Blood Musk

February 23, 2007 - 2:15

This morning at the bus stop I sat to wait on a wettish iron bench. A short man in a red parka approached me and asked me, please, to get up so that he could sop it up for me. I told him that I was fine, but moments later he approached me again. Squatting at my knee level, he asked me about the origins of my horse purse, in broken English that I was actively piecing together. All the while, I came to understand, he was just as actively peering up my skirt. I canï¿½t imagine it looking too enticing, a crotch in tights. But later on the bus I looked over at him, and he was confrontationally over-reclining in the upright seat, one hand resting loinside, never breaking gaze. I was strangely unbothered by these interactions.
At this office, more than any other that exists, Friday is some kind of insane celebration. Iï¿½ve heard ï¿½Happy Fridayï¿½ exchanged probably 10 times, and at one point I heard Margie chanting in the breakroom ï¿½Itï¿½s Friday, itï¿½s Friday, itï¿½s Friday, repï¿½ï¿½ to the great delight of others near her. I donï¿½t know whatï¿½s so great about Fridays here. They arenï¿½t even casual. However today, what I lack in casual is made up for in semi-tasteless indigo sheer. Iï¿½m not sure what provoked me, but I think it had something to do with making my hair appear darker.
And not to just talk about how weird this office is, but today they taped up a mattress sized banner saying:
"Remember- It's NOT business as usual!", and everybody signed it with jokes and mantras.

I'm afraid to ask what this means.