Reasons to Turn Down A Million Dollars

Yesterday I got off the bus at the transfer station. It was right after class, so I hauled my supplies across the station to wait for my bus.

I passed a plump man in a t-shirt, and he said something that I didn't pay attention to because I thought he was just talking. After about seven seconds of standing and waiting, the man started walking toward me saying, "You're just the person I need to talk to." I realized he had been addressing me, and I kind of shriveled inside realizing he was headed toward me. "Are you good?"Oh, heavens, I don't even want to know to what you are referring. I honestly thought for a fleeting moment he had me mistaken for someone or something I am not.

I just looked at him with a confused face, and asked, "What?" hesitant for the answer. He then pointed at my art portfolio, and I remembered that I had my supplies with me. "Oh... Um, I'm not that great. I am just in school for art." Please go away.

"You're a beautiful girl. Do you draw? Paint? Do you by chance do 3D art?"

"Drawing mostly..."

He then went on to tell me about his "children's" "book" he is "writing" and how he has "lot's of people" "helping" him with his "book". And also his plans to self publish this book. And how Pixar will buy it. Because it's a good story. Like Tangled, and all of those movies. He just needs an illustrator. Would I be interested?

No. No, I would not be interested. "No, I don't think I'm the person you want to talk to. I am busy with school right now and I am still learning."

"Would that still be your answer if this got you a million dollars?" he asked in his best salesman voice.

"...Yes."

"Oh, come on, I will post it online, then a dollar a click, and that's two million dollars there, and then Pixar will buy it... I would split the revenue 50/50 with you."

"No, thank you."

"Do you like to dance? Do you work out?"

"...I don't really have time for that." [I left out the part where I'm a lard when it comes to physical movement and how it's none of his business.]

"Do you like food? I mean, you look like you never eat."

Please leave me alone. I don't even want to know what you're getting at right now.

"So, is there a time we can sit down and talk about this?"

"No, I really am not interested."

Then I looked down at my phone that was receiving a "phone call". And I excused myself and had a "conversation" with "someone".

During my phonecall I said that I would "call her and call you back." Then I called my dad and demanded that he stay on the line with me.

Then the man got on the bus that I was going to get on. Needless to say, I waited for over a half hour for the next bus.

Exchange

Today a package came at work. I verified with my boss that we were expecting the package. Then the mailman told me to sign the electronic signature gadget. I grabbed the pen on the counter and began to sign. The mailman partially panicked and exclaimed that I need to use the electronic signature gadget pen, and not the ballpoint pen that I didn't realize I had picked up. The letters B-E were already penned onto the screen. I felt a little silly.

I got over it after I mopped up the mailman's footprints that were left beautifully scattered over the freshly cleaned floor. Because then we were even.

Tall

So, if I discover that I'm really 6 feet 1 and 1/2 inch, do I tell people I'm 6'1" or do I tell them I'm 6'2"?


Also, I just had a thought. Does it even matter?

What if I started asking average-height people how tall they were?

Shouldn't people asking me how tall I am

be as weird as me asking random shorter people how tall they are?

Should I just return the question when people ask about my height?

This is becoming problematic.

Now Put Your Hands Up

It was Alex's birthday.

We, the trio, frequently make an appearance at Vill Inn. Also referred to as Village Inn. It's tradition. So we went to put some grub into our bellies.

There was a large group of high school students occupying some of the tables. They left just before we did, and after we left, there they all were, chilling in the parking lot. Sitting outside of their cars. Hip hop blasted. Pumped up bass. Pumped up kicks, more than likely.

So Kiyna, Alex and I scampered over to my car, ignoring the awkward looks the high schoolers threw at us. When we got into my vehicle, I said, "Want to be obnoxious?" I turned the key, rolled down the windows, turned the radio up to the first song I found, and I pumped up the bass. "All The Single Ladies" wasn't the most gangster song I could have found, but we all found it mildly amusing.

So I started to back out of the parking spot and all seventeen year-old eyes were observing us skeptically. The three of us laughed and sang along, "...shoulda put a ring on it..."

Thud.

The tire hit the curb on the way to back out. I braked. I blinked. I pulled forward. And I re-pulled out of the parking space. As "All The Single Ladies" and the high schoolers' gangster music blared through the parking lot, we experienced a very awkward moment.

But at least three of us were laughing hysterically.

Entrance

My uncle got me this new job.

He brought me a security card. The unlock-door kind.

"You just hold it up to the box, and it unlocks the door."

It sounded simple enough. But I was still afraid that I wouldn't be able to get it. The next day, the door was propped open with a dustpan. I was relieved that I didn't have to use the security card. The day after that, It was just me, the door, and the card.

I scanned the card, the light turned green, and the card made a beeping sound. I'm in, I thought. I went to turn the handle, and my worst fears were confirmed. The handle wouldn't turn. So I scanned the card again. And again. And again. And again.

And again.

The handle just would not budge. So I ran to the main entrance [Who am I kidding. I walked to the main entrance.] And went through to the factory. I told my boss and my uncle that the card wouldn't work. My uncle said to just try it one more time to see if it would work.

So today I pulled up to the building. I was purposely a little early, in case I had to walk around to the main entrance again. I scanned the card. I turned the handle. Not really, because the handle wouldn't turn. So I scanned it again, and again, and again.

Irritated, I scanned it one more time and pulled the door open. It ended up that there was zero handle-turning necessary.

So I went about my day stacking planners, etcetera.

Later on, I kept hearing a buzzing noise. The you-got-the-answer-wrong on a game show type of noise. I wasn't sure what it was.

Even later on, I heard the noise again, and a couple moments following, I saw a group of employees walking up the stairs by the scan-card door.

And then I realized what the sound was. Every time someone scans their card, the game show buzzing noise follows.

No wonder I got a strange look from my cousin when I walked in today. Because everyone had to hear the buzz buzz buzz buzz of me trying to make an entrance.

And, boy, did I make an entrance.

I'd Like to Buy a Vowel

It's fun to wake up at the exact moment your gym class begins.
It's fun to realize you were too out of it to set your alarm the night before.
It's also fun to say, "scratch that," and to go back to bed for an hour longer.

Sometimes just before you're supposed to go to your biology class where a quiz is waiting, your nose begins to bleed. Sometimes the nosebleed stops. Sometimes the nosebleed starts up again. Sometimes you're twenty minutes late to biology and you miss your quiz.  Sometimes your professor calls you out on your tardiness and interrogates you in search of the reason you were late. Sometimes you tell the whole class that you had a nosebleed. Sometimes you feel really awkward. Sometimes your professor picks on you during the lecture because of your tardiness and asks what an enzyme is. Sometimes you don't remember that an enzyme is a protein. Sometimes you feel really awkward when you know you should know that an enzyme is a protein, and the whole class laughs at you from inside their brains. Sometimes your professor makes a disappointed face and explains to the class that an enzyme is a protein. Sometimes you write "An enzyme is a protein" in your notebook with underlines beneath "enzyme" and "protein". Just in case your professor decides to ask you what an enzyme is sometime in the future. Sometimes your professor picks on the other students, but only asking them to read simple sentences aloud for the rest of the class. Sometimes your insides roll into a ball because remembering that an enzyme is a protein is much more difficult than reading a sentence out loud that you could have read backward in the first grade.

It's nice when your professor lets you take the quiz you missed after class.
It's nice when that quiz is pretty easy.

I'll definitely be setting my alarm tonight.
I'll definitely walk around with a clothespin in my pocket. Just in case I have another nose incident.
I'll definitely never forget what an enzyme is.