Now I am eating potato chips, and looking at the other computer over there. Learned yesterday that we can now tell which mouse-button (left, middle, or right) a web-site visitor uses when clicking through a site. That strikes me as a cockamamie piece of information for which a demand will be created.

The machine receiving these words is a Sun Ultra-something Enterprise. I think. This is a very crowded, noisy room, and

Lost the train of thought. How unusual.

 
Monday, June 09, 1997
9:38:26 PM
Now I am at home, back on the damn Pentium

Last week, I was on the phone with a customer service rep from Chase Bank in New York. We needed to resolve a series of petty customer service inquiries; it was a lengthy call, lasting about 20 minutes. All kinds of minutia, thisses and thats and things we all needed to be sure about.

She was a nice woman. We talked about relocating, and how stressful it is. We talked a little bit about Atlanta. She lived here for a few years in the 1980's. We talked about mutual funds, and retirement plans. And for no real reason I started interjecting streams of gobbledygook into the conversation.

Or maybe it was just the standard nonsense of this life.

We'd been talking for about 10 minutes. She asked "Do you have a car?"

I said no. "I'll probably lease a Jeep in a month or 2. For now, I'm using public transportation."

For some reason, I feel like telephone customer service reps open up to me in ways they would not do with other customers. What is it about the directness of communication here? And why do I open up so cleanly to anything they ask?

She tapped keys and mumbled about not being able to find some piece of information regarding my savings account.

"You know," I said hugging the phone to my head, "clapping a horsefly slobbers me right off the bus."

A thrilling silence, and I tried to clutch the phone even closer to my face, getting it closer to the inside of my head, so I'd not feel the sweat and muck rubbing off of me and onto the phone, so I'd feel the panic crazying through her head. She did not let me feel anything.

I continued: "Was Marta built yet when you lived here? I saved a few Marta tokens, but the monthly pass is a good deal. I like riding the bus."

She said "I like the bus too," her voice suddenly rigid and wired.

"Oh yeah?" I probed. "You like the New York City buses?"

Maybe she did. I don't know. The conversation meandered around this and that. My social security number. Mother's maiden name. New zip code. She made me think of a New York Times telephone sales rep who took my order for a year of the Times delivered to my dad.

But I did not tell her that. Did not want her to feel second-rate, like just another voice down the wire.

More minutes of pale conversation. I checked off items on the list of things that Chase and I needed to straighten out.

"We're able to transfer those funds automatically at no charge to you. Would you be interested in that?"

"I'm drinking children's whisky cooled in the tub by warm, toxic slop."

That silence again. I continued "Are we able to transfer funds every 3 weeks?"

She waited a few seconds. Did not tap any keys, then said something which I can not remember. We chattered a bit about money and brokers, then settled on automatically transferring those funds on the 15th of every month. It was 8:15 in the morning, and I was calling from a company telephone there at the office.

Chilled regiments frowning properly against the drumbell.

What else did we talk about? Who can remember. I sneaked a lot of nonsense into the mix, and somehow felt rewarded by it. As our conversation neared its end there was a noise from the bedroom. I shouted away from the phone "LOOKIT YOU! SEVEN YEARS OLD AND FUCKING THE NEIGHBOR'S CAT!"

There was no one else here in the apartment. I made the sound intentionally by throwing a pad of paper across the room.

REVCO D.S. INC. A FRIEND FOR LIFE JUNE 7, 1997 4:22 PM 258 10 6580 1666 001 PRINGLES ORIGINAL 1B 1.59 YOUR LIFE VIT E 1T 11.29 MFG'R COUPON 1N 1.00- SUBTOTAL 11.88 GA 6% .68 4% GA TAX .07 TOTAL 12.63 CASH 20.00 CHANGE 7.37 REMEMBER! WEDNESDAY IS SENIOR SHOPPING DAY!

Tonight I think that the air conditioner should run at 68�, though I'm not feeling hot inside, nor is it warm in here. The air blowing over me right now makes my teeth chatter and my bones shiver, but when there is nothing to think about I get up and turn on the A/C. If there is nothing to think about and the air conditioner is already on, I get up and decrease the temperature. Last night it reached 57� in here before I realized how cold I was. Right now it is 50 fucking degrees in here, and I'm wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. What is the goddam problem, man..

It's been a long time since I shaved my face. I am not intending to grow a beard or anything; I just have no particular desire to look decent, dress sharp or feel any better than all this grizzly crap on my face makes me feel.

Last night, I dreamed about being in New York. Last night, the night before, and the night before that. And today, wandering around the Five Points area of downtown Atlanta (and remarking to myself on what a shitty neighborhood it is), I looked at the interesting people looking at me (and may have gotten out of there just in time to avoid trouble) and wished we were seeing each other in New York. Can not explain why, but I have no real desire to do anything here. Even with the year lease and the oh-so-solid job, this feels like just an extended business trip which could wrap up at any minute.

This morning, I woke up in the worst way possible. Angry. Angry about having lost my desk to incompetent movers who could not find a way to get it through the door of my old apartment.

Waking up like that is the worst way to meet the day, but it has happened almost every day this month. Something out of the dreams I have makes my stomach tight and burning, and today I fucking punched the life out of the mattress just to say hello.

A few of the things in life I can not stand are noise, bright light, and people who talk too much, or who talk nothing but bullshit. Since arriving in Atlanta I have been surrounded by all these things almost continuously. The new job is not working out like I thought it would, in large part because I work (temporarily, until they build the new officespace) in a room full of loud noise, bright lights, and people who talk like they just learned how to do it. At least there are no crotch-slurping dogs or screaming babies (the other 2 things I can not stand) to deal with. True hell must involve crotch-licking babies and screaming dogs.

Well, OK. now...

• May 14, 1997 - At the Transient Residence
• April 29, 1997 - This Time Will Be the Last Time
• April 27, 1997 - Leaving New York
• April 20, 1997 - Panty Waste