Our Lady of Perpetual Hell

During the time I worked at Records On Wheels, we had a security system installed to try to prevent all the little skater kids from stealing stuff. We’d insert the security tabs inside the imported disks, tapes, and albums before we sealed them or just stick them on the outside of the domestics. If we didn’t deactivate them after purchase at the checkout stand, the customer would set off the alarms when s/he walked through the scanner at the door. Pretty straightforward. Pretty easy system to circumvent, too, of course. I mean how hard is it to peel off the wrapping and remove the sticker? Not exactly rocket science. I don’t think we were allowed to search through personal bags, but we were pretty scrupulous about having customers leave their bags at the counter when they came in to shop.

Anyhow, one day when I was at the cash register, a customer repeatedly set off the alarm. He’d paid for his stuff and it had been scanned, repeatedly. But still the alarm went off whenever he walked through. The store was busy and loud and I was getting frazzled and he kept giving me these doofus looks whenever he tried to leave and alarm went off. Like, “H’yuck, there goes the alarm again! Ain’t that crazy! Lawdamussy, what can be making it go off?”

I muttered, “Must be the plate in your head.”

…All that by way of introduction to this.

I especially like the note that advises customers, ‘If you don’t know the alphabet very well or you haven’t been fully trained on how to put records back where they belong, please leave and come back with someone who can accompany you through this confusing process.’

D’ja ever get the feeling that you’re being watched, even when there’s nobody else around?

Sitting out on my deck, I find that feeling comes over me. It creeps up and climbs into my lap with me. Dunno why. I mean, after all, it’s just me and the birch tree out there.

Just a tree. And me. And a creeping sense of dread. Ooh, did you ever see Evil Dead? There’s this scene in the film where a girl is running through the woods and the woods are chasing her. And they catch her. And they do unmentionable things to her.

I don’t know what made me think of that.

I just don’t know. But I think I’ll take my little laptop and go inside now.

At work, we had a fundraiser for the victims of the earthquake in China and one of the methods for fundraising was a penny sale. There were tables full of prizes you could win. So you’d buy your tickets and cast them in the direction of whatever prize you hoped to win. Well, one of my colleagues won a set of silk pajamas. What you see below (and click on the image for a larger picture) are the care instructions (er, I guess) on the back of the pjs’ packaging… Now, I could be wrong, but it seems to be saying something about the gender-neutering power of thin and neuteral soaps, and warning not to bask in the sun and, umm, I dunno if it’s advising something about a post-coital wet spot or something else about, *ahem*, doing something unmentionable involving very hot (w)holes. You tell me.

Have you been reading about the feet that have been washing up onshore in British Columbia? Frankly, I hadn’t heard anything about it until last week, when the sixth showed up and was later discovered to have been a hoax. But before that, since last August, five feet have washed ashore–all encased in socks and shoes. As yet, it is a complete mystery!

Bearing that in mind, this is what happened to me today…

After my morning run, I went home to change from my runners to my aqua shoes and then returned to the beach to walk along the surf while I drank a bottle of water. Down the stone stairs and across the sand, I walked toward the shoreline, and something about 10 feet out in the crystal clear water caught my eye… Cocked my head, squinted, muttered “What the…” Waded in.

It was a running shoe. Perpendicular, standing on its toe, bobbing a few inches below the surface in water about a foot deep.

My first thought: “How the hell do you lose one shoe and not notice?” I laughed and reached down to pluck it out of the water. As I picked it up, I was surprised by its heft, but thought it was heavy just because it was waterlogged. Pulled it from the water and then, after the water had run out and it was still unusually heavy–finally!–thought of the severed feet that had been turning up in just these circumstances out on the left coast. Jumped and yelped as I flung it away. With alarm bells clanging between my ears, I charged a few steps away, thoroughly soaking my shorts in the process.

Then, still feeling all screamy and shivery, I circled back around the shoe–which had gone back to its original position, bobbing with the toe touching the sandy bottom. I bent over, trying to peer inside the shoe.

It was a very David Lynchian moment and those are really best left for celluloid. Far too freaky for the real world. What would I find next?

I picked my way carefully back up the beach and down the street home, peering in the sand, rocks, and grass for any other body parts. Did we have a copycat killer ’round here?

Returned with my camera. Because, don’tcha know, Constant Reader, I knew I’d hafta tellya all about this.

Stood in the foot deep water, taking pictures of the shoe (f!o!o!t!?). And yes, there were others on the beach–a woman with her two kids swimming a few hundred feet away, another photographer meandering down the beach towards me, and lots of runners, walkers, and bikers up on the street-level hiking trail. I wondered what they thought–if they noticed at all–of me standing in the shallow water, apparently taking pictures of the sand.

I still didn’t wanna reach down and touch it again. Gah! I tried poking it with my toe to get a glimpse inside the shoe without having to get too close or get too good a look… I mean, potentially, I could get an unwelcome eyeful that would be burned into my memory forever. Imagine waking up with that in your head in the middle of the night. So I poked. Pushed it around. Started to giggle. Stood up and looked around. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to me (good).

“There’s no foot in there, you ninny. Just pick it up,” I sez.

I picked it up. Held it at arm’s length. Peered inside.

It was filled with sand. Not filled with foot.

Both a relief and a disappointment.

Okay, so I get home tonight (finally–after having crop-dusted over hill and dale across Southwestern Ontario, shopping for living room furniture on the way home from work) and open up the freezer to take something out to bbq for dinner tonight and–W!T!F!–it looks like it has hailed in my freezer. There’s half-frozen water icelets everywhere and a lotta stuff feels only half-frozen. Befuddled, I empty the freezer into the sink, lamenting over how it’s too damned bad I hosted Father’s Day dinner last weekend, since it appeared that I would have enough unthawed steaks and chicken breasts and rack of lamb to do it (again) this weekend. So much for all those great sales I took advantage of over the past couple of weeks. Fucksakes.

I go get an armload of towels to sop it up.

And notice the front plate of the furnace is off.

Now, this week has been a mite chilly. And a couple nights ago I tried to turn the gas furnace on for the first time since moving in and found that there was no heat coming up through the grates. The blower was blowing but it was blowing chilly air up into my furrowed brow as I stood over the grate, perplexedly looking down at it… as if I thought that if it could see my disappointment it would right itself. Well, I knew that my new gas account was up and active (I should know, since I work for the fuggin gas company !!). After all, I have a gas water heater, too, and there’s been no shortage of hot water since I moved in at the beginning of the month. So all I could conclude was that there was certainly gas coming into the house but it wasn’t getting any further than the water heater. Some valve must be closed or the furnace’s pilot light must be out. Which is fine and dandy and prolly easy to fix if you aren’t ascairt of blowing up your new house. Which I am.

So this sounded like A Job For Dad!

In the meantime, I would just sleep in socks and nestle in between the feather bed beneath me and the duvet on top of me. All cozy and warm, no biggie.

Anyhow, when I discovered Dad had been here today, I gave my parents a call to see 1. why the front plate of the furnace was still off, and 2. if they were aware of a power outage ’round here.

1. Dad couldn’t find the pilot light (this is significant, since my Dad has dealt with gas furnaces his whole adult life, so if he couldn’t find it, sure as shit I wouldn’t've found it) so I will hafta call the gas company (my gas company… the gas company I work for, that is) and have a service call to show me where the frickin pilot light is. 2. Yes, the power had been off while they were here. And now I had a freezer full of unfrozen or half-frozen meat.

*sigh*

But all of that is worth it for this, which I snapped after having cleaned up the freezer and gone out for a walk to clear my head…

BBQ at my place this weekend.

Yes, I will eventually get around to sitting myself down to tell you about my domestication but, at this point, I am finding little time for it and energy being expended elsewhere. I will be relieved to finally settle into my new home but right now I’m still feeling around in the dark (well… not literally–I did manage to set up the utilities!).

After a rain storm this evening, I went out for a walk along the lakeshore in the gloaming and took my camera.