inferiorwit: (goat)
me: Hi, quick question. The website says you have a Dungeon Master's screen in stock but I can't find it on the shelf?
her: oh god

her, scanning the shelf: Wait, these don't go here.
her: (starts pulling books off the shelf)
me: Was that a gluten-free cookbook? In the gaming section?
her, with incredible weariness: YES.

her: Okay, let's check when it came in.
her: July 9th.
me: Oh Jesus, it could be anywhere by now.
her: Right???

me: So I'm guessing you don't move a lot of these.
her: WE DON'T.

her: Let's see if any of our other stores have it.
her: There's one in stock at... the Edmonton International Airport.
me: Right, of course.
her: Of course that's where it is.

me: This isn't a big deal, I just had $10 left on a gift card I wanted to spend.

her: I can call the airport location...?
me: I'm not going to the airport for a DM screen.
her: Yeah, I figured.

me: Well, thanks for the help, at least.
her: I'm probably gonna find it the moment you leave.
me: Probably.
inferiorwit: (socks)
Okay, so when my dad was in high school there was this really popular novel called Valley of the Dolls. Everyone thought Valley of the Dolls was the next great work of literature, the must-read of the decade.

So my dad picked up a copy of Valley of the Dolls. He started reading, and it wasn’t very good. But everybody seemed to think this was just the best book ever, so he assumed it must get really good further in.

Then the book ended.

This is all my roundabout way of saying that I’ve got the first Captive Prince book on my Kobo, but I haven’t read it because I’m worried it’ll be my Valley of the Dolls.

(Epilogue: one morning a few years ago, I was reading that week’s bestseller list aloud. I got to the name “Jacqueline Susann” and my dad immediately piped up with, “That’s the bitch who wrote Valley of the Dolls!

It’s been 50 years. He's still not over it.)
inferiorwit: (Default)

My dog hates this headband. Like. REALLY hates it. She keeps trying to jump up onto my shoulders so she can kill it. She weighs 15 pounds.
inferiorwit: (whirl)
7-11 has this promotional app thing where if you get 6 slurpees, the 7th is free, and on the one hand it would probably make financial sense for me to sign up but on the other I feel like it would mean admitting something about myself that I don’t want to admit.
inferiorwit: (Default)
I was in the Junque Cellar the other day and the owner was in the process of purchasing an antique ouija board from some guy who seemed oddly eager to be rid of the thing.

The owner was all like "Yeah, sure, I'll buy it, we get people coming in here and asking for ouija boards all the time."

I'm pretty sure I witnessed the opening scene of a low-budget horror movie.

Anyway, then the owner noticed my t-shirt and showed me his bag full of cereal box Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles plastic rings, so I'm guessing he's not the villain of the piece.


Apr. 1st, 2015 06:43 pm
inferiorwit: (pony)
In 2011, I dropped out of university. I was pretty sure my life was over, and I needed work, so a friend helped me get a job as a laser tag marshal.

If you think that sounds like fun, you are wrong. It wasn’t the worst job ever, but it featured jackass teenagers, screaming children, belligerent parents, and cleaning up every bodily fluid known to man.
I had that job for three months. There are many people in the world who work far shittier jobs, for a hell of a lot longer than three months. Be kind to service workers, folks. It’s literally the least you can do.
Anyway, one of the managers owned a copy of The Black Keys' album Brothers, which he refused to ever remove from the lobby’s CD player. Over those three months, I listened to the entirety of Brothers approximately 8 million times.
I’m telling you all of this so you will understand how much I fucking hate “Howlin’ for You.”


Apr. 1st, 2015 11:35 am
inferiorwit: (Default)
My father used to run a community newspaper in rural Canada and absolutely fucking loved April Fool’s Day.
One year, the front-page story was about how the whole town—buildings, roads, and all—was being relocated from Ontario to Alberta. One reader told his wife, “There’s no goddamn way I’m moving to Alberta. I refuse to go.”
Another year he wrote a column in which he “confessed” to being a deep-cover Cuban spy. He was born and raised in that town, and yet people later came up to him and said, “I never knew you were born in Cuba!”
On one notable occasion, he ran a story that Essex, Kent, and Lambton counties had been sold to the United States. That one got cut out and pinned up in a car factory in Windsor. They thought it was great news.
He would usually write the first 150 words of the story, then add a turn that said “Continued on Page 18.” It was a 16-page newspaper.
I am the direct descendant of a man who used to regularly dad-joke a town of 4500 people.
inferiorwit: (whirl)
Yesterday, a man sat down next to me at the library and diagrammed his extensive conspiracy theory involving numerology, the police state, and the names of various primates. He explained all of this to me in the kind of urgent, hushed whisper that suggested he thought Someone Was Listening. After he was done, he said, "Frightening, isn't it?" got up, and left.

I love libraries.


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