Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--I returned to my office on Friday, planning to box up my
computer, monitor, printer, and digital camera, and ship ‘em back to Burbank.It was pretty freakin’ weird, man.
My passcard worked as normal, and I walked by the security guards as if
nothing had changed.I made
my way across the mezzanine, where the Shuffler works (worked?), and
there was only one guy there.Usually
it’s a beehive of activity, but there was nobody around on Friday.The dude gave me a knowing nod as I walked past, and I gave him
one back.
I unlocked my office door, and it was like stepping into a Twilight Zone
episode.I know it’s only
been a few weeks, but they’ve been looong
weeks, filled with all manner of exhausting emotions.Everything was exactly as I’d left it on my last day, including
a half-eaten bag of barbecue chips beside the phone.
I powered-up the computer, and logged into my email account.All passwords worked without a problem.I had 1035 unread messages, including about fifty from Friday
alone.I sorted them by
senders’ names, and checked to see if there was anything of interest.Nothing.
I sighed loudly, and began deleting files from the desktop.Most were Phil Hendrie mp3s, and I started one playing while I
worked.It had something to
do with a “retard” on an airplane that kept licking a slice of
baloney and sticking it to a window.
I also had this file saved, for reasons unknown, and
this greeting by
Richard from Greenford, a regular caller to the Clive Bull Show.The man’s voice box has been completely destroyed by decades
and decades of smoking “ciggies.”
So many cherished memories….
Then people began stopping by and asking what I’d been up to.It was a parade of folks and I was glad to see them.Many will be in the same situation as me, starting in June.So we talked about our plans, and what we hoped to do.
We’d been forced together by work, and spent a substantial chunk of
time in each others’ company, and now it’s over.That particular group will soon be gone, never to return.Sure, I was always the outsider, the “guy from California,”
but it was a role I played well.I
was a part of the group that is being scattered to the wind.
I spoke with the General
Manager, and he sounded depressed.He
told me he’s down to one shift now, instead of three running ‘round
the clock, and if I wanted to ship my computer back I’d better hurry.They’d be closing soon, he said.
Closing!I never thought
I’d see the day.
Screw it.I’d just send the
stuff back next week.I deleted
everything that wasn’t crucial to the computer, including the temp
files and surfing history, stripped it completely to the bone using a
savage little program called CCleaner, and shut it all down.
I know they could recover all that crapola in one of those Law & Order labs, but just a regular ol’ douche in Burbank
won’t be able to see any evidence I’d ever even used the computer.And that’s the way I prefer it.
But what should I leave on the memory card in my camera? Perhaps just a
single well-considered snapshot as my going away message?Help me out with that one, folks.It needs to be something dramatic.
Yeah, I admit that I get sentimental about things, even things I don’t
really like.Whenever I move I
invariably begin thinking about all the fun times I’ve had at that
particular house or apartment, even if it’s a shitty dump.And then I get a little sad.
Same goes for the cars I trade in.I
remember walking away from a beat-to-hell Chevy Luv truck with a
baseball-sized hole in the floor, through which mud and rainwater would
regularly rocket, feeling like I was about to start crying.I hated that thing, but we’d been through so much together.
Yep, I have a hard time closing doors.My
parents on the other hand… they just make huge life-altering decisions
all willy-nilly, and seemingly don’t give it a second thought.I don’t think they have a sentimental bone in their bodies.It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they long ago tossed my
baby pictures into a dumpster out behind the Union
76 station, to give themselves more drawer space.
Me?I’ve got boxes and boxes of
souvenirs in the basement, and am guilty of romanticizing the past.Like Atlanta
for instance.When we lived there
we wanted out.In fact, I
remember us buying out-of-state newspapers (places like Portland
, OR
), and plotting our escape.But
when I think about Atlanta
now, it was all fun, all the time: a freakin’ paradise.
What about you?Are you the
sentimental type like me, or a Klingon like my parents?Use the comments link to elaborate, if you’re so inclined.
And I’ll get back to the funny stuff next time.I promise.
Oh, and just so you’re up to date….I
did indeed eat a few of the chips I found in my office on Friday.They weren’t very good, but I had
to know.
