A Morning Fiend, an Afternoon Friend
Traffic in the city this morning moved at the speed of a walking Lackey.
One of the advantages of living in the city, despite the ubiquitous yuppiness of the surrounds, is that I don't need to take public transport in a crush of people who just don't want to be there, or drive through polluted traffic jams to get to work. I get to walk beside those traffic jams instead.
Sometimes this is a mood enhancer as you leave those poor worker ants, trapped in their stainless steel and plastic cages, in your dust. You stroll merrily past the stuck cars, whistling and waving as you walk. Sometimes, it's a bit less uplifting, and they whiz past you, farting exhaust and throwing trash. Today the traffic moved at exactly the speed I was walking, which you might think would be mood neutral.
Well I'm afraid not. Keeping pace with me for almost the entirety of my half hour walk to what is commonly known as the f*ck-hole of suckage, was a goddam big enormous smelly and putrid garbage truck. How perfectly apt, I thought, how absolutely fitting that this should be my escort to monday morning at cosmodemonic.
And so that was fine, and I trudged undeterred through the pollution soup and the garbage stench, with the garbage truck pacing me, sometimes racing ahead, only ever to wait considerately at the next set of lights. Hey, I produce as much waste as the next lackey, I can cope with a bit of a stench reminder once in a while.
I did not count, however, on the flies. About halfway to work, they descended en masse from some secret inner bowel of the bastard, and they headed straight for me. I spent the rest of the morning perambulation waving my hands about my head in a demented haka. Eventually I shooed most of them over to a passer by who seemed to have used an unfirtunate fruit based hair product. He had a swarm about him so thick you could hardly see his face. But I'm pretty sure the expression under it all was unimpressed.
There remained one fly, buzzing around me, and indefatigable in it's interest. For moments I would think I'd lost it, only for it to suddenly emerge from behind me, or somehow come buzzing back from in front of me. Like something out of a horror movie, this fly was possessed of a will stronger than anything natural, and a monomania outside the bounds of the rational. He would fly towards me, I would flap my arms ineffectually, missing, and he would buzz around and away, sniffing an irresistable call in the smell I had now picked up from the garbage truck and the process would repeat. Of course, now that its job was done, the garbage truck, that rubbish repository turned demon dispensary, now turned off my path, no doubt in search of another victim.
The fly followed me all the way to 21CCd HQ, escorted me through the morning rituals with Young Eddie, and made his way into the lift with me. By the time we reached my desk, I had named him. Vodka-Legs. Because things that fly should be named Vodka- something and he has lots of legs. Also, he flies in circles similar to those I walk after drinking a bottle of vodka. Come to think of it, he reminds me of me in a number of ways: he's smelly, dirty and persistently irritating. He's lazy, judging by the way he prefers to sit on me when I walk rather than fly for himself. And he probably has bad breath.
It took a while for me to warm to Vodka-Legs. After all he is a filthy and annoying insect. But he has grown on me, and I have to confess, I'm rather fond of him now. Now I think he might be my best friend in the building. I tell him things and he doesn't tell anyone else, I start to feel close to him and he doesn't leave. Everyone else seems to wrinkle their noses as they pass my desk. Not my friend Vodka-Legs.
One of the advantages of living in the city, despite the ubiquitous yuppiness of the surrounds, is that I don't need to take public transport in a crush of people who just don't want to be there, or drive through polluted traffic jams to get to work. I get to walk beside those traffic jams instead.
Sometimes this is a mood enhancer as you leave those poor worker ants, trapped in their stainless steel and plastic cages, in your dust. You stroll merrily past the stuck cars, whistling and waving as you walk. Sometimes, it's a bit less uplifting, and they whiz past you, farting exhaust and throwing trash. Today the traffic moved at exactly the speed I was walking, which you might think would be mood neutral.
Well I'm afraid not. Keeping pace with me for almost the entirety of my half hour walk to what is commonly known as the f*ck-hole of suckage, was a goddam big enormous smelly and putrid garbage truck. How perfectly apt, I thought, how absolutely fitting that this should be my escort to monday morning at cosmodemonic.
And so that was fine, and I trudged undeterred through the pollution soup and the garbage stench, with the garbage truck pacing me, sometimes racing ahead, only ever to wait considerately at the next set of lights. Hey, I produce as much waste as the next lackey, I can cope with a bit of a stench reminder once in a while.
I did not count, however, on the flies. About halfway to work, they descended en masse from some secret inner bowel of the bastard, and they headed straight for me. I spent the rest of the morning perambulation waving my hands about my head in a demented haka. Eventually I shooed most of them over to a passer by who seemed to have used an unfirtunate fruit based hair product. He had a swarm about him so thick you could hardly see his face. But I'm pretty sure the expression under it all was unimpressed.
There remained one fly, buzzing around me, and indefatigable in it's interest. For moments I would think I'd lost it, only for it to suddenly emerge from behind me, or somehow come buzzing back from in front of me. Like something out of a horror movie, this fly was possessed of a will stronger than anything natural, and a monomania outside the bounds of the rational. He would fly towards me, I would flap my arms ineffectually, missing, and he would buzz around and away, sniffing an irresistable call in the smell I had now picked up from the garbage truck and the process would repeat. Of course, now that its job was done, the garbage truck, that rubbish repository turned demon dispensary, now turned off my path, no doubt in search of another victim.
The fly followed me all the way to 21CCd HQ, escorted me through the morning rituals with Young Eddie, and made his way into the lift with me. By the time we reached my desk, I had named him. Vodka-Legs. Because things that fly should be named Vodka- something and he has lots of legs. Also, he flies in circles similar to those I walk after drinking a bottle of vodka. Come to think of it, he reminds me of me in a number of ways: he's smelly, dirty and persistently irritating. He's lazy, judging by the way he prefers to sit on me when I walk rather than fly for himself. And he probably has bad breath.
It took a while for me to warm to Vodka-Legs. After all he is a filthy and annoying insect. But he has grown on me, and I have to confess, I'm rather fond of him now. Now I think he might be my best friend in the building. I tell him things and he doesn't tell anyone else, I start to feel close to him and he doesn't leave. Everyone else seems to wrinkle their noses as they pass my desk. Not my friend Vodka-Legs.
posted by Lackey | 1:01 pm
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