b3ta.com user WorksInDUMBO
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» World of Random

I swear this is true
Several years ago, I was in a crappy used bookstore with my husband. He was dawdling around somewhere in the back, taking forever as usual. I was bored and hanging around in the front of the store, waiting to leave. I'm an artist, so I walked over to a display of art books. I randomly pick up one called "An Artist's Guide to Making it in New York City" and open it to the first page. First page, first sentence is a direct quote from ME. I nearly fainted dead on the spot. I leaf through the book, and find that I'm quoted in there several times.

The funny thing is, I have absolutely no recollection of ever being interviewed for this book. I don't remember talking to the author, and even if I did, you'd think he (or someone) would have told me this book existed.

If you want to see it for yourself, here's a link to Amazon--you can read the first page, first sentence (and then stalk me): www.amazon.com/Artists-Guide-Making-York-City/dp/1581151950/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1303401389&sr=8-11
(Thu 21st Apr 2011, 17:03, More)

» Performance

High School Band
I played the saxophone in our high school band. I was pretty good, and always had "first chair". Even as a Freshman, I was the best person in the entire band, and really deserved the first chair position. (No bragging, I worked really hard.) Unfortunately, at this time the first chair position was held by a Senior named Mark Norris who was a complete sexist asshole. He hated me inexplicably--I don't know why, I had never done anything to him, and I am generally very friendly. Maybe he felt threatened by me? But I think the fact of the matter was, he simply hated all women. He would routinely call me a "whore", "slut", and other degrading names. He made my life miserable on a daily basis. He also resented the fact that I got along fantastically with all of the other saxophonists in our section (all men) and of course they (and pretty much everyone else) hated him with a passion.

At the end of the year, we always had a big concert. This was well-attended by our schoolteachers, school-mates, and parents. I came in just before the show was about to begin, and the audience was getting seated, and the band director was seating the band. He told me that he was changing our seats slightly, and that we'd all be sitting one chair to the left. Mark Norris came in and said, "you are sitting in my seat. I am first chair!" I replied calmly, "no, the band director moved us..." He says again, angrily, "I am first chair! Look--my gym bag and everything are right there!" So in front of a fairly quiet audience, I stood up, took his gym bag, shoved it at him and yelled loudly, "THERE! There's your fucking gym bag and there's your fucking chair!" Dead silence in the auditorium at this point. He took the gym bag and hit me HARD across the chest with it. It was full of books, and a heavy metal lock. I immediately burst into tears and in front of the entire audience proceeded to SCREAM HYSTERICALLY at him every profanity I knew. When I was finished, I ran, red-faced, tears streaming down my face off the stage. 2 seconds later the audience and band burst into applause. It was all at once one of THE worst and best moments of my life.

PS, I got in huge trouble afterwards from my parents, the principal, and the band director. Mark Norris? Got in no trouble at all.
(Fri 19th Aug 2011, 16:09, More)

» Losing it

Not me, but my mother
One day, out of the blue, my mother inexplicably started calling the family dog "Martha". The dog was a big male husky named Brutus. We didn't know a soul named Martha, either. She insisted that we ALL start calling the dog Martha, and when we refused, she went out and bought a gigantic key chain that said MARTHA on it, and put it on the dog's collar.

He ran away the next year.
(Sat 23rd Jul 2011, 16:34, More)

» Creepy!

I used to work a night shift in Midtown Manhattan. I'd get off work at 1:30am and have to take the train back to Brooklyn. This time of night was pretty desolate on the subway platform at Grand Central--there was usually just me, a couple homeless people, and a few people from the Post Office who seemed to get off work at the same time that I did.

One night I was standing on the platform waiting for the express train. On the other side of the platform, the local #6 train pulled in. The doors opened--ding dong!--and when I looked inside, there was blood everywhere. It looked like someone had performed open heart surgery and then danced around in the blood and smeared it all over the walls. A lone, well-dressed man walked out of the train, perfectly clean and neat except that his hands and arms were bloody up to the elbows. He was holding his bloody hands up like surgeons do just after surgery. Without saying a word or looking at anyone, he calmly walked up the stairs. Doors close, train leaves. The 2 or 3 of us standing on the platform all exchange bewildered looks, but no one does anything or says a word.

I never found out what happened, nor can I come up with a plausible explanation.
(Fri 8th Apr 2011, 18:27, More)

» Stupid Colleagues

Idiot Production Manager
(first time posting! be nice to me. Or I will cry.)

I work at a small publishing company. The Production Manager is a complete idiot, and talks on the phone LOUDLY all day to her loser daughter Violet, who is 20 years old and lives at home, sleeps all day, and apparently cannot shit, eat, or take a shower without 3 loud nagging phone calls from her mother. She routinely has to leave early or take entire days off because she has to "take Violet to the doctor". Most recently, Violet has had several doctors' visits because she "smells funny."

No one in the office can stand this woman, and she is such a complete moron that it is nearly impossible to have a conversation with her. Our offices are situated beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, and we have a fantastic view of the New York Harbor and the Manhattan skyline, including the Empire State Building. It's stunning, and this idiot has her desk in the corner with a tremendous panoramic view of the whole thing. So one day she stands up and looks out the window like it is the first time she has ever seen the view and asks, "So what is that? Is that New Jersey over there?"

She also has a tremendous hangup about the door. I sit near the door, and this results in at least one insipid conversation about whether or not to leave the door open or closed every single day. Today's conversation:

her: do you want me to leave the door open or closed?
me: I do not care one way or another.
her: because it was closed when I got here, so I thought maybe you wanted it that way for a reason.
her: well sometimes, you know, people complain that it is too hot in here so they want to leave it open. did anyone say it was too hot in here?
me: [no response]
her: you see, if I leave it open, I think someone is going to steal my coat!
me: no one is going to steal your coat.
her: I'd better just leave it closed.
me: [no response]
her: maybe I should just take my coat back to my desk with me in case someone leaves the door open.
me: [no response]
her--loudly, to everyone sitting in the vicinity: does anyone care if I leave the door closed?!
entire office: [no response]
(Thu 3rd Mar 2011, 19:25, More)
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