part 2

I look at the clock. Damn. 3:45. I suffer another hour and 15 minutes trying desperately to sell piece of shit photocopiers to another company that probably has enough photocopiers to xerox the collective ass of the state of Illinois. I once thought about complaining to the Better Business Bureau, citing how boring this job is.

Samuel peers over his cubicle in a way that reminds me of meerkats. "Squawk One!", he says. "Fox One, this is The Rooster.", I reply. We play a lot of SOCOM.

"Strange Wind today. My hat stayed on, but my head blew away"
"There's a polar bear in my refridgerator and my sister is for sale"
"Backwards Bill did WHAT?"
We get back to work.

Confused?

Sam says he has tickets to a show at The Strange Wind, a nice little club on Michigan Ave. I say I don't want to go and that I'd rather go to the pub, have some drinks, and go home peacefully. Sam complains that If I don't go with him, he'll be stuck with Bill. Bill, as one could expect, Is a little backwards. We think he's clinically paranoid, but we don't have any actual evidence of this.

Oh, yeah, the weird code. It's a little weird to explain. We can't even explain it. Sam and I came up with it one night after some heavy drinking, among other activities, varying in legality. That was the day I met Sam, I believe. Frosh week. I was a freshman, and he was a sophomore. I just got my ass handed to me in a snorkel race, and I went over him to steady my weary legs. I ended up puking on him.

For those of you who didn't attend Wesleyan University, the snorkel race is part of the "initiation ceremony". Here's how it works: two or more people are given diving masks, one that restricts breathing through the nose, and a snorkel. The older, douchebag frat boys with popped collars who are initiationg you then pour beer into the snorkel. The winner is the person who drank the most beer through the snorkel without breathing. I got 2 oz before puking after trying to breathe in and getting a throatful of cheap russian beer that one of the older guys found in his basement.

Sam was all around larger than I. The kind of guy who looked like he won more than a few snorkel races in his time. Real scruffy, and had a very round face. He kind of reminded me of a younger Billy Mays, but with puffier cheeks. I was about 6'1", 120 lbs, with long hair and a stupid hippy look on my face. We look much different now. We look like guys who have to wear a suit to work. Clean shaven, instead of scruffy or stubbly. Short, combed hair instead of long or shaggy hair. I hate it. I wish we could go back to those days. Sitting around drinking and listening to old Pink Floyd on the record player in our room. Sam couldn't live without his record collection.

Oh, look at the time. 5:00. Off to the pub with me.