As you all know by now, we "sell out" of Nofriendo Giis every day. Of course, by "sell out" I mean "sell however many the managers decide to sell that day so's they feel powerful or whatever."
If you grovel grovel at the right manager--I mean really beg and kiss their butts--you MAY be able to get them to give you the hook up.
Well, we peons don't like that and have started a little revolution of our own.
Once or MAYBE twice a day if we get customers who REALLY want one and are nice or funny about it, we sneak a Gii up to them and sell it on the sly.
Last Friday I got a lady on the phone.
"Thank you for calling Nofriendo World Land, this is Forkissimo speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hi. Do you have any Gii?"
"No, ma'am, I'm sorry. We only have three left and unless you're in the store right now, we'll be sold out by the time you get here."
"Noooooooooooooooo!!! But my son's birthday is on Sunday! What am I gonna do! I'll do anything! ANYthing!"
"I'm sorry ma--"
"My husband is in Long Island! What if he comes up right now?!"
"Umm..."
"Please! Help a desperate parent! You'll be a hero!"
"A hero, huh?"
"Yes!"
"Okay ma'am. Hold for one second. Left me see what I can do."
I asked one of the leaders of our Gii Revolution if he thought it would be okay to give her the hookup.
"We give her our blessing. Permit her to purchase the Fun Machine."
"Ma'am, can you husband be here in an hour?"
"YES!"
"Okay. Have him come up to [undisclosed location] and have him ask for [me]. We'll hook him up. But tell him to be discreet. We can't afford to get busted."
The hubby showed up and gave the secret password. I slunk away and returned with the parcel.
Having paid, he dashed out--but not before looking at me and saying, "Thanks a million, buddy. Lunch is on me." He slapped a 20 in my hand.
Lunch, schmunch! I buyin' a bottle of vodka!
And that's how I got my first tip.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
SpoilerZ
Page 256.
He's not dead yet.
If I don't get a dead kid by the end of this brick, I'm going to be pig-biting mad.
Almost halfway through...had to take a break. My eyes were getting crossed.
I'm REALLY going to try and finish it today. It's everywhere. Everybody's talking about it. Particularly people who haven't read the books.
I'm scared to go out.
* * *
Chapter 18, Page 350
Come on, kids. Didn't you see Lord of the Rings? What are you doing WEARING that?? Take that stupid thing OFF and put it in the magic bag! What the crap, J.K.? Why do you do this to us?
And Harry, do you have a mild case of downs syndrome? This is the SEVENTH TIME we've been over this! The KEY is USUALLY found in the thing you initially thought was a piece of CRAP.
There's no way I can finish this thing today. I'm reading as fast as I can--even skipping chunks of the rather tedious, question mark-filled prose and going straight for quotation marks.
It's only six. I managed to cover a hundred pages in an hour and a half. So that means if I keep reading at this pace I should be finished at midnight.
Hmm.
Wish me luck.
He's not dead yet.
If I don't get a dead kid by the end of this brick, I'm going to be pig-biting mad.
Almost halfway through...had to take a break. My eyes were getting crossed.
I'm REALLY going to try and finish it today. It's everywhere. Everybody's talking about it. Particularly people who haven't read the books.
I'm scared to go out.
* * *
Chapter 18, Page 350
Come on, kids. Didn't you see Lord of the Rings? What are you doing WEARING that?? Take that stupid thing OFF and put it in the magic bag! What the crap, J.K.? Why do you do this to us?
And Harry, do you have a mild case of downs syndrome? This is the SEVENTH TIME we've been over this! The KEY is USUALLY found in the thing you initially thought was a piece of CRAP.
There's no way I can finish this thing today. I'm reading as fast as I can--even skipping chunks of the rather tedious, question mark-filled prose and going straight for quotation marks.
It's only six. I managed to cover a hundred pages in an hour and a half. So that means if I keep reading at this pace I should be finished at midnight.
Hmm.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
X-MAS!
I've been thinking about money lately.
By that I mean more than usual.
I remember the fancy Christmas party I went to last year. This was the big one. This was it. This party was the reason I moved to New York. Uncle Milty's contact was hosting. All I was supposed to do was latch onto Auntie June (the hostess) and hang on as she whirled me around the party introducing me to bigwigs in the entertainment industry.
That didn't happen.
So instead of rocketing from hapless schmuck to Off-Broadway actor, which, I must confess, was what I had in mind, I did the next best thing: I went to work at NofriendoLand (thanks, Mom!).
Since then, my evenings have been filled with rehearsals for basement off-off Broadway shows that don't pay, and bedtime ponderings of the, "Goodness. I wasn't expecting THIS" variety.
This lofty dream that's so close...and yet, so far.
But something else happened at that Christmas party that I had forgotten until very recently.
Once, at the party, I realized that these best-laid plans to give me a career boost had all but crumbled around my ears, I began a conversation with one of the hottest Broadway actors in attendance at the party: a ten year old kid.
If a show on Broadway needed a kid in the past four years, this kid was the one they called.
I told him I worked at NofriendoLand.
His eyes got wide. He asked me a million questions. I became the coolest person in the room.
I thought about the irony of it all. Part of me wanted to strangle this kid. He was the darling of the party. While the hostess was passed out on her chaise, all the agents and folks who were supposed to meet ME were all goo-goo and gaa-gaa over this little thesp.
But then I was struck by the fact that this kid, who had what I wanted, wanted what I had.
I think it's would be the coolest thing ever to be a career actor on a big stage. He thought it was the coolest thing ever to sell Nofriendos and have access to all the latest video games at a super-cool video game store.
Isn't that funny?
By that I mean more than usual.
I remember the fancy Christmas party I went to last year. This was the big one. This was it. This party was the reason I moved to New York. Uncle Milty's contact was hosting. All I was supposed to do was latch onto Auntie June (the hostess) and hang on as she whirled me around the party introducing me to bigwigs in the entertainment industry.
That didn't happen.
So instead of rocketing from hapless schmuck to Off-Broadway actor, which, I must confess, was what I had in mind, I did the next best thing: I went to work at NofriendoLand (thanks, Mom!).
Since then, my evenings have been filled with rehearsals for basement off-off Broadway shows that don't pay, and bedtime ponderings of the, "Goodness. I wasn't expecting THIS" variety.
This lofty dream that's so close...and yet, so far.
But something else happened at that Christmas party that I had forgotten until very recently.
Once, at the party, I realized that these best-laid plans to give me a career boost had all but crumbled around my ears, I began a conversation with one of the hottest Broadway actors in attendance at the party: a ten year old kid.
If a show on Broadway needed a kid in the past four years, this kid was the one they called.
I told him I worked at NofriendoLand.
His eyes got wide. He asked me a million questions. I became the coolest person in the room.
I thought about the irony of it all. Part of me wanted to strangle this kid. He was the darling of the party. While the hostess was passed out on her chaise, all the agents and folks who were supposed to meet ME were all goo-goo and gaa-gaa over this little thesp.
But then I was struck by the fact that this kid, who had what I wanted, wanted what I had.
I think it's would be the coolest thing ever to be a career actor on a big stage. He thought it was the coolest thing ever to sell Nofriendos and have access to all the latest video games at a super-cool video game store.
Isn't that funny?
X-PLODE!
I'm fine, in case any of you were wondering.
But a word of caution--when it rains in New York, don't go outside. Seriously. That's the SECOND steam pipe that's exploded in my vicinity on a rainy day. The first one was down the street from our rehearsal space. There was a BOOM and everyone started running.
We were far enough away that we stood there and watched the pandemonium. Some older New Yorker looked at us and said, "What was that? It sounded like a steam pipe blowing up. Or maybe it was a car bomb. I'm getting out of here."
I thought this was an island, not a riverboat.
But a word of caution--when it rains in New York, don't go outside. Seriously. That's the SECOND steam pipe that's exploded in my vicinity on a rainy day. The first one was down the street from our rehearsal space. There was a BOOM and everyone started running.
We were far enough away that we stood there and watched the pandemonium. Some older New Yorker looked at us and said, "What was that? It sounded like a steam pipe blowing up. Or maybe it was a car bomb. I'm getting out of here."
I thought this was an island, not a riverboat.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 02, 2007
Best Day Ever
This blog entry began with two swigs of Southern Comfort. Just a little something to loosen the typing fingers.
I was working at NofriendoLand today, as usual. A grandmother came to the game area with her two grandsons. After about 45 minutes of going from game station to game station, the grandmother looked at me and shook her head.
"I don't know how you all do it. I've only been here for one hour and already I've got a splitting headache. What do you do when you go home in the evenings? Drink?"
To which I replied without hesitation, "Ma'am, it's like you read my mind."
Six o'clock rolled around and I began the walk home, thrilled at the prospect of a Monday night all to myself. Don't get me wrong. I'm terribly grateful to be doing a fourth show in New York City, however off-off it may be (and still slightly beaming at my characterization being described in a recent review as "vivid"), but make no mistake: doing Kingly the 2 six nights a week sucks. It sucks HARD CORE.
What's even more grating is how oblivious the director seems to be. Even the guy playing Kingly is ready for our raggedy little show to be over. We're scheduled to have a show on the 4th.
"Doing a show about a bunch of obscure British monarchs on the 4th of July? That's...un-American," said one of our cast members. She went on to say, "Who's that big of a schmuck to be in New York City on the 4th of July and go see an off-off Broadway production of SHAKESPEARE instead of going to see the fireworks?"
Word spread quickly through the cast to uninvite every family member, friend, and schmuck who was considering attending our Independence Day performance. No audience = no show, right?
We got an email from the director this morning.
"Hey gang! Just wanted to let you know we've got at least two people reserved for the 4th of July!"
It's funny how, as I sighed upon reading those words, I could literally feel the sighs of the 14 other cast members who were reading this email at the same time--cast members who really wanted to go to Coney and see the hot dog eating contest, throw back a few Jell-o shots, then head out to see the fireworks.
Maybe it'll rain. Who knows?
I walked home from NofriendoLand, thinking of all the things I could do with my evening. I got in and checked my mail. That's when I looked up and saw the posting on the bulletin board.
Dangit! The first tenant association meeting is tonight! And it starts in two minutes!
I threw my stuff in the apartment and turned right back around, heading for the garden about a block away where the meeting was to be held.
I was met with a bunch of middle aged folks who introduced themselves. Most of them had lived in that building for about a decade and, since the building had recently fallen into a serious state of disrepair and neglect, they finally decided to form this tenant association to see if they couldn't get a few things taken care of...
...like, for example, the front door which no longer shuts. It just stays open. All the time.
"And which apartment are you in?" they asked.
"I'm in apartment 2."
Their eyes went wide.
"OOOH! You're the FIRST!"
"The first since HER!"
"The first person to brave the apartment since SHE moved out!"
"Well, there WAS that other girl."
"Yes, but she only stayed for a few months. No sooner did she arrive than she packed her bags and was gone again."
"Excuse me," I said. "What do you mean by 'brave the apartment'? What happened there?"
They looked at one another as if collectively wondering who should spill the beans and if they thought I could handle it.
"She was a witch."
"A Turkish witch!"
"If I were you, I'd get a bundle of sage and hang it in your apartment."
"She was a horrible woman."
"JUST horrible."
"She would hold our mail hostage."
"That's right. She would pick up our packages while we were out during the day. Then she'd come to our apartments in the evening and say, 'UPS drop off package for you. You want? You have five dollars?'"
"She also held some old woman hostage, I heard."
"No, that's TRUE! It wasn't a rumor!"
"No!"
"I'm a masseuse by trade and she would stop me in the halls and say, 'I see men coming and going! You are an evil woman! Don't think I don't know what's REALLY going on in your apartment!'"
"She would post these ads in the paper...in the romance column. These men would show up to meet her thinking she was this exotic young belly dancer--"
"Apparently, that's what she was in the old country."
"--and they would feel so sorry for her that they'd take her to dinner, then dump her off somewhere as soon as they got the chance."
"She was the world's biggest pack rat. When they cleared out her apartment they found piles and piles of old newspapers. She even kept her garbage. Bags and bags of it."
"She was such a fire hazard they finally turned off her gas."
"But still she wouldn't get rid of her junk. Instead, she'd come knocking on my door knock knock knock 'Excuse me--may I bake potato?' NO! You may NOT bake potato, I said."
"I think someone died in there."
"No. TWO people died in there."
"I know her sister was dead for days."
"Yes. Then there was another woman who died there. They rushed her to the hospital, but the doctors said she was already dead as a doornail."
"Both of them in there. Dead for days."
"She would wander around the streets at night. She had this little dog she'd walk late at night... and she wore this bright red wig."
"Oh! The red wig! I remember that thing!"
"And remember when she moved out?"
"Here for years and years and years...longer than any of us..."
"And one day...she disappeared."
About that time--as I was about to say, "What do you mean she disappeared?"--the meeting got underway.
Why do I feel as though my life has just taken a major turn for the weird?
A Turkish Witch.
I was working at NofriendoLand today, as usual. A grandmother came to the game area with her two grandsons. After about 45 minutes of going from game station to game station, the grandmother looked at me and shook her head.
"I don't know how you all do it. I've only been here for one hour and already I've got a splitting headache. What do you do when you go home in the evenings? Drink?"
To which I replied without hesitation, "Ma'am, it's like you read my mind."
Six o'clock rolled around and I began the walk home, thrilled at the prospect of a Monday night all to myself. Don't get me wrong. I'm terribly grateful to be doing a fourth show in New York City, however off-off it may be (and still slightly beaming at my characterization being described in a recent review as "vivid"), but make no mistake: doing Kingly the 2 six nights a week sucks. It sucks HARD CORE.
What's even more grating is how oblivious the director seems to be. Even the guy playing Kingly is ready for our raggedy little show to be over. We're scheduled to have a show on the 4th.
"Doing a show about a bunch of obscure British monarchs on the 4th of July? That's...un-American," said one of our cast members. She went on to say, "Who's that big of a schmuck to be in New York City on the 4th of July and go see an off-off Broadway production of SHAKESPEARE instead of going to see the fireworks?"
Word spread quickly through the cast to uninvite every family member, friend, and schmuck who was considering attending our Independence Day performance. No audience = no show, right?
We got an email from the director this morning.
"Hey gang! Just wanted to let you know we've got at least two people reserved for the 4th of July!"
It's funny how, as I sighed upon reading those words, I could literally feel the sighs of the 14 other cast members who were reading this email at the same time--cast members who really wanted to go to Coney and see the hot dog eating contest, throw back a few Jell-o shots, then head out to see the fireworks.
Maybe it'll rain. Who knows?
I walked home from NofriendoLand, thinking of all the things I could do with my evening. I got in and checked my mail. That's when I looked up and saw the posting on the bulletin board.
Dangit! The first tenant association meeting is tonight! And it starts in two minutes!
I threw my stuff in the apartment and turned right back around, heading for the garden about a block away where the meeting was to be held.
I was met with a bunch of middle aged folks who introduced themselves. Most of them had lived in that building for about a decade and, since the building had recently fallen into a serious state of disrepair and neglect, they finally decided to form this tenant association to see if they couldn't get a few things taken care of...
...like, for example, the front door which no longer shuts. It just stays open. All the time.
"And which apartment are you in?" they asked.
"I'm in apartment 2."
Their eyes went wide.
"OOOH! You're the FIRST!"
"The first since HER!"
"The first person to brave the apartment since SHE moved out!"
"Well, there WAS that other girl."
"Yes, but she only stayed for a few months. No sooner did she arrive than she packed her bags and was gone again."
"Excuse me," I said. "What do you mean by 'brave the apartment'? What happened there?"
They looked at one another as if collectively wondering who should spill the beans and if they thought I could handle it.
"She was a witch."
"A Turkish witch!"
"If I were you, I'd get a bundle of sage and hang it in your apartment."
"She was a horrible woman."
"JUST horrible."
"She would hold our mail hostage."
"That's right. She would pick up our packages while we were out during the day. Then she'd come to our apartments in the evening and say, 'UPS drop off package for you. You want? You have five dollars?'"
"She also held some old woman hostage, I heard."
"No, that's TRUE! It wasn't a rumor!"
"No!"
"I'm a masseuse by trade and she would stop me in the halls and say, 'I see men coming and going! You are an evil woman! Don't think I don't know what's REALLY going on in your apartment!'"
"She would post these ads in the paper...in the romance column. These men would show up to meet her thinking she was this exotic young belly dancer--"
"Apparently, that's what she was in the old country."
"--and they would feel so sorry for her that they'd take her to dinner, then dump her off somewhere as soon as they got the chance."
"She was the world's biggest pack rat. When they cleared out her apartment they found piles and piles of old newspapers. She even kept her garbage. Bags and bags of it."
"She was such a fire hazard they finally turned off her gas."
"But still she wouldn't get rid of her junk. Instead, she'd come knocking on my door knock knock knock 'Excuse me--may I bake potato?' NO! You may NOT bake potato, I said."
"I think someone died in there."
"No. TWO people died in there."
"I know her sister was dead for days."
"Yes. Then there was another woman who died there. They rushed her to the hospital, but the doctors said she was already dead as a doornail."
"Both of them in there. Dead for days."
"She would wander around the streets at night. She had this little dog she'd walk late at night... and she wore this bright red wig."
"Oh! The red wig! I remember that thing!"
"And remember when she moved out?"
"Here for years and years and years...longer than any of us..."
"And one day...she disappeared."
About that time--as I was about to say, "What do you mean she disappeared?"--the meeting got underway.
Why do I feel as though my life has just taken a major turn for the weird?
A Turkish Witch.
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