Customer didn’t need to buy anything but just needed to tell the attendant about her horrific experience at the dentist, shot of novicaine in the roof of the mouth, but the worst thing was the bill, 1650, right when she came out, without them even calling the insurance. That kills her limit for this year so she can forget about the crown she’s needed.

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Drivers: white, middle-aged, driving one-handed, putting chip or fry-sized wafer in his mouth from the right. White, twenties, baseball cap, driving one hand, male, scratching left cheek with first two fingers of left hand. White guy reaching over right shoulder for seat belt — must have only just gotten on road. White sun-glassed Gal making turn out of parking lot, hands at 10 and 2. Middle Eastern middle-aged “mini-vanned” man: you couldn’t see where his hands were positioned, but by the way his chin was set against his throat, you felt they must be at seven and five. Blond woman, sunglasses, leaning forward and looking up as if to check something far behind her in the rear-view. Repair man in a cap: fully turning head left, then right, then quickly again left, before driving the van to the right.

Oriole from aureolus, says wiktionary. (see also oriel)

What would customer do if the election were stolen: Same thing she been doing, living her life.

Customer needing to paint because he was moving (not looking forward to it). Customer tearing guts out of toilet (should take about twenty minutes — some blockage). Customer, remodeling bathroom, knew enough about it that he could save himself a little money: doing the demolition work, re-installing the toilet, hanging some shelves (but he would have to contract out for the tile work.) Customer going to Scotland for week. Customer couldn’t put his finger on it but the attendant looked somehow… “clearer” today  (attendant wasn’t wearing his glasses, which had broken, was the thing.) (Attendant thought: glasses make one see more clearly, but, in the mind of this customer, I looked more “clear” because I was not wearing glasses.) Customer reported that, realizing she was about to fall, she’d suddenly recalled one of the maneuvers from her dance class, and as it were, “fluttered” safely to the ground. Plumber rubbed away with his hands the webs and built-up lint around the un-working machine and pointed out, feeling them all around, that “the washers were like new.” Glasses, slacks, well-trimmed beard — medium iced latte. Tattoos covering both arms, trimmed groomed orange beard: mushroom sandwich, large hot mocha. Customer said difficulty with overhydration was you were flushing out the electrolytes. Customer said El Salvador was safe and the fear of it was mainly media-driven. Customer said the County never stops telling you what to do, then, –‘what? you’re a big developer? Never mind!’ Attendant’s soft scream (inspired by a remembrance of some dumb or weak thing he said or did) became the first note of an idly hummed tune.

Raised this issue with a customer who thought “archetype” was a more appropriate word than “stereotype.” The idea that trash has flies touches on a universal notion of trash we had, the customer said. If there were clip-art, or an international symbol of garbage, that symbol would be sure to include flies.

This led to me thinking about the difference between an archetype and stereotype, the former seeming more to involve the essence of a thing, the latter to involve what one can expect of a thing, a predictable but superficial facet.

It didn’t seem right to say that the flies were somehow essential to garbage; on the other hand, the idea of decay and of rotten-ness did seem essential to garbage. And it would be hard to convey that idea of decay pictorially –as a picture, trash would be hard to distinguish from mere clutter– without including in your picture something like flies, or wriggly red strands meant to indicate odor.

In the morning, I look at the second counter of the digital microwave clock at what must be the very moment after it has become one second until the very moment before it has become the next second, which has for some reason given the impression of it being an unnaturally long second.

In the afternoon, the same effect, first with a car’s blinker, then with a woman’s eyes. Then a similar effect the following morning: three clocks, each set a bit later than the next, viewed in succession, so that 8:32 AM seemed somewhat over two minutes long.

Attendant did not know what had “four wheels and flies” despite having heard that one first maybe forty years ago. The charm of that joke is that there is not only a double entendre at work but that it leans on a stereotype of garbage — that it will have flies. One is first surprised by the pun and then hit by the stereotype. It would be interesting to investigate the relationship between stereotypes and humor, which obviously has a dark side. Why are stereotypes a component of humor?

(Chance)

Raised this issue with a customer who thought “archetype” was a more appropriate word than “stereotype.” The idea that trash has flies touches on a universal notion we had, the customer said. If there were clip-art, or international symbol of garbage, that symbol would be sure to include flies.

Why was the attendant feeling happy, again? Oh, it was that grapefruit he ate, amazing how that always supercharged him. (As if he had multiple vitamin deficiencies that the fruit had all instantly restored.)

Why was it, again, the attendant had this happy feeling? Oh right, it was that young gal from an while back who’d expressed an interest in history — “particularly the middle ages,” she’d said.

Quite amazing, really, the effect socializing could have on physical pain. People in pain talked to him and felt better. He, in pain, felt better having talked with them. (It could sometimes, of course, have the opposite effect.)

(Chance Sweepings)

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