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bethb's Diaryland Diary


a flatulent cherry on the cake

I am so tired i almost feel dizzy.
I don't even know where to begin with the shennanigans from yesterday...
everything was going smoothly and all of a sudden, 'the whistler' appeared. The Whistler is a fixture on the hill and frequently my yard-sale nemesis. He earned his name by whistling non-stop. Non-fucking-stop.
So he's about 247 years old and I chat with him for a bit and then I make my way up to the first floor and I'm at my station with sean h. (also in attendance was shawn h. but he was posted to the 5th floor) when the whistler finds his way up from the atrium (where the band he has already told me he was here to see is playing). he's still clutching his postcard that has things circled and notes written on it and he asks me where the reception is and i explain to him where and how to get there and point to it through the window and then we have a conversation akin to the following:
Whistler: Where's the reception?
Beth: It's downstairs in the atruim (explanation)
W: so i go down these stairs?
B: Or you can take the elevator
W: I can take the stairs! What kind of music are you having?
B: I believe they play jazz
W: Oh! Isn't that lovely! How many of them are there?
B: I believe there are three in the band.
W: Oh, that's fine, that's fine....Who's playing tonight?
B: the uh....young...lions...
W: OH! I wanted to see them! where are they playing.
at this point, i look over at sean who holds the catalog up in front of his face
B: They're downstairs
W: What? No elevator?
B: there's an elevator over here, why don't I escort you to the atrium?
W: Oh good! I don't want to miss anything- how many are in the band do you think?
B: I hear they're a trio
W: A trio, my my, isn't that something?
what kind of music do they play
B: I hear it's jazz
we reach the ground floor and we're in a hallway leading to the atrium and
W: Well this doesn't look like any kind of performance space
B: We're not quite there yet- it's around the corner
W: oh, that's fine...that's fine

Now we're in the atrium

W: Where's the band playing
B: in the corner- do you see the drum kit?
W: Oh! Who's playing tonight?
B: Why i think it's the young lions, have you heard of them?
W: Oh indeed! They're just terriffic!
B:That's what I hear
W: Why haven't they begun playing yet?
B: Well it's only 4:38- the reception doesn't begin until 5. why don't you have a seat and read your postcard again.
W: Ok

Then, about an hour or so later, we hear there's a bomb scare.
Do you know what it was? Some fuckwit took a box of our catalogs outside and left it there. The council support in the building told the bomb squad that it was one of our boxes, but nope, that couldn't be trusted. And apparently DC has one bomb sniffing dog and last night was his night off so they had to bring in some robot to open it.
Two speakers pulled out at the last minute, our chair was caught in traffic so she wasn't on hand to speak so i missed what was said, but it couldn't have been good.
oh lord.
and then? the capper on the evening? I'm on the metro escalator going up and there's a fellow about 4 feet/4 stairs in front of me and his butt is at my face level and he starts farting. really. loud.
in. my. face.

i just started laughing- he either thought he was being quiet because he couldn't hear himself (a problem my grandmother had as well) or didn't realize a girl who had been on her feet for 12 hours and didn't have it in her to hoof it around him (they thankfully weren't smelly) (you're welcome)

3:40 p.m. - 2008-09-24


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