2004-04-27

This morning I saw a man on the bus who had decided to hold his transfer between his lips � not temporarily while he fished around in his pockets or something, but for the entire ride. And he was chewing gum at the same time, making it look like he was slowly devouring the transfer. It was like performance art: oral fixation in motion.

And yesterday I saw a man committing the two cardinal sins of male pattern baldness at the same time: first, he was balding with long hair � scraggly grey hair down to his shoulders. This is never right unless you�re Gerry Garcia, in which case it�s even less right and I�m grateful that you�re dead, you gruesome fucking hippie. Second, he�d decided to cunningly �disguise� the fact of his baldness with a comb-over. Long hair�combed over. Think on that for a moment. It was strangely fascinating. I wonder whom, exactly, he thought he was fooling. Perhaps it wasn�t the illusion of a full head of hair that was important to him so much as the display of effort � parting, combing and arranging all that hair every morning must be a significant chore. �Look at me!� he is saying. �I care about my appearance! I haven�t let myself go! In fact I can�t, because part of me is glued to my own scalp!�

Freak show number three: we�ve all met this person�the one who just doesn�t believe it when informed that they have dialed the wrong number, convinced that their dialing skills are infallible and the stranger at the end of the line is puckishly having them on. I just got a call from this person. Some trademark office sent out a bunch of letters informing the world at large that it could contact a certain �Jean-Pierre� at my work number (fuck you, Jean-Pierre! Get your own number!). Most callers have been apologetic when informed of their error, or at the least understanding. But not the guy who just called! �I have the number right here,� he insisted after I told him about the mistake. �Is this the trademark office?�

�No. It�s [name of my department].�

�But is it a government office?�

�Yes, but it�s not the trademark office. That number was printed by mistake.�

�But I got this letter, telling me I could contact Jean-Pierre��

�I know you did. But it�s a mistake.�

This kept up until I broke things down for him: �You have the wrong number. The number you have dialed is not even remotely the right number. It is wrong. WRONG!� And I hung up, while he continued to protest.

If he calls back, perhaps I�ll just take a message for Jean-Pierre. I�d hate for him to think that persistence doesn�t pay off.