Eccentric Flower:199909/My Misanthropic Field Trip

I would just like to make an announcement. If you don't mind. Thank you.

I have no skeletons in my closet.

I have no deep-seated, hidden neuroses I am not displaying here. What you see is what you get. All of my quirks are displayed and dissected - perhaps even dissected a little too often. I have a known dissatisfaction with my body, gender especially; I have known problems dealing with men; I get really testy over the fact that I'm not as successful a writer as I'd like to be; I'm paranoid about what other people think of me (although not especially egotistical - it's just that I want to be sure what they think); I am a misanthrope, but not the severe, reclusive model -

Oh, wait. Actually, that last one was put to the test today, and came out the worse for wear.

It was simple. All I wanted to do was take one roll of 800-speed film to be developed. I went around three p.m and I wanted to be able to get it within about two hours of dropping it off. That's it. Not hard.

The original scheme was, I was going to go to the Galleria, drop off the film, and shop until it was ready. Good plan. Flawless on paper.

I may have to file suit against a certain one-hour photo chain in this town. I realize you're busy and I realize you have Help Wanted signs in the windows, but honestly, when you say "One Hour Service" in big lit letters under your name on the sign, I expect that you will actually be able to deliver photos in an hour, during all of your business hours, without exception. Otherwise you had better change that sign to say "Intermittent One Hour Service" or something like that.

These people were giving the customers in front of me times like 7:30 (for a small order) and 9:00 (for a big one). 7:30. I was in there before 3:30. No way in hell will I wait four hours for my photos. If I hadn't wanted the photos today, I'd have taken them to a lab that does better work in the first place!

Given that the photos weren't going to happen, I was in no mood to shop. It didn't help that the mall was jammed to the doors with humans. Hey, who said you were supposed to shop on Labor Day? Aren't you all supposed to be out having picnics or going to the beach for the last time this year or something? Grr.

Then I thought: Hmm, instead of walking all the way back to the Red Line I shall slip out the back door and get on the Green Line. It will take me, perforce, into the Back Bay, whereupon I shall go to the one-hour place there! Ingenious!

Except that one of the two photo labs there was closed for the holiday, and the other was closing early and would not be able to get my prints made before then, no. And for this I suffered one of the worst subway experiences I have ever had in nearly seven years here. I mean, not just jammed full of people, but jammed with people who clearly had no clue what they were doing or where they were going.

Hey, who said there could be tourists here on Labor Day? The season's over! Go home! The clueless freshmen and their parents are bad enough!

(You can tell the freshmen because they're trying so hard to look like they know what they're doing. The effect is, however, spoiled by the proximity of their parents stopping strangers and asking questions, while the kid prays for the ground to swallow him up then and there before he dies of humiliation. Just learn to ask for directions, kid. It's a great way to meet cute students of whatever persuasion you care for.)

I wandered around in a daze, stunned by the realization that I was not going to know how these pictures came out until tomorrow. I didn't want to shop. I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to let a red haze of annoyance form around me.

When I got on the train after my amble had subsided, I was the only non-tourist on the platform. Honest. Of some twenty people. I can't stand it, I tell you. (But I got a little joy back. I knew where the train would stop - it isn't marked - and I had a pass, so I managed to get on first while they were still forming a line and wondering what the fare was and whether they had any tokens left.)

Okay, I'm mostly cranky because of the photos. But it's also misanthropy. I don't have a problem with my fellow man when taken singly, only in crowds. And I love this city; I just want to thin out its population by about 25%. (Kymm, never ask me again why I won't live in New York City.)

Removing all the students would do nicely. Do you suppose we could relocate all the colleges into some nice commuter station? (It works for Texas A&M ....) Twenty minutes away by train should be about right. Then they can do all the stupid things they do without having it affect the rest of us; and the ones which survive will be stronger and more fit to rejoin civilization.

I'm sorry. I know some very nice college students, and at least one escribitionist who'll be starting college soon whom I respect greatly. But really, it seems to me that college is sometimes an exercise in seeing which form of blatant stupidity will kill you first. You're on your own for the first time, sure - does that mean that you suddenly lose half your brain cells?

Or can I just say that because I had all my stupid drinking experiments and so forth back when I was still in high school, and got them over with?

Perhaps I should just change the subject.

I wrote a new story today, about 4000 words. I consider it a depressing story - though not because of the mood above; I wrote most of it this morning, before my field trip. Nonelvis liked it. She said it was tightly written and she didn't think it was depressing at all. Of course, Nonelvis doesn't think the ending of Brazil is depressing. Come to think of it, I don't anymore either, which probably means she's rubbing off on me.

Anyway, if you're one of the people who usually goes into my story area, let me know what you think. It's called "Tale Unadorned." It's not the story I set out to write this weekend, but it's a lot better than writing nothing at all.

Oh, and since it's now officially Tuesday by five minutes, it looks like we went the weekend without purchasing a nightstand after all. Next stop: IKEA mail-order, full steam ahead.