast food breakfast sandwiches in a week than this pile of fat. To think that he used to be a star athlete is baffling.

Chuck Morgan, my boss, is someone I have sadly known for most of my life. We graduated from high school together. We were on opposite ends of the societal spectrum. Chuck was the Alpha Male. Parties, glory, girls. I was the Omega. Friday nights alone at home, by myself, with my right hand to keep me company. Chuck’s ‘glory days’ were the best football years in the history of North Middlebury High School. We made it to semi-state once with Chuck carrying the team on his back. Of course I never attended any of the games. No reason to. Why spend a perfectly good Friday night with the people I see every day when I could be making progress on my whatever video game of the month was. Chuck went on to play at some small college in North Carolina and ended up blowing out his knee or something.

“I’m just going to cut right to it. Your numbers from last week are pathetic. You’re putting up the same number of buys as a new hire. If I wanted these kinds of results I would let you go and bring in another community college bimbo like Blondie out there.”

Ah, so her name is just Blondie? So it’s safe to assume it’s just Blondie? Like Seal or Ke$ha? “I-“

“You’ve been here too damn long to be non-productive. I’m sure you’re a good employee Palmer, just make some sales and prove me right.”

A good employee?! I’ve done nothing but devote the last three years of my life to this suckass company. “Yes sir, yo-“

“I’m all about being fair Palmer. I know this isn’t your first time down in the numbers. Just go out there and do it already. It’s not that freakin’ hard. I did it.” He takes a bite of his breakfast biscuit. I can hear his arteries begging for forgiveness. “Hah. Now, I’m your boss! Crazy how that all worked out!” His speech is garbled by food. “Now get out of my office and sell me some vacuums Palmer.”

I get up out of the chair with the uneven legs. It’s not even worth mentioning not getting the email. I could care less at this point. I wouldn’t be able to get ten words out without being interrupted.

“Good talk, Palmer.”

“Yeah, I know right?” With just a hint of sarcasm. Somehow I’ll probably end up paying for that later. Uncanny sarcasm is never as appreciated as I could be in situations where I am being reprimanded for not doing my job. If it were I would be the most respected person in this office.

As I leave I can’t help but notice Blondie is no longer at her desk. That’s probably a good thing since she has a clear view of Chuck’s office from here desk and could have easily witnessed that sad display. I get back to my desk and sit for a few seconds to soak in how much I hate this place. My moment of reflection is suddenly interrupted by one of my coworkers who I share a cubical wall with.

“Um, excuse me.” No one really knows my name here despite my longevity. I am the nameless entity that lurks in your office. Everyone is relatively nice to me though. Probably in fear that if I brought in a gun someday I would spare them because they once offered me a piece of gun eight months ago. I’m not making this up. I overheard some male co-workers joking about it with a female coworker, trying to scare her.

“Yes?”

“Um, sorry, but when you’re making your calls, you shake your leg really fast and it causes my cubical to shake. Could you be more mindful of the other people in the office please?” I sense a bit of distaste in her voice. She fears not earning a spot on my alleged hit list.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll knock it off. Subconscious, you know?”

“Whatever.”

I am the lag in your video stream, the lack of cell reception in your own home, the commercial interrupting your Pandora station. The undesirable, unwanted, everyday annoyance- Jeff Palmer.

Prelude

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 21:46:49 -0500

Have you ever poured salt on a slug? Have you ever inflicted the slug with a few grains at a time and watched it slowly go through that weirdly melting thing that ultimately lead to its demise? I like to think I am that slug. That bastard, salt-wielding nine year old is my life. Not the life I chose, mind you - but the life that was dealt to me. I’m not a firm believer in fate, but it’s kind of how I wrap my head around how I ended up where I am today. Destiny? Nah. Destiny is something fat girls use to feel less alone. Life is just one of those things that either works out for you or kicks you in the sack as hard as it can. You keel over. After a few minutes you start to think the pain is going to subside. But instead it moves up to your stomach and you pass out. When you wake up, it’s morning. Tomorrow turned into today. Another day, another shot to the beanbag. Ce la vie.