On The Call Of The Hospitable

Late last night I attended a soiree to which was designed for a coworkers friends to say goodbye before she left to see her father in Bolivia. One fact about my personality was cemented into my mind as it often is in these situations- I am no good in groups of people. There's a block somewhere in my head, preventing me from having any idea whatsoever on what to say. If I'm left in a room with one person, I can generally strike up conversation easily. But you put me in a situation with more than a couple people and I'm at a loss for words. This includes friends as well.

I knew this would happen, especially since I barely knew anyone there. But I couldn't not go because the hostess was gracious enough to invite me, when apparently it was an "exclusive" get together.

I feel compelled to make appearances at these sort of things regardless of scenario because I know that to grow as a human being I need to be comfortable around others of my species. But no matter how aware of this I may be, I can't seem to pull it together. People just bug me. Bug me to the bone. Or maybe I just bug myself.

So for the most part I just sat outside with whomever decided to wander out there, smoking and listening to conversation. I left shortly, after the sense of not fitting in became too much to bear. And I proceeded to rock the fuck out to "Are You A Hypnotist??" by the Flaming Lips while coughing my lungs out from smoking half a pack in the previous hour and a half.

The moral of the story? I have no idea. I wish I did.

Left to his own devices,
Mk

On His Assimilation Into Society

3 and a half years of ambitious career-building at Albertsons/HEB has recently come to an end. It just goes to show you, the average person doesn't come down with a contagious illness three times a month. I didn't figure this out until I was called back into work at 11 am, 4 hours after I would normally have gotten off of work. You know, If I hadn't been sick again. (It was a terrible Autumn for alleged nausea and explosive diarrhea). My manager and I had a friendly chat in which he fired me. Oh shit, I thought. I've never been fired. Since when was being a pathological hypochondriac a crime?

What followed was me getting adjusted to daylight, rush-hour traffic, and homo-sapiens. I had a month and a half of incredibly dilligent job searching. But as misfortune would have it, none of the twelve applications I turned in granted me an interview. Eventually operation "Sean Saves Unemployeed Mk" was put into motion, its execution found me serving as a waiter at Red Lobster.

Going from a hermit over-night grocery stalker tobeing thrust in the middle of humanity proved difficult, as I had expected. But what I didn't anticipate was how many bricks I'd shit in the process. I've wanted to punch customers in the throat and rip out their larnyx for transgressions against my character at least a few times already.

So yeah. I find society a little dense for someone as vaporous and as free-spirited as myself. I feel like an angel descended from the perpetual peace of silence and complete alienation into the maw of the clamoring, multi-headed beast that is society. Its both frightening and funny and relieving all at once. Things happen and I witness them. Its almost too much to bear.

I'd missed ya, humanity. You're like a bad cat who pisses in corners just to spite you. Meowing late at night and early in the morning just because you want to eat grass. Biting me for no real reason. But damn, kid. You got spunk.

Now please start returning my calls,
Mk