Zel-kun’s Words

As I sometimes have to do during the day, I needed to use the restroom.  I walk in and hear some guy talking.  To my horror, its coming from one of the stalls.  The guy is talking on his cellphone, talking BUSINESS from what I can hear, as he does his business.

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

Guess he’s a man on the run.

Or a man with the runs.

*ahem*

Well, at least I flushed the toilet right next to him, hopefully the guy on the other end of the line got grossed out.

Zel-kun out.

Listening to the radio this morning, and I hear there’s a law being petitioned to our state.  Basically, if a cellular phone breaks three times, then the customer may cancel their service without a penalty.  Its being called the cellular lemon law.

It seems like a good thing in theory, but that’s punishing the carrier for a fault of the manufacturer.  If your television’s tube blows out (or pixels break, for you fancy-tv-having folks), would you then be able to cancel your cable contract?

I agree with the representative on the radio, who basically said that the cost of the phones (usually offered either free or at a discount), are recovered over the course of the contract.  If customers could then escape the contract, then the wireless companies would have to recover the cost somewhere else, likely with non-discounted phones.

Again, if the wireless companies manufactured the phones, then this would be very fair.  You make a faulty phone, you deal with the consequences.  There SHOULD be a law that protects customers who sign a contract, and then realize the coverage is bare where they need it most.  I once had a Nextel phone that had low signal at my job, no signal in downtown Chicago (no signal in one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country?), and no signal at home.  It was a terrible service, and there was no way out of the contract.

I didn’t overly mind, it WAS paid for by my job, but still…

Anyhow, the program went on to say that Chicago was the home of the first ever cullular call.  Indeed, in 1983, on the 50-yard line in Soldier Field, the great-grandson of Alexander Graham Bell made the very first cellular phone call.

I thought that was pretty cool.

Zel-kun out.

I went to Wendy’s for lunch.  Big surprise, I know.   There were three teenagers standing in line.  They didn’t seem to actually be IN line, they were just having a boisterous conversation in the space reserved for the line.  I had to inch past them when the person behind the counter waved me up, realizing that the trio of morons weren’t going to move.

So I order and pick a seat, and begin to eat my lunch, when the trio decide to order and take a seat at the table right next to me, continuing to be as loud as possible.  I was slightly annoyed, but not too much.  After all, I can remember many occasions where my friends and I were far louder than these teenagers.

Perhaps it was karmic retribution.

Anyhow, I finish eating and take my tray to the garbage can, and I notice an employee approaching the trio.  I figured he was there to quiet them down, but then I hear, “I’m going to have to ask you to put the straws back.”

My brain stopped for a moment.  What?

Sure enough, I turn, and there is a giant pile of straws on their table.  Literally, the ENTIRE contents of the straw bin was there.  What motive could there be in taking all the straws?

Seriously, what’s wrong with people?

Zel-kun out.

Throughout my earlier childhood, I can remember people who I called friends.  I welcomed them into my home, I trusted them, and I had some fun.  Unfortunately, these friendships never ended well.

Earliest one I can remember is Ryan, talked about back in chapter II.  As I mentioned, that’s when my suspicion of other people began.  Despite that I made the attempt to trust people, and each time I have been betrayed in the end.

Doug - Friend in elementary school, used to go on about being half-indian.  One day during recess he ran towards me and clotheslined me, much to the delight of the surrounding children.

Gevin - First off, who names their son Gevin?  He was a new kid in school.  And in elementary school, being the new kid is equivelent to walking around with a giant ‘kick me’ sign on your back.  I decided that I would approach him where he sat at an empty lunch table, and befriend him.

Things were good until a couple weeks had passed, when while walking through the schoolyard, he turned to me, popped me in the mouth, then tripped my legs out from under me.  I don’t remember anything after that concerning him, what sticks out the most is the blood from my lip on the gravel.

Justin - What a weird kid.  Not weird in a good way, the kid was seriously messed up in the head.  The kid lived with his father, but usually stayed at his grandmother’s house, which was a couple blocks away.  His grandmother had a large bell in the backyard, that she would ring every time she wanted to summon Justin home.  Throughout the whole neighborhood, you could hear the bell tolling.  Even from my house, six blocks away.

He approached me on my way home, spouting off some nonsense about actually being fifteen years old.  He then challenged me to a fight.  Admittedly I was a bit flattered, I’ve never been challenged before.  I’ve been jumped dozens of times, but challenged?  This was the first.

He came at me, so kicked him in the manberries.  Dishonorable, I know now.  But I had a ‘friend’ who now wanted to beat me up, and it seemed like a simple solution.

This pattern repeated a few times, until he finally got a little entourage to help him.

Nikki - That’s right, I had a friend that was a girl.  I can’t even remember much about her other than the name.  I only remember the bitter end.  I was riding my bike during the wintertime, it was about thirty or fourty degrees, when she decided it would be a good idea to douse me with a coffee can of ice water.  The shock of it made me lose control of the bike and crash into a parked car.

Well, that’s about all I can remember of them.  I’m not sure WHY these events happened, maybe it was some sort of initiation rite into popularity at school.  Maybe my memory is sugar-coating it and I was a real a-hole.  I would not rule out that possibility.

I think that wraps up my earlier childhood.  I would soon leave Calumet City and move to Merrillville, Indiana, a town I still go to occasionally.  A place where I can muster up some fond memories and good people.

I woke up today, and for some unknown reason, I felt like wearing khakis.  I used to wear khakis every single day of my existence.  When I worked at Wal-Mart, it was either khakis or dress slacks.  This was, of course, so when you had to get on your hands and knees stocking or cleaning, you at least had on some good pants.

I never understood Wal-Mart’s hatred of jeans.  Like it was the most disrespectful thing to wear them.  I can imagine all the customers ridiculing me for wearing jeans:

“Oh my god!?  Are… are those JEANS?!  What are you thinking?  I have my children here, what will they think?!  You strutting around in your denim like some crack dealer!  You should be ashamed!”

Or maybe they thought that customers wouldn’t recognize us, like it was part of the uniform:

“Excuse me, do you… oh sorry.  I saw the bright blue vest with Wal-Mart written on it in blindingly white letters and thought you worked here, but then I saw your jeans.  Let me go find someone that works here.”

And they were mean about it.  A year goes by, and I wear khakis each and every day, and one day, I find my only clean pair had a nice big rip down the seam.  So I could either go to work in dirty pants, or I could wear my jeans.  I get stopped on MY WAY IN by a manager:

“Tell me why I shouldn’t send you home right now.”

“My khakis were ripped and dirty, and I’m the only one in Electronics tonight?”

“All right, but you’re getting a coaching later.”

I’m pretty sure the owner of Wal-Mart has a denim phobia.

Anyway…

I felt like wearing khakis.  I think because they ARE comfortable and I’m working in an office environment, maybe I switch it up from my jeans every now and again.  I realize that this is the first time this year I’ve worn them, because I discover a fundamental flaw in khaki pants.

There’s no watch pocket.

You see, jeans and dress slacks have a special place in the front pocket for a pocket watch.  That little mini pocket inside the pocket?  Yeah, that’s made for pocket watches.  Khakis feel they’re too good to have this, so I have nowhere for my watch.

This works out well enough, I figure I’d give my pocket watch the day off and put on my wristwatch, which I USED to wear constantly.  And it has been bugging me all day.  The extra weight on my wrist, the sound it makes as it touches the desk as I type, its annoying.  Well, guess I’ll get used to it, or I’ll just burn the damn khakis.

You ever have an idea, and think its a good idea?  You ever go through with that idea and think that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea?  I had such an experience just the other day.

GOOD IDEA:

Requesting friday off to attend to a few matters that have been piling up.

BAD IDEA:

Unwittingly requesting it from a boss who had just received numerous complaints about his team across town and was in a not-so-pleasant mood.  Also, saying you had ‘personal matters’ on 4/20.  I found out that this is some sort of weed holiday… or something.

GOOD IDEA:

Taking the car in for emissions testing on friday.  Its too bad I failed the test, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that it was a good idea.  I then take the car to the mechanic, who assures me he can get it to a passing state, but he’ll need it for a few hours.

BAD IDEA:

Leaving the car with the mechanic before securing a ride home.  I call my stepfather, who tells me that since he’s waiting for a dryer to be delivered, he can’t leave for awhile.

GOOD IDEA:

Its a nice day, and I could use the exercise, I decide to walk for a bit and wait for the call on my cell phone so I can be picked up.

BAD IDEA:

Its warm and I have a coat, it was 50 when I left the house in the morning, but now its 70.  Also my ankles and legs are becoming sore as I realize the whole road is a series of hills.  I begin mocking myself, “Walking is a great idea!”  Passersby look at the odd man in the wool coat ranting to himself.

I continue walking until I reach 63rd street (I began on Ogden, about 20 blocks prior), and decide I’ve walked enough.  I also realize there’s NOTHING here and decide to walk until I find a place to sit and get a drink or something.

There is nothing but a desolate suburban landscape from there.  Houses and more houses.  And as much as I wanted to ask random people to sit in their house and drink their soda, I decided it wasn’t in my best interest to do so.

Finally, I reach 75th street (there’s a place for every street, so its more like 24 blocks from 63rd to 75th), and there’s a Fuddruckers.  I’m hot and somewhat miserable, and think that a burger and fries might just be what I need.  I also know that in the distance, on 83rd (which didn’t seem quite to far on that day), was a very nice chinese restaraunt that made fresh fruit smoothies, which seemed like the ONLY thing that could make the trip better.

The road led me past a large pond, littered with beer cans and bottles.  Seriously, what kind of a-hole do you have to be.

GOOD IDEA:

Upon finally reaching 83rd street, I make my way down to Tai-San, and order a garlic beef lunch special with a fruit smoothie, filling me up and refreshing me for only $7.  I order the food and about one minute passes until its in front of me.  The smoothie takes longer, but that’s to be expected.

I call my stepdad and he says he can come get me, the Dryer guys just left.  When I tell him I’m at Tai-San, he is silent for a long moment.

“Tai-San, the place around the corner?”  I’m about two blocks from the house.

“Yep.”

“You walked from Ogden to Tai-San.”

“Yep.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Trip took about two and a half hours.  I estimate the trip to be about 12 miles.

There’s no bad idea to this particular one.  Chinese food and smoothies are ALWAYS good ideas.

GOOD IDEA:

Going to Maggiano’s with my fiance and my father.

BAD IDEA:

Doing it downtown where people actively try to turn my car into a tiny metal cube.

GOOD IDEA:

Spotting parking RIGHT ACROSS from the restaraunt for only $17 for the evening.

BAD IDEA:

Seeing that the valet parking is only $12.

GOOD IDEA:

Stuffing yourself with exquisite Italian food.

BAD IDEA:

Realizing that soon you will be stuffed, and can eat no more.

GOOD IDEA:

Returning home to play Dynasty Warriors.

And that’s pretty much it.  Good 4/20.  Not EVERYONE felt the need to smoke themselves into oblivion.

Zel-kun out.

The year was 2004.

The town was Merrillville.

Or Hobart, depending on who you ask.

The place was Wal-Mart.

I used to work in electronics, it was what I knew, and I liked to think I was good at it.  Unfortunately, the sea of backstabbing had finally taken its toll on me, and with a swift strike of the knife, I found myself removed from electronics.  Away from video game systems I have personally dismantled and reassembled to clean and repair, away from computers that I could actually use without a manual, taken away was the last hope customers had of getting any useful information out of that department.  They were left with a manager who has, on more than one occasion, put gamecube games in the playstation case because, “It doesn’t make a difference.”

I was then given the most mind-numbing job I’ve ever had the displeasure of accepting a dollar for.  I was made a cashier.  For eight hours a day, I swiped various products across a scanner.  I called for price checks, and I stood in one place, the constant *beep beep beep* echoing in my ears, each time announcing the death of another one of my brain cells.

I had no real break from it.  Every minute of my day was catalogued by ‘Customer Service Managers’, and if I was even one mnute late from my fifteen minute break (the time of which was written in stone), I would hear about it.  Paul (a friend of mine I met at Wal-Mart, and who remains one of my best friends to this day) had quit, and Pete had moved to Ohio, so I didn’t have any friends left there.

My one solace?  Reading.

I had finished reading ‘Song of Susannah’ by Stephen King, which was the second to last book in the ‘Dark Tower’ series.  I had been reading the ‘Dark Tower’ since I was a sophomore in high school, and to this day, remains one of the best series of books I’ve ever read.

The thing about ‘Dark Tower’ is that characters and events from Stephen King’s other books would be mentioned, and being the bookworm I am, I made it a point to pick up those other books.  Eventually I picked up ‘Salem’s Lot’, which sat next to nearly every other King book on my father’s bookshelf.  It was a well-worn hardcover, printed sometime in the eighties, with a young King on the back of the sleeve.  Along with the leather portfolio I carried everywhere, I carried this book to work, to read during my breaks.

After a day or so of this, the manager pulls me aside to talk to me, and asks what I keep stashing behind my register every time I come back from break.

“Oh, just this book I’ve been reading,” I hold it up.

“Yeah, you should leave that at home.”  He said.

I tried to jump back, but it was too late, I didn’t see the giant wave of stupidity coming towards me, and now I was soaked in it.  “Why?  Its just a book I read on my breaks.  That’s not against the rules.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be having it by the register.”

“Well… you only give women lockers for their possessions, so I really don’t have a choice.”

“You could keep it in your car,” he says.

“You make us park in the back of the lot, a round trip takes ten minutes.  My break would be over before it began.  Why can’t I just keep it here?”

“How can we be sure you didn’t steal it?”

I am stunned, I have no response for that that wouldn’t get me fired.  Because it is completely within the realm of possibliilty that I stole a hardcover book printed in the eighties from Wal-Mart, even though the expansive book section of one half aisle doesn’t carry ANY hardcovers, or any paperback copies of Salem’s Lot.

“Because I didn’t.  I just want to read a book I brought from home on my breaks.”

“Leave it the car, make sure it doesn’t happen again,” and with that he walked away.

Despite the dire warnings, I did not heed.  I continued to bring the book to work.  I must have been pretty pompous, I must have thought I was an adult or something.

Oddly enough, I never heard anything else on the matter again.  I’d like to think the other managers just laughed at my manager when he told them of how I might have stolen a book printed decades ago.

I’d like to hope that maybe… just maybe, there was still, tucked away deep inside, there was some intelligent life in that place.

Zel-kun out.

Well, I think the dinner with Zai’s parents went well enough.  We went to Benihana’s, and they exchanged a total of twenty words over dinner.  I did buy Zai’s father a drink at the bar, I’d like to think that went off well.

Zai’s mother DID pull my parents aside to express her concern for us moving in before marrying.  My mother didn’t seem overly concerned by that.

Wish I could write more about it, but NOTHING noteworthy happened.  It was actually a pretty bland occasion.  I’m thinking I have been eating at Benihana’s was too much.  Because I see the show and think, ‘Yup… flipping things around… I hope he gets to my noodles soon.’

I’ve been trying to eat healthier, which has been easier than I would have thought.  I’ve been eating salads and looking at the fat content of things I eat.  I’ve been having one bowl of cereal for breakfast and trying to eat a light lunch.  It definitely helps me stay productive during the day, rather than that hour or two slump after eating something heavy.

Lord help me, I even had low-fat dressing on my salad today.  And… I only used about half the packet.

If I can actually remember to exercise more often, I could be in reasonably good shape.  Maybe those kids will stop shouting “Beep beep beep” every time I back up.

I was told awhile back that the easiest way of avoiding eating too much was to eat normally, then write down everything you ate on a sheet of paper.  That way, you’ll look at it and say, “Damn, I ate way too much,” and guilt yourself into eating a little less.

Seems to work well enough.

Zel-kun out.

Y’know… bleh.

Ever have one of those days? Let me give you a rundown of my day…

WARNING: I get a wee bit technical.

9:15 - Come in to work, late because of two accidents on 355.

9:16 - I am informed that a printer I installed last night isn’t working properly. I spend twenty minutes with the print server administrator getting the right drivers uploaded.

9:50 - Everyone can print to the printer except for one person.

10:30 - After troubleshooting, it turns out that Windows 2000 is incompatible with the driver. I begin work to hunt down an older driver and load it to her computer locally.

10:45 - She is printing, so I finally return to my desk and am handed a laptop I’ve been expecting. So I load it up and while doing so, fire off a Zelkun update.

11:00 - The lady who’s printer I was working on calls to complain about her computer not working, completely bypassing the ticketing system. I head on up.

11:15 - I find out the docking station for her laptop is bad, making her external monitor flicker. I run upstairs to grab another.

11:30 - The new docking station works, but I find out her network jack in the wall is broken. I painstakingly crawl over the fifteen picture frames on TOP of her laptop to disconnect her, then crawl over the bags of random items under her desk.

11:50 - After successfully relocating her to a new location, I find that the network jack in the new location is inactive.

12:20pm - I get a call from Jeremy, a friend of mine from TekSystems, we were supposed to go to lunch today, and he had arrived at the building. I tell him I’m finishing setting the lady up, and I’ll be about ten minutes.

12:30 - After finally getting her set up at a working port with a working docking station, her computer flickers and freezes, tapping the chasis causes it to freeze, so I head upstairs to swap her hard drive.

12:50 - The symptoms are resolved with a new laptop chasis, unfortunately, Windows refuses to recognize the network card. I call Jeremy and tell him it doesn’t look like I’ll make it to lunch.

1:20 - For some reason, a flash drive I borrowed isn’t working. I burn the network drivers to a CD. Oddly, the 32MB CD takes ten minutes to burn. After which, my computer locks up.

1:30 - The drivers don’t work, a couple co-workers and I pronounce the laptop dead. Preparations for rebuilding and deploying a temporary laptop are underway.

2:00 - The external hard drive I’ve been backing up the data to fails. At the same time, a machine I was imagining gets caught in a boot loop.

2:30 - After a second attempt at imagining, I set the machine aside and begin building a new one. At the same time, I build the replacement laptop and begin a new data transfer onto a flash drive.

2:50 - The data transfer is a success, and the replacement laptop is nearly complete. After turning down a kind offer to replace machines on the twelfth floor, I grab my jacket, ask Mike, a co-worker, to name a machine when it finishes imaging, and escape to eat.

3:10 - I eat a Wendy’s Chili and a side salad. They are very good. The straw for my Dr. Pepper has a hole in it and sprays me a little.

3:40 - I return to work to find that Mike forgot to name the machine I was building. (to clear the air, I don’t blame him, but it did add to the day)

4:20 - A guy knocks on our door. Like an idiot, I ask if I can help him. He then shows me a nice Blue Screen of Death. So I move over the three computers I’m working on to make just enough space for his, when Mike says he has a lot of space and a it of free time, and takes the laptop off my hands. While he tries to pull data, I pull another laptop to replace his.

4:25 - Steve (another co-worker) tells me he just happens to have a laptop nearly completed. Which takes another bit of burden off of me. That’s when I look at the laptop I grabbed from the back and see that it won’t power on. I add it to my pile.

4:50 - With the machines I’m building nearly complete, I see a ticket for a lady that needs an aircard installed. I figure I have just enough time to help her. I find out that the entirety of her aircard management software is corrupt, and must be repaired, manually deleted, uninstalled, registry entries cleared, and reinstalled. All remotely.

5:50 - I finally hang up with her, and set to deploy the machines I’ve been building.

6:10 - The machines placed, I run away from the place as fast as I can.

6:50 - I arrive home, and toss my coat on my bed. My stepfather then asks me to look at his computer, he’s having some problems.

7:15 - I eat dinner.

7:30 - I help my stepdad out with his computer some more. (I love him, but I am SO sick of computer problems at this point.)

7:50 - I finally sit down to write the tirade you just read.

Thank you and good night.

Zel-kun out.

Saturday night… my parents will meet Zai’s parents.

Oh the horror of it all.

Picture, if you will, my family…

1. Very liberal in their thinking

2. Strong aversion to other races.  I wouldn’t call it racism, just… aversion.

3. Absolutely love the idea of us getting married, and moving in together before that.

 Now picture hers…

1. Very traditional and conservative

2. Mexican.  Her father doesn’t even speak English.

3. Grudgingly accept the idea of us getting married, and loathe the idea of us moving in together before that.

It will be an evening to remember, I’m sure.

In other news, my continuing work on my short novel is over halfway through the first draft.  I’m hoping to maybe, MAYBE finish the first draft by the end of April.  If I keep on myself to work on it every day, its possible.

Whenever I write, at least lately, I always have two voices in my head arguing.  One, of course, is the voice that says my writing is worthwhile and should be persued.  The other reads what I have just written and tells me how horrible it is, that I should quit now before I embarrass myself.

But, it helps that Zai is always waiting for my next chapter, and always supplies me with honest feedback.  I have made changes and improvements based on her advice, and I highly respect her opinion.  This is good, because a few years ago, I could never get honest feedback.  It would either be overwhelmingly positive, or it would become a nitpicking session.  In both cases, I rarely got honest feedback on the story itself.

So, I’m grateful for her input, and hopefully you’ll be finding my masterpiece on your bookshelves soon!

Zel-kun out.