>>stripped of natural charm

We carved pumpkins last night, Devin, Tawnya, Jay, Megan, Josh, Jason and me. We carved pumpkins on a big blanket in the middle of the living room, a blanket that would eventually be thrown away, and we watched The Shining and had orange hands. Jay carved a Frankenstein monster (his was the best, we unanimously decided). Josh carved a brilliant split-faced phantom; Meg carved a cat. I carved a ghost holding a candelabra and Tawnya carved a perching cat, and a small pumpkin underneath of it. Devin, deciding he was too good for the stencils, carved a weirdo-looking Jack o’ lantern with glasses and Jason carved a Red Sox “B” because, as it turns out, he is too good for the stencils. We carved our pumpkins and carried them to the back porch. Tea lights were inserted and the porch lights turned off as we stood there and knew that we had created nothing but Fine Art.

It turns out that others are also appreciating our Fine Art, because this morning Jason’s pumpkin got heisted. There are many reasons that that particular pumpkin, emblazoned with a logo of a fairly popular and equally hated baseball team, was stolen. Someone could’ve loved it and decided to take it and admire its beauty from the comfort of their own home. It may have been taken by a hardcore Rockies/Yankees fan and all they did was smash that Fine Art into teeny pieces. Or maybe someone with no soul decided that yeah, taking something of someone else’s is a great idea and let’s do it. I hope someone poisons their candy, or maybe they only get pennies and toothbrushes this year.

It was truly the most magnificent-looking pumpkin I have ever beheld and I wish you could’ve seen it before that stupid mother-fucker (probably a group of them, because my experience tells me that theivy mother-fuckers rarely work alone) decided to become a felon by stealing someone’s personal property.

One of the benefits of working for Big Company is its location, specifically its proximity to coffee. [Almost] every morning Devin and I walk to Downtown Grounds; he gets a smoothie and a bagel and I get a coffee and a bagel. At around two thirty in the afternoon I go back for a pick-me-up.

It’s Friday. The sky is overcast, the wind is whipping around in 2 minute increments, and it looks an awful lot like rain. Work is slow; we’re allowed to go home early if the Prokey gets done, so I’ve spent the morning Prokeying. So has everyone else. There isn’t a lot to do except sit there and be restless and every once in a while play on the wheely chairs that Big Company has thoughtfully provided for us. I take a look at Prokey to see what I’m up against and it’s empty. I look at my queue: empty. We’re not allowed to leave until three. I check the clock. One twenty-six. Coffee break time.

I walk across the street, get my coffee, and walk back across the street. At the crosswalk. Like a good citizen of America. When I get 1/2 way across the street, the little man turns into a flashing hand, letting me know I have about ten seconds to get myself across the street or be run over by impatient drivers.

In that same instant, from the time the little walking man stopped being a little walking man and turned into a the big flashing hand, the car that was waiting at the light started to go. I was in front of it and it started MOVING. I looked at the light. Red. He was moving on a red light, and didn’t stop moving until I ran out of the way. Turns out Mr. Assface wanted to make a left turn (which you can do onto a one way street) and decided it wasn’t in his best interest to wait until the nice girl with the coffee got the hell out of his way, let’s just run her over because I am Very Important in my blue LeSabre and really cannot stop even though I’m at a RED FUCKING LIGHT.

There are so many things I could’ve done in that situation, looking back. The scenarios are really endless. I could stand there calmly in front of his car and ask him why he almost ran me over. I could go up to his window and punch him in the face. I could throw my coffee on his windshield. I could bang on the hood of his car with my hand. Next time someone decides to wrongly run me over I have a game plan. Lots of them, really. And I’m sure you can help me think of some as well.