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January 2004 Archives

January 24, 2004

South Side, or: The Culture of Fear, or: I’m a Big Wuss

Longtime readers of this blog have, I’m sure, drawn many strange and accurate conclusions about me. Chief among them: I’m sort of paranoid. I like to think of myself as “cautious,” but I’m apparently not a very good judge of character. So, when I learned two weeks ago that my Fiction Writing II professor was having a going-away party today (she’s moving to Maine) at a house on 77th Street, I decided to cautiously not go.

Then, my friend Anne said, “I think I’m going to go to that party.”

I said, “Yeah, me too.”

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 11:59 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (1) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003

January 10, 2004

Exes on a Train

I’m not fatalistic by any stretch of the imagination, but sometimes coincidences occur that make me sort of shudder, briefly contemplate the nature reality, and then dismiss it. One such fortuitous incident happened on Thursday night, after I got off work. I walked down to LaSalle Street, as I always do, and waited for a train at the Clinton station.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 2:52 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003, The Ex

January 30, 2004

Call

My boss called me yesterday, but I decided not to answer or call her back until this morning.

Me: Hey, Jenna, it’s Derek.
Jenna: What’s up?
Me: Uh…you called me yesterday.
Jenna: Oh, right. Um…are you ever coming back to work?
Me: …
Jenna: ‘Cause I know you were sick, but I just wasn’t sure what was going on. Are you better?
Me: Yeah, I’m better.
Jenna: Are you coming back?
Me: Uh…yeah.
Jenna: When?
Me: Monday?
Jenna: Okay.
Me: Was I supposed to be working through the break?
Jenna: …
Me: …
Jenna: Yeah.
Me: Oh.
Jenna: So…Monday, then?
Me: Yeah.
Jenna: Good. Bye.
Me: Bye.

So, okay. That was weird.

Posted by D. B. Bates at 2:29 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003, Student Activities

January 10, 2004

The Death and Return of Oh Face

I vaguely recall mentioning that the infamous and illustrious Oh Face disappeared from work almost immediately after he began. It’s sort of become a running joke in the office as to whether or not he’s going to come in; he worked for about a week when he first started, and since then Oh Face has come in maybe three times total. Two of those times, he left early; three of those times, he came in late.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 2:37 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003, Student Activities

Evaluation

I was sort of bummed Thursday because I got a fairly mediocre performance review from Jenna, who stopped in briefly and gave it to me. Like most evaluations on the planet, it had an assload of categories with a “rate 1 to 5” deal. I got straight 3’s, except for 4’s (above average!) “interpersonal relationships” and “punctuality.” I guess it shouldn’t bug me, even though it means I’m mediocre, because the sheet says “satisfactory,” which means that, even though I ain’t “outstanding,” I don’t “need improvement.”

I guess, overall, that’s not even what bugs me. The specific comments really frustrate me. Under “areas in need of improvement” (which, incidentally, contradicts her marking me satisfactory in the multiple-choice section), Jenna wrote, “needs to work on obtaining a better understanding of the job requirements and attendance.” Yowza, that smarts.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 2:50 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (1) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003, Student Activities

January 5, 2004

Can I Get a Jump?

No.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 9:04 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (2) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003

J’Accuse!

Somebody stole the U-Passes out of our office, supposedly. My general thought is they were just misplaced somewhere around our incredibly disorganized, messy office, but nonetheless, my boss reported it as a theft to security. Apparently they were stolen Tuesday, the 23rd, though I couldn’t recall physically seeing the U-Passes myself any time after the previous Thursday.

I was one of two student workers there on Monday and Tuesday. Neither of us stole them, and literally nobody came in those two days, so neither of us can even remember looking in the drawer to see if they were still there. It’s not like we actually care at all.

Personally, I find it sort of amusing that they disappeared. It sorta serves the office right for being utterly disorganized. We’re always losing shit, but this is the first time we’ve lost anything that’s been considered a big deal.

I’m glad I wasn’t horribly interrogated, as if I were guilty. It’s nice to have a level of trust, even though I haven’t been there very long. Basically, I was asked if I moved them; I said no. Then I was asked if I recalled seeing them before I left on Tuesday; I said no, but I didn’t even look. That was the end of it.

Posted by D. B. Bates at 8:45 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Blog Posts, Fall 2003, Student Activities

January 12, 2004

The Greystoke

Title: The Greystoke
Genre: Drama
Length: 28 pages
Draft: Second
Logline: After the death of her mother, a woman struggles to forge a real relationship with a crush-stricken coworker.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 2:48 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Writing, Short Scripts

January 3, 2004

The Foot

Title: The Foot
Genre: Comedy (Structural Parody)
Length: 47 pages
Synopsis: A disgruntled shoe salesman finds the foot of a beloved college football place-kicker in a bowl of Jell-O. While he tries to hide the foot, place-kicker Peter Franklin tries to recover his missing foot without alerting anyone to his Eastern European heritage. (A structural parody of Nikolai Gogol’s short story “The Nose.”)

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 3:07 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Writing, Short Fiction

January 13, 2004

Der Kristall Der Flüssigen Erfrischung

Title: Der Kristall Der Flüssigen Erfrischung
Genre: Comedy/Stylistic Parody
Length: 11 pages
Synopsis: Inexplicably written in the style of Mary Shelley, Love Boat captain Merrill Stubing writes to his sister about a crash and a talking manatee.

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Posted by D. B. Bates at 3:23 PM | Print-Friendly | Comments (0) | Writing, Short Fiction