Dingleberry Gazette

My one-day world of wonkiness has ended.

Day before yesterday I was in a funk. Didn’t really give a damn about anything, just wanted the day to hurry up and get over. Went home, curled up, got good sleep.

Yesterday, it was like someone flipped a switch. I woke up refreshed. Either after reading of my malaise, or being the intuitive person she is, I got kind words from a friend, and it boosted my self-esteem immensely. Then I got a call from Clairissa while on the bus. Despite her best efforts to get me to freak out my fellow bus riders, I held a quiet, civil conversation. Which says something about her. I HATE talking on the bus. I don’t like strangers knowing my business, and people don’t fuck with me as much if they think I’m just another Portland Weirdo.

Work held its own surprises. Grinder met me at the door. “We’ve have some personnel changes. CaveWoman no longer works here, and is 86ed from the property. She failed to perform the duties of a cashier.” (Another catch phrase? Auditing inconsistencies.) “So you will be training a new person tomorrow, Thursday and Monday. He’s in the office, taking the OLCC test right now.”

Goody.

The Porno Queen was hanging around, doing the magazine rack and keeping me amused. My other coworker, Flagstaff, ran the register while I held court. Customers came and went, including my favorite DJ from Pirate Radio, the internet station upstairs. Grinder, intent on setting a good example, stopped my sale, demanded her ID, lectured me on proper carding techniques loudly enough for everyone to hear, then rerang the beer. DJ Pirate Booty smiled sympathetically at me, winked, stuck the tip of her tongue out at me and mouthed the words, “You rock!” Then her eyes shifted to Grinder, and an evil glaze came over them. Horns sprouted, her fingernails grew three inches, a glint came off her gold tooth, and a laser-look of detest shot Grinder’s way. Then she looked back at me, smiled and said, “See you next week, hon!”

C’mon lunch time! I have a mission to accomplish.

Today marks the release of Rob Zombie’s first live album, recorded on the last tour. There’s a Fred Meyer’s on 21st and Burnside, and I can bus there and back in an hour. I gave the Porno Queen a hug and thanked her for the scavenged porn DVDs from the returning magazines. (Stocking stuffers for XXX-mas!) I left Flagstaff manning the front, and I split for lunch.

I found the album, making sure not to get a censored version. (There’s little more insipid than a kid-friendly Rob Zombie product. C’mon!) I had my Rewards coupons, and when all was said and done, I had a brand new, just-released album for $2.99. Even in my vinyl-filled youth, the cheapest new album I remember buying was $3.99. I was like Martha Stewart, coupon queen!

I got back to work with ten minutes to spare. Flagstaff seemed upset, and wanted to leave. When I asked why, he told me that Grinder had called and freaked out on him. Before I could finish getting his story, the phone rang. It was the Porno Queen, itching to tell me what happened. Then Boss Whitney wandered in. Then Grinder called. When it all got sorted out, this is what happened-

After I left for lunch, Grinder called and asked for me by name. Flagstaff thought he said “Is the Troll there?” (Charles. The Troll. Said quickly after a couple of Fuzzy Navels, I could see it happening.) Flagstaff, giggled, thinking ‘how mean’, and handed the phone to the Porno Queen.

The Porno Queen and Grinder are like rival siblings. They love to hate each other, fight like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day they are friends.

The Porno Queen thought it was me, and started talking inappropriate nonsense accordingly. When she and Grinder figured out they were talking to each other, it was like that scene on Cheers when Sam and Woody get tricked into kissing each other in the dark. “EWW!!!”

A half-hour (and maybe a couple more Fuzzy navels?) later, Grinder called back, wondering why the fuck Flagstaff would insist on doing such a dumb thing. Apparently he didn’t mince words, and Flagstaff was ready to quit. He was copying down Master P’s cell phone number, and was going to call him right after he’d had a couple of shots of tequila to get his attitude on.

Boss Whitney and I went into crisis counselor mode. We explained away Grinder’s bad mood on job fatigue and Fuzzy Navel bravado. The Porno Queen thought it all was hilarious, once she found out the full story. Grinder called back, I put him on the phone with Flagstaff, and Flagstaff gave me such a dirty look!

Within two minutes, they were laughing about it. They even kissed and made up. (Complete with kissy noises over the phone.) Instead of leaving forever with a bad attitude, Flagstaff ended up staying an extra half-hour, and will be back to work tomorrow. I’m guessing Grinder’s hangover will be gone by now.

I have no doubt he’ll be in full-blown by-the-book procedural mode though. I seem to get the trainees anymore, and with Grinder helping pound every small detail into his head, we’ll have a sexual intellectual (fucking know-it-all) on our hands in no time.

If not, buy stock in peach schnapps. Grinder’s gonna be free-pouring…