Thursday, January 26, 2006
Yesterday I went to the 1-800-Flowers.com factory, where I usually work the two to three weeks before Valentine's Day, making rose bouquets, to fill out some paper work.
It turns out that I would have to piss in a cup this year to pass a drug and alcohol test. I told my boss I would never pass that test. I would sooner pass the NY bar exam.
My boss said, "I won't tell your co-workers why you're not working here."
I said, "I'll tell them myself."
So after giving one of my co-workers the 411, he suggested I smuggle somebody else's urine for the test. And that idea completely grossed me out.
Walking to the subway back to Brooklyn, something extraordinary happened. I can't tell you exactly what as it involves personal information about a certain individual, but it was one of those extraordinary moments of personal consciousness that leaves one faint.
Then I saw Anderson Cooper on the street. He was bundled up in a blue coat and hat.
I used to have a crush on Anderson Cooper, before Michael Musto outed him (From my Vassar days, I realize having a crush on a gay man proves fruitless in that way).
I didn't recognize him at first as he was not in The Thinking Man position in the presence of hungry, though happy, African children.
Still, I waved to him. And he kind of snarled/ smiled back. Perhaps he was thinking: "There's that girl who, on Larry King, said she was offended that Roseanne kissed Muriel Hemmingway."
Or maybe he thought, "There's just another gal who recognized me."