Ok, I said I had more to tell, and I’m a man of my word. I have three additional items, and dab nabbit, I’m going to get all of them out this time.
1. I don’t know how many times I’ve driven by “self storage” places, but seeing one last week struck me in a different way for some unknown reason. “Hmm, like where someone can store himself for…the winter?” I thought. Then I started thinking about what kind of story I could write that focused on a society in which people routinely put themselves away for extended periods of time, making “self storage” facilities carry much more societal importance. The thing I liked most about it is that it seemed inherently willful to me. That is, no one is going to forcibly store my “self” away without my consent, because “self storage” implies that it’s a place for one to do that on his/her own. (Although I suppose I could technically force someone else’s “self” into storage, but that doesn’t fit as well.) The more I thought about, the more defined my potential plot points became, which I found exciting. It would start off showing a world in which “self storage” was an everyday part of life. “Where’s Frank? He stored himself at the Greenwood facility until next Friday.” But why? Were these similar to recharging stations? Were they healing centers? Rehabs? I didn’t know, but the next step in the story would have to be something that changes the “normal day in this society” to an extraordinary one. Maybe something goes wrong with the “un-storing” process. Maybe the President is self-stored when something happens…I don’t know. Then the worst kind of light bulb went off: the totally erroneous kind. I had a quick flash of a world in which people deposited only their bodies in these facilities while their souls got to explore the world without the weight and ailments of their corporal selves. Why is that an erroneous light bulb? Because that’s the exact plot of “Unready to Wear” by Kurt Vonnegut in his “Welcome to the Monkey House” collection of short stories. And it was going so well. I still think I had something there (before it veered off into plagiarism) that could be a cool science-fictiony tale with subtle jabs at the ills of our real society. Maybe I should put that on my list of “Things I’ll Never Write Because I Haven’t Mastered Stopping Time Yet,” ya know, behind a screenplay or three and some other short stories. Or maybe I can write it in 15-minute increments as I wait for bottles to heat at 2am each morning. Right.
2. I have a profile and contacts on the business networking site called Linked In. It’s somewhat helpful in terms of making connections with contacts of fellow contacts, but without the bullshit of Facebook that pisses me off (i.e. there aren’t any “At the grocery store” updates). One thing is drawing my ire though, and it’s not entirely the site’s fault. When making a new connection, one must choose how they know the other person. The options are Colleague, Classmate, We’ve Done Business Together, Friend, Other, and I Don’t Know Him/Her. Those seem pretty straightforward to me, but then again, I’m blessed with the ability to have abstract thought. This site defines “colleagues” as people who work/worked for the same company. If we have worked together in a business-to-business sense, we’re supposed to select “We’ve Done Business Together.” Easy enough, right? Nyet. Many times, an invitee has indicated that I’m a colleague. What’s the harm in that? Well, as soon as I accept the invitation, the site says something like, “You didn’t list Company X on your work history. Would you like to add it?” Since I never worked there, I say no. It’s a minor extra step, but since it’s something that I figured out the first time I created a profile on the site, I’m getting tired of saying “No, I didn’t work there” every time I accept a new contact. If we’ve done business together, how about you just say that we’ve done business together? Is that so hard?
3. A strange thing happened last week. I had just gotten home from work a few minutes ago, and I’d already changed and started feeding one of the kids. There was a knock at our front door, and I slowly gathered baby, bottle, and myself to start my way over to the door. As I got there, I looked through the glass at the top of our front door and saw a young man walking away. He turned back and saw my face, then held up a Taco Bell box with a few tacos in it and made a face that said, “Do you want some of this?” I responded with a face that said, “Why the fuck would I do something like that?” He replied aloud, “Come on! One?” “No,” I said while shaking my head sternly, and I turned around and went back to the couch. That’s really weird, right? The best guess I have is that he somehow got a six pack of tacos for free or for really cheap and was trying to resell them for profit. That almost makes sense on face value, but who thinks it’s a good idea to simply start knocking on strangers’ doors in hopes that they’ll be hungry for tacos and willing to buy them off a stranger in a transaction that reeks of shadiness? I’d be floored if he got any takers on his deal. If so, it would have to be someone who opened the door and thought, “My wish has come true! I was just craving Taco Bell but didn’t want to get in the car and drive there. I’m even willing to pay more than I would at the restaurant for these tacos because of the convenience. Thank you for answering my prayers, Crappy Mexican Food Gods!”
Hey, those are my three thoughts! I’m proud of myself. That’s it for now, but I plan on thinking again sometime soon.