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A Triple Whopper
let me run you through my past weekend.
go to bed at "9" end up going to bed at 12:30...wake up at
2, fret until 2:30 and sleep until 3. total amount of sleep
2 hours. drive to the airport. fly across the country.
come out on the other end of this beautiful country hurling
down freeways with your father about to meet some real
exhaust yourself with the cut-throat real estate broker.
realize they hate you already.
go to sleep at 11 pm, which is actually 2 am. wake up at 3
am. toss and turn until 5 am and log on to your dad's
laptop. total amount of sleep...4 hours.
meet with a different cut-throat real estate broker on a
total of 6 hours of sleep. the yelling commences. drive
around and enjoy things in a surrealistic fashion. remember
the flight you took here in which you fathomed sleep.
on this flight the weirdest fucking thing happened to me. i
closed my eyes for about an hour. i woke up and looked down
to see this girl with her head on my lap.
i freaked out like none other. i bolted almost upright in
the tight cabin,
"what are you doing?"
"oh!!! i'm so sorry! i didn't want to wake you, it's just
you had some empty seats next to you."
this i think as i meet my next real estate broker.
what a fucking crazy trip, and it's only been 3 days.
meet your law school.
get some chick's number who wants to talk about seattle.
vaguely remember through the haze of insufficient sleep that
you compared mt. st. helen's to mexican's (overall really
lazy, but capable of unbelievable spurts of hard-work).
the airport in las vegas.
you are now starting to see people as corpses.
decomposingly hanging onto their seats in the burger king.
you realize that you have lost it and just ordered a
in the bathroom you see the oddest reflection. a huge black
dot. you turn. a huge black man is looming over the stall
he is residing in. perking over the door and peering into
the stall next to his.
welcome to vegas.
gin will level you out and at least you'll smell like
it's rancid but you stomach it as you sit in front of a slot
machine. and that's when it happens.
as i sit at this slot machine an elderly and completely
drunken asian woman siddles up next to me. now the novelty
of seeing a drunk asian is sort of like seeing a
hard-working young republican; you realize it's a rarity and
you should saviour it.
in my book only asians maintain the rouge of dignity. a
drunk black woman? come on, get real! i've seen it many
times over! a machosimo mexican? get outta town!!! a whit
e male who complains bout affirmative action? i need some
but a drunk elderly asian woman?
hit me again ike!
she was slurring her words and i swear to god she kept on
so i hit the slot machine button....and i lost my money.
i moved away from the drunk asian.
to only see the guy busting his ass trying to sell frequent
what a sad man.
i sat there completely discombobulated. sleep ran so far
from me that i could no longer catch it. i was
hallucinating. he kept on saying to me,
"wouldn't you like to have equity in a program that paid you
dividends in miles?"
yes i would.
"well, all i need is your john hancock *yuck, yuck* right here."
at this point he bit his lower lip and looked concerned as i
tried to focus on the document in front of me.
i sighed and gave it back to him.
he glared at me.
i stared impassively back at him.
i got up and walked towards my gate.
my stomach hurt but i feared the peeking toms in the stalls.
i couldn't let myself down.
it was time for work.
Tuesday Mornings with Nick.