October 23rd, 2007


Good Morning/Afternoon, This Is Steven. How May I Direct Your Call? Hold Please.

You ever get in one of those stretches where you're on the move so much you don't have two seconds to think while you're taking a shit?

Yesterday was Monday, I think. I set my alarm for 8am because I didn't have any work lined up and wanted to be alert enough to hear my phone beep with a missed-call from my temp agency. You know, just in case. Well, 9 minutes later, I returned a call for a 1-day assignment at this ... place. Somewhere on Park Avenue South, I have no idea what they did, but I was their receptionist for a day while their regular one called in sick or whatever. That meant I had to shower, dress, and get on the subway within the hour, which I did and managed to get there at 9:15.

While there, I answered a few phone calls, messed around on the Internet, and did some heavy reading on this novel I've had since Houston. Then, with less than a half hour to go in my workday, I got a call from Eric - who was in town working for the last couple days. I was to meet him in Times Square at 8pm. Then, around 5:30 - quittin' time - I got a call from my temp agency. They had another assignment lined up for me. This one will last one to two months - essentially until Christmas vacation - and guess where it is.

The 43rd floor of the Empire Motherfucking State Building.

It almost makes me wish I didn't waste my money when my brother was here; but then I remember that experience itself ALREADY made me wish I didn't waste my money.

Again, I'm receptioning. Only here, they actually have other projects and things for me to do while I'm sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. It's with this French-owned hotel company. I've always contended there's nothing hotter than a woman with a French accent, but that's neither here nor there. So far I like it, but they have similar Internet-restrictions as the place I was at last week. The only upside is that I'm not sitting around looking over my shoulder every three seconds as I beat Free Cell for the umpteenth time. I'm actually allowed to read.

Anyway, getting back, it's 5:30 yesterday and I'm on my way home. Since I had to meet Eric at 8, that meant skipping dinner, quickly changing out of my monkey suit, and going straight to the gym. Got the full allotment of running in and made it back a little after 7pm. Just enough time to shower, change again, and get my ass to Times Square. Beat Eric by a solid 6 minutes.

Virgils. Virgil's Barbecue. Holy Crap did we eat too much food. For starters, we split some Barbecue Nachos. Now, I know, I'm nacho average nacho guy, but this mound had plenty of jalapenos AND barbecued ... meat and sauce all mixed in there. So good. I may never have nachos again, but if I do, there better be sauce and basted meat nearby. Then we each got entrees - all of this on the company dime thanks to Eric getting a daily food stipend every time he travels. I had the brisket sandwich and fries. And an Oatmeal Stout beer. My stomach exploded and I died thirty minutes later.

Afterward, my ghost and Eric went to the ESPNZone where we sat at the bar and each drank AH beer as we watched the Colts beat up on the Jags. I had to bounce at around 10:30 because he had an 8am flight and I had a 9am job. I got inside my apartment a little after 11 and immediately passed out. Went to work today, and am now catching my first breather in two days. In a little bit, I'm gonna go turn this breather into a panter at the gym.
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