Friday, January 13, 2006


The last few days, I've been feeling like a** on a cracker. (Or whatever it is when you feel like when you wish you'd never been born. Never quite understood the cracker bit.) I am hoping it's just the January Blahs, and not something like the ebola virus/avian flu/dengue fever - because those are the types of diseases I would come down with.

On top of the aches and pains and general malaise, I had a minor road accident involving my mother's car and the telephone pole right outside the garage. I don't know how I could've missed such a large, unmoving, permanent, towering object. But I guess I am just that ill.

So anyway, I've been having a crappy couple of days. Sick of being sick and sufficiently wallowed in self-pity, I decided to snap out of it. And that was when my friend decided to drop by for dinner.

My friend, who is arguably the nicest guy alive, hails from humble beginnings in Kawasaki, a ghetto-suburb of Tokyo. (No hate mail, please. Don't know about its present-day conditions, but back then it was a sh*thole.) On the subject of telephone poles, he told me about a girl (let's call her M) with whom he went to elementary school. M was the object of ridicule, not only because of her arrogant nature, but because of her father.

M's father owned a toy store and wore a hair net. You'd think the daughter of a toy store owner would be popular, but no. It was the worst toy store, located next to a fortune-telling shop. One day, one of the kids from school went into the fortune-telling shop, and M's father appeared in all his hair-netted glory. He was a floundering businessman of little pride and would do anything to make some extra cash.

His toy store was full of used items, which he would pass off as merchandise. One time, a boy went into the toy store and found a baseball that he'd lost while playing outside. He knew it was his, because his name was written on it in fading black ink. (At least M's father had the good sense to give it a good scrub before putting it on the shelf.) And when he told M's father that the ball was his, the man took him outside and tied him to a telephone pole.

Crazy. Kinda funny, but crazy.

Sometimes, when you've had a bad couple of days and you need cheering up, nothing works faster than a reminder that it could've been worse.


Blogger Unknown said...

thanks for coming by the fancy glass. the cold is a prob. and the building is old... but we appreciate constructive criticism honestly and we are working on a solution, though it largely involves just buying more blankets I'm afraid.

anyway thanks for coming by.

3:42 PM  
Blogger teahouse said...

That's really funny!

I guess getting into a collision with a telephone pole is preferable to getting tied to one, yes?

12:21 AM  
Blogger e! said...

Not sure, Teahouse... It's debateable.

You feel pretty friggan stupid getting into an accident 17 seconds after getting in the car...

Thanks for dropping by!

4:04 AM  

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