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muckefuckMy hands feel strange; I wonder if it's because of my pants. See, I'm wearing a pair of shorts I bought last year. They're okay except they have only one pocket in the back. Instead of putting my wallet on the left and my hankie on the right, both have to go into the right, which further means that I have to wear my shoulder bag on the left shoulder so I can access my farecard more easily. Now I'm typing and it feels wrong. Like every time I move the mouse, I'm like, I don't normally use a mouse right-handed, do I? But that's the only way I've ever used it!
The office is pleasantly cleared-out right now. The whiner babies in the next department wheedled a one-hour offsite break out of the muckety-mucks due to jackhammering going on above our heads, but it's much less disturbing where I am. In fact, a co-worker likened it to listening to Einstürzende Neubauten (old school, natch). The thumps and bumps from the forklift loads are much more annoying, IMHO.
The best thing about scoping out construction workers is the deniability. Stare at a group of shop clerks or food workers going about their business for more than a moment or two and people will begin to get suspicious. But people understand that there's something enthralling about watching buildings being torn down and erected. So you can let everything think you're only gawking at the forklift when really you're ogling the forklift driver.
Another thing my parents somehow neglected to tell me: My Uncle Chris is named "John". I think I've mentioned before that I have an exceedingly rare surname--so rare, in fact, that Googling it brings up nobody who's a more distant relation than a first cousin. So imagine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bunj's surprise when he used it to test out a new search engine and found a "John C." that neither of us had ever heard of before. He asked Dad about it, who revealed that it was none other than his younger brother. We're not close, but how is it possible that in thirty years time no one mentioned that his first name was really "John"? Dad also pointed out that his parents "named him after St. Christopher because they had a near miss while driving," a bit of family folklore I wasn't aware of. Makes me wonder: Do any of my other relatives have names I'm not aware of?
The office is pleasantly cleared-out right now. The whiner babies in the next department wheedled a one-hour offsite break out of the muckety-mucks due to jackhammering going on above our heads, but it's much less disturbing where I am. In fact, a co-worker likened it to listening to Einstürzende Neubauten (old school, natch). The thumps and bumps from the forklift loads are much more annoying, IMHO.
The best thing about scoping out construction workers is the deniability. Stare at a group of shop clerks or food workers going about their business for more than a moment or two and people will begin to get suspicious. But people understand that there's something enthralling about watching buildings being torn down and erected. So you can let everything think you're only gawking at the forklift when really you're ogling the forklift driver.
Another thing my parents somehow neglected to tell me: My Uncle Chris is named "John". I think I've mentioned before that I have an exceedingly rare surname--so rare, in fact, that Googling it brings up nobody who's a more distant relation than a first cousin. So imagine
bunj's surprise when he used it to test out a new search engine and found a "John C." that neither of us had ever heard of before. He asked Dad about it, who revealed that it was none other than his younger brother. We're not close, but how is it possible that in thirty years time no one mentioned that his first name was really "John"? Dad also pointed out that his parents "named him after St. Christopher because they had a near miss while driving," a bit of family folklore I wasn't aware of. Makes me wonder: Do any of my other relatives have names I'm not aware of?