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As I mentioned before in a previous post, stress and I are not friends. I also am not fond of bureaucracy, no offence to those who work for the gov't.
Being a churchmouse-poor student, I'm trying to get a job. So I kind of need my SSC. My Ratb*st*rd Stepfather, henceforth known as Hurricane Dorkwad, stole it, so Wednesday, I'm at the SS office, fighting for my card. Due to the wait, I missed an outing with a dear friend and almost missed taking my meds. But, despite this crabbiness-inducing series of inconviences, I think I was a saint that day and the lady who helped me was nice as apple pie.
So, I'm standing outside to await my ride home. It's raining and a bit nippy for April, plus I'm wearing a short skirt. It's not a great side of town. The gentrification stopped two blocks west. But the security guard is standing outside and we're having a friendly, if terse chat, so I feel safe.
Suddenly, this rangy, dirty fella staggers up, hauling the smell of Pabst Blue Ribbon behind him like a Radio-Flyer wagon. Now, I'm nervous. Hurricane Dorkwad made me scared of anybody who's obviously smashed. But, then I remember that nice Southern Gent of a Security Guard (SG2
SG@: Can I help you, sir?
Drunk: *mumble, incoherent bellow, mutter*
Me: *thinking* Eau de Cheap Booze...Ugh. *start sniffing own wrist for relief*
SG2: I'm sorry, sir?
Drunk: *Louder, slower mumbling*
SG2: I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to come back when you sober up.
Drunk: *nods, starts trying to climb the steps*
(Repeat last two lines for 10 minutes)
Finally, the guy glares at me and staggers away. Why me? I dunno, maybe he way trying to see my panties.
Being a churchmouse-poor student, I'm trying to get a job. So I kind of need my SSC. My Ratb*st*rd Stepfather, henceforth known as Hurricane Dorkwad, stole it, so Wednesday, I'm at the SS office, fighting for my card. Due to the wait, I missed an outing with a dear friend and almost missed taking my meds. But, despite this crabbiness-inducing series of inconviences, I think I was a saint that day and the lady who helped me was nice as apple pie.
So, I'm standing outside to await my ride home. It's raining and a bit nippy for April, plus I'm wearing a short skirt. It's not a great side of town. The gentrification stopped two blocks west. But the security guard is standing outside and we're having a friendly, if terse chat, so I feel safe.
Suddenly, this rangy, dirty fella staggers up, hauling the smell of Pabst Blue Ribbon behind him like a Radio-Flyer wagon. Now, I'm nervous. Hurricane Dorkwad made me scared of anybody who's obviously smashed. But, then I remember that nice Southern Gent of a Security Guard (SG2
SG@: Can I help you, sir?
Drunk: *mumble, incoherent bellow, mutter*
Me: *thinking* Eau de Cheap Booze...Ugh. *start sniffing own wrist for relief*
SG2: I'm sorry, sir?
Drunk: *Louder, slower mumbling*
SG2: I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to come back when you sober up.
Drunk: *nods, starts trying to climb the steps*
(Repeat last two lines for 10 minutes)
Finally, the guy glares at me and staggers away. Why me? I dunno, maybe he way trying to see my panties.
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