New Thing #184: I'm doing my first official meme. Communicatrix tagged me and damned if I'm not gonna follow up on a tagging. So here goes.
It's simple, it's sweet. It's:
Five Things You Didn't Know About Me
(1.) I worked at Barnes and Noble for two summers during college, and while it was an okay job (I loved being surrounded by books), the pay was kinda crappy (they promoted me to "section supervisor" without a pay raise, which they could get away with because "section supervisor" wasn't a real position and I was apparently stupid--what it meant was that I had two other employees who I had to boss around, but we were, like, all making the same amount of money, and there was this weird dynamic of "why do I suddenly have all of this extra responsibility and nothing to show for it?") and they once made me "keep an eye on" a customer who was masturbating in the cooking section because they couldn't kick him out of the store "unless he's exposing himself--so watch until he does" (those were my manager's exact words) and so, (I still haven't gotten to the "thing you don't know about me" part), anyway, after I stopped working at Barnes and Noble, I kinda felt like they owed me, and, well, I'd always fantasized about living a life of crime (not in a bad way, more in a robbing-banks-looks-fun-in-the-movies type of way), so I tried my hand at shoplifting. For the thrill of it, mostly--I didn't honestly have a beef against Barnes and Noble. (I stole a book about the Dali Lama and several magazines.) (And that was the extent of my life of crime.)
(2.) (okay, this next thing I'm gonna say is maybe something you know about me if you know me IRL, but it's definitely something I've never blogged about and so I figure it's fair game) (and besides, it's a poop story and we all know how much I love talking about poop) (but if your eyes just glazed over and you were like, "uh-oh, not another poop story," just give this one a moment of your time because it's a good one.) When I was fifteen-years-old, I played the kid in a production of On Golden Pond at this tiny little theater in Fullerton. And when I say "tiny little" I'm not being redundant; it was a very small theater space. The theater's seating capacity was forty. And there were only two small bathrooms, unisex, located in the theater's lobby. Which meant that the actors used the same bathrooms as the audience, and we'd have to make sure to use the facilities as soon as we got to the theater because once audience members started arriving, we were basically trapped in the dressing room (the single dressing room, mind you, that all of the actors shared) until we got our call for places. All of us actors were hanging out in the dressing room, getting ready, when I suddenly had to poop, pronto. It was about 7:30 and the audience would start to arrive soon, but I had to go. This would not wait. So I excused myself from the dressing room and went to poop in the tiny little theater's tiny little bathroom.
It was a massive poop. An earth-shattering poop. Total hugeness. When I finished, I looked down into the toilet bowl and I couldn't help but be slightly in awe. That came out of me, I thought to myself. It was so big that it filled the bowl. And I'm not talking chunks of poop or lots of little swirlies or anything; I'm talking one huge ginormous solid twelve-inch-long ginormous piece of shit.
Moment of admiration complete, I grabbed the toilet handle and flushed. And then...nothing. I tried the flusher again, and again...nothing. Um, whoa. What am I supposed to do? On one hand, I can't ask anyone for help because I'm fifteen-years-old and gawky and not quite comfortable in my own skin (yet) to ask someone else for help in poop related matters. On the other hand, I can't just leave this big giant piece of poop here and go back into the dressing room and pretend I don't know anything about the big giant piece of poop because everyone involved with this tiny little theater is currently in the dressing room and they all know that I've left to go to the bathroom, so if the poop stays here then they'll know it's mine, without a doubt.
I try the flusher again, and again, and again, but I'm stuck. This poop is not going to go down. I'm starting to freak out.
By now it's 7:40 and I can't hear anyone in the lobby, so for now the coast outside is clear, but the calm is not going to last for long. We've got about twenty people coming to tonight's performance and they should start arriving any second. The poop must disappear. How the frig am I going to get it gone? I have a plan...
I poke my head out of the bathroom into the lobby. It's empty. I calmly walk over to the coffee counter they've set up and I grab one of the extra-large styrofoam cups they've set out. I walk back into the bathroom with the styrofoam cup, scoop the large piece of poop into the cup (it was so big that the poop stuck out the top of the cup several inches). I cover the top of the poop--the part of the poop that was sticking out of the top of the cup--with a wad of toilet paper, I walk through the theater's lobby with the styrofoam cup of poop in my hands, I walk around to the side of the building, and I throw the poop, styrofoam cup and all, into a bush...just as I hear someone saying "hey, Erik," and turn to see my director approaching. I don't know if she saw me throw the poop, but audience members are beginning to arrive and the director shoos me back into the theater, quick. Poop crisis averted.
So that's my poop in a styrofoam cup story.
(3.) My toes are double jointed and I can move most of them individually (try it, it's not as easy as it sounds--usually when you move one toe, several other toes just automatically move with it, but not on my foot, fuckers!) (I got really toe proficient after watching the Daniel Day-Lewis flick My Left Foot) (for several months following, I was obsessed with training my feet to be as cool as Daniel Day-Lewis' character's feet--opening doors with them, trying to write with them, etc. And I got pretty good at it.
(4.) I only own two pairs of socks. (And that's including the two pairs of socks I received today from my Aunts Jill and Lori, for Christmas, with the new pair of "meeting shoes" they gave me.) (Very comfy shoes.) (Technically, I'm in possession of about two other pairs of socks, but they don't actually belong to me--I borrowed them from my stepdad.) (Okay, "stole" them from him.) (But that's the extent of my life of crime.) (And now I can return his socks and embrace socks of my own.)
(5.) (I'm starting to get so sleepy that I'm typing random words that don't make any sense.) (I honestly can't even remember what the first four examples of things you don't know about me were.) (Anyway, here's #5.) When I'm substitute teaching, I usually eat lunch alone in my room or I go out to get lunch because the teachers in the Teacher's Lounge are too clicky and I don't feel like I belong and it makes me feel like I'm a dork in junior high school again. (Awww, so sad.)
And that's "Five Things You Didn't Know About Me." Since Communicatrix mentioned that a meme isn't officially a meme unless you tag someone at the end of it, I'd like to tag:
Jesse, Kyle, BonBon, Urp, Aimie, Steve, Joe Chandler, and the Time Magazine Person of the Year: YOU.