Train Stories
It is a hard time for panhandlers here in Atlanta; the city is cracking down. Also, this city is full of assholes. I'm one of them, so I should know. So the panhandlers, like any of Nature's creatures, must adapt or face extinction. What is a beggar to do but turn to sympathy? These vagabonds must master the art of playing one's heartstrings in order to glean enough money to live comfortably (which is to say, drunkenly).
Unfortunately, Atlantans must be lazy because our homeless have not been practicing, and it's as obvious as if they were learning to play the piano without practice. I say this because I've seen one of our "blind" beggars dodge a punch, and witnessed a "deaf" beggar turn around in response to someone's change jingling. My story involves two such fellows.
A poor blind man, making his way up the crowded train, is rattling a dented Folger's Coffee can full of change. As he is slowly making his way towards the front, another man gets on. This man is deaf; I know this because he holds a sign stating so. The deaf man starts to make his way down to the back of the train. As each man reaches his own dead end, he turns to make his way to the opposite side. With near-perfect comedic timing, they meet in the middle. In the time it takes them to assess the situation, it is already too late, they have both blurted out their "can you spare a dollar?" Their question hangs in the air, all surrounding eyes, that aren't pointedly ignoring the world around themselves, are glued on them. After a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, the deaf man dumps a small amount of coins into the blind man's tin. The spell is broken and they both continue on their own ways.
Another long day at school ends with me sitting on the train, minding everyone's business (like I said, I'm a jerk). A man in scruffy-looking clothes is asking people for change, as scruffy-looking men tend to do around here. He asks everyone down the entire train "Do you have a spare quarter?" and I sit calmly by, waiting patiently for my turn to refuse him my money. Finally, he makes it down to the very end of the train where I am seated. Instead of asking me for change, he sits down next to me. After a minute or so, he turns to me and asks "Can I get your number?"
Elementary School
In elementary school, I was always told that white people were the majority. I thought this was odd because I had always been under the impression that "majority" meant "more"; but there was only about 6 of us in my entire grade.
My mother's name is Christopher. Her family was very odd and gave very interesting names. My uncles names are Council, Duff, and Trow; so my mom pretty much lucked out with Christopher. My dad's name was Paul. Every year or so I would get called into the office. The receptionist would be looking at my contacts page, specifically at the part where my parents were listed: Christopher and Paul. Christopher and Paul, but who to call? So I would be delicately asked to call my- um, the one I called "mom". Of course, I took no notice of their hesitation and called my mom. Taking the receiver and realizing that Christopher was, indeed, a woman, was a great relief to them, most of the time. This story is much funnier in hindsight, as most stories are.
work stories
In the Georgia State Library computer system, my name is spelled $a$ha Katz. I hope I don't get in trouble for this, but I can't resist the bling-factor.
I once paid a woman a dollar to go away and leave me alone. So I am at work, and in a bad mood from working all damn day. It's not like I was getting enough money per hour to make it worth it. Anyways, I'm ringing a lady up at the register. She has a bunch of sale items and the computer didn't take the discount off on a pair of ugly silver shoes. I didn't notice and miss Lady-cakes over there doesn't mention it until after I ran her card. So I have to refund her, then ring it up correctly in a separate sale. Apparently, miss Future-Silver-Shoes doesn't realize that it would've been much easier to complain all at once, because she waits until I have finished all that before she mentions that she was charged 75 cents more than the ticket price on a bright orange sweater. Why, do you ask, was it 75 cents off? Well, dear friend, it is because I work with morons that can't handle elementary math. The ticket was marked wrong and the lady declares that she is being cheated if she doesn't get the price that's on the ticket. At this point I am so sick of looking at miss Penny-Pinching Femalien. I take a dollar out of my pocket and give it to her, saying "Here, just go." When she started to point out that it was more than the store owed her I just said "Lady, that's a dollar from my own personal pocket, just take it and leave. Please just go away." I paid a woman a dollar to leave me alone, and it was the best dollar I spent all day.
The phone rings at work and I answer it like normal: "Finders Keepers Consignment, how can I help you?" The reply I get back is: "Hi, I'm going to call you in a few minutes to ask you some questions on consigning," and then hangs up. She called my store to let us know that she would be calling me...
I got reported for "sassing" a woman at work. She had asked the question "How do things sell here?" How do things sell? What? What does that mean? Apparently, "Well, people come in and they pick things up and pay for them" was not the right answer! The boss said the correct response was "Things sell well here" but I still have no idea what that lady was actually asking.
Speaking of sassy... At Finders Keepers, some lady called and started to ask something, then stopped and asked, "Who am I talking to?"
"...Sasha"
"That's a sassy name."
"Yeah, I guess so, thanks."
"Are you the blond one?"
"Yeah."
"You're real sassy."
"...Thanks?"
Hobo stories
I once fed a hobo French fries one at a time. I was outside of a Zesto's with my friend and ex-roomie, Jeanne, feeding my fries to some pigeons, because Zesto's fries suck. A hobo came up to us and mumbled something about the birds. I assumed he was asking for food, so I handed him a fry. He ate it, so I handed him another one. He said "Oh, so you're feeding me now?" My reply was to hand him another fry. After all the fries were gone he said, "I sure wouldn't mind a sip of your milkshake." "I'm sure you wouldn't." I said and we kept drinking our milkshakes.
Random Facts
I was diagnosed deaf in one ear many years ago. It is a falsehood, as I assure you, gentle reader, that I can indeed hear quite clearly from both ears. I have not had a complete checkup since then, and consequently have not had the chance to correct this error. It is in my medical record.
I have had a weed weasel spike go through my hand. I was running through the car port, chasing a particularly illusive firefly, when I tripped over a rake and landed on the lawn tool that I can only assume was forged by Satan himself! It took a minute for me to look up and fully gather the extent of the damage. I ran and called for my mom, who promptly thought I was overreacting until she finally turned around and saw my hand gushing blood. She tried to wash it off, then staunch the blood with toilet paper (which, oddly enough, is about the worst thing she could've chosen) and drove me to the hospital. The hospital workers had to dig around in my hand to get out all the dirt and the toilet paper, which really soaks into a gaping wound and is damn near impossible to neatly clean off! I was given four stitches and sent on my merry little way. I didn't even get to miss any schoolwork for it. Plus my skin apparently has Wolverine-like healing powers and managed to grow over the stitches by the time I was scheduled to get them out, which means that my doctor had to cut in and dig them out, which hurt like bitch to the face! I still have the scar on my left hand and you can even see the exact spots where the stitches were.
I got bitten by a human at a concert. We were at Music Midtown, watching the Dropkick Murphys show. The band decided that it would be neat if the whole crowd were one giant circle pit. The crowd, always eager to please, complied. During our sprint in the pit to save ourselves and not get trampled, a guy half-trips running towards me and bites my right index finger. The bite is infected within the hour.
A Morning of Terror
One morning, I awoke to the distant sound of a power drill. I got up
with the plan to tell Katie off for using loud tools at 9am. I was
confused to find the sound not coming from Katie's room, even more
confused that they were not coming from the living room. Then I noticed
it. The drilling was coming from the other side of my deadbolt! Someone
was removing my lock! I was freaking frightened, which always makes me
act weird. Well, as a brilliant spontaneous response to this, since
the lock was almost off, and I didn't have my phone with me, and the lock was almost off, what did I do? I held the door shut. The lock came off, and the door was pushed, and I held it closed.
Then I leaned down and looked through the hole where the lock was.
And in a very authoritative tone, asked:
"Is there a reason you are removing my lock?"
A man's face appears on the other side of the hole.
"This apartment is supposed to be vacant."
"...Well, it's not. Why are you removing my lock?"
"R305, I was told this was vacant."
"It's not been vacant for a while, and it's not going to be for a lot longer."
"Oh, shit. I've got to put another lock on here."
I do not let the door open when he tries to open it again. The man is wearing a brown jacket zipped up.
"I work here."
"Do you have a work order that I can see?"
"Uh, no, but I was told that R305 was vacant."
I see his tools on the ground, and make a snap decision. I open the door.
He begins changing the lock, then starts gathering up his stuff.
"Oh, the key!" And he hands me a key.
More specifically, he hands me one key from a set.
I
grab my laptop and the only other thing of value in my apartment and
head down to the leasing office to confirm that he works there, and
that there's not just some guy with a key to my place.
On the way to the office, he runs up to me.
"He's a second key. I'm so sorry. It was apartment R205. Sorry again."
The office was able to confirm that he works there. And I now, for no good reason at all, have a new lock.