Sinister: hopping ants & lollipops

[Odle, Katharine]

Greetings, Fair Sinisterines!

Halloween is shaping up to be a lovely day after all!  It got off to a bit
of a rocky start, as there was an earthquake at midnight.  How's that for an
omen?  It was especially unnerving for me, as I live in a building that was
built in the 1920s (terribly old for southern California).  I heard all
sorts of strange popping noises and creaking sounds, and my bed started
shaking worse than a vibrating bed in a cheap motel.  Not that I'm
personally familiar with such a bed or anything, lest you get any ideas
about my character.  It did get me to thinking about earthquake codes &
safety standards, and how probably such codes & standards were not part of
most building contracts in the 1920s.  Fortunately, it was a fairly mild
earthquake, and no damage was done.  Not even one of my collections of Pez
dispensers or Virgin Mary candles fell over.  Lucky me!  Then I came to work
this morning, and there was a little handful of plastic ants on my desk-- a
Halloween treat from one of my nicer coworkers.  The best part of the ants
is that if you press down lightly on their back segment (thorax? my
second-grade science knowledge is failing me at the moment) with your
fingernail, they hop all across your desk!  I had great fun hosting hopping
contests between my ants for the first fifteen minutes of my day.  Highly
enjoyable.  Next, another coworker passed out lollipops, which is a great
treat at nine o'clock in the morning.  After that, there was an announcement
that our Executive Director was buying us all pizza for lunch.  Hooray!  All
of these good things almost make up for the fact that, yet again, the office
radio has been usurped by our resident Metal Head, and I have been subjected
to all sorts of auditory horrors today. 

I would like to extend a general thank-you to all of you who have expressed
such admiration and praise for various musical groups.  I have "discovered"
many nice bands as a result.  Unfortunately, going to the local record shop
can sometimes be a bit of a traumatic experience.  The boys who work there
(all boys-- not a single girl.  strange.) seem to operate by the policy that
unless a customer fits into the indefinable category of Cool Kid, they are
not worthy of any sort of attention or assistance.  I'm guessing that I
don't meet their standards, because I often have to wait at the counter to
buy my cds for many minutes before someone will eventually stop their
conversation with another Cool Kid or get bored re-shelving records in an
order that reflects their own personal taste and decide to ring me up.  This
past weekend, I had yet another of these traumatizing experiences.  This
time, I decided to listen to a few cds (Sinister suggestions) before
purchasing, so I went to the counter to request to use the listening
station.  There is a big sign on the cd player that states that each
customer may only listen to up to three cds per day, and for a time limit of
15 minutes.  Only it's phrased in a rather threatening manner, and the "15
minutes" is in BOLD print, and in CAPITAL LETTERS, so you feel as though
they are all timing you with synchronized watches, and have an intricate
plan to inflict unimaginable pain and embarrassment upon the poor soul who
listens to a cd for two seconds longer than the allotted time.  I get so
nervous, and keep checking my watch, and sometimes it's so bad that I can't
even concentrate on the music that's playing, and I end up having to press
"stop" and take out the cd, even though I've probably only listened to it
for six-and-a-half minutes.  This was basically the scenario that happened
last Sunday, but with a twist.  This time, when I tried to take out the cd,
the machine decided it had other plans.  The cd tray opened, but it was a
five-cd changer, so it opened to slot three, instead of slot one where my cd
was resting.  So I closed it up again, and then pressed the open button in
the hopes that my cd would come out.  Well, this time it was open to slot
five.  So then I discovered a "skip disc" button, which moves the tray
around while it is open so that you can change discs.  Theoretically.  This
machine, however, decided that "skip disc" was actually a fun sort of game,
in which it would rotate and spin with great amusement, and tease me by
showing me every cd slot except slot one.  It was a battle of wills, and
mine clearly was not as strong as the one of the machine.  (this might be a
reason why I am on the Rachels team, and not the Wills. please don't hold
this against me, Rachels! i promise i am more adept at my own cd player than
the wicked one in the record shop!)  Finally, I decided that force was
necessary, since I was clearly not going to get my cd through skill,
accident, or begging.  Also, as I've said, the shop workers were otherwise
engaged with far more important matters.  So I was left with the only option
of grabbing hold of the tray, and forcing it to do my bidding by spinning it
to slot one.  Finally, the cd was mine!  This small victory was not to be
celebrated, though, as I still had to stand there at the counter for an
interminable time, waiting to be rung up.  At last, my new cd and I went
back to my apartment, where the cd found a much friendlier home.

I hope you all are having spookily lovely days, and that each of you gets
far more treats than tricks.

Love & Hopping Ants,
Katie
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