A View So Cruel.

Looking back now it seems odd to contemplate the day ending any other way. Like an ill-fitted pair of shoes the associated permutations just seem to rub and chaff in all the wrong ways.

Which is to say Water Buffalo and Big Sad Girl decided to end the day in a loud sneering 'Which one of us knows more about Napa Valley' caterwauling death spiral. It was as captivating as much as it was jarring. The self-appointed snobbishness was teetering close to hysteria by the time I excused myself, not from the room, but from the very building and neighborhood where this was all happening. I'm halfway down Fig when I almost physically slap myself for not recording what had just transpired on the Jesus Phone. No one would ever believe what they are reading. It would be impossible. Picturing the way Water Buffalo clinically recited names of obscure townships and villages in hopes Big Sad Girl would trip up, and then BSG's indistinct yet seemingly amusing anecdotes, her shrill laughter at her own staggering wit, then another missive only vaguely dissimilar from the first.

The material is rich, textured and varied. I haven't even mentioned the Bahamian lady who insists she knows more than anyone younger than her, and is about as patronizing and helpful as a menopausal librarian. And there's an entirely different team somewhere else I know nothing about, and then the room with the folks that only read shit in Urdu. Whatever. I always take another hall to the elevators and can pretty well avoid that wasp's nest altogether.