Prole Funnies

Incident 2 - Overheard Mum to toddler in store - "BEYONCE! Put that DOWN!"

The second story makes me happy beyond words.

I prefer the first to my dad, who through some lifelong habit of aspiration, refuses to know what the fuck is going on in a fast food place. When he's in the line at one.

Prole not-so-funnies:

Mother on bus to squalling 2-year-old girl: "You shut up! D'you want another black eye?"

This could also go on the "dear [random person i saw today], i love you" thread.

I come back to work, having spent the prior month in France. Now one of the women at the front desk I have crushed out on for months. So she's not so random, after all. That's what I tell myself. She is jet black with the smoothest skin in the world, like a blacker version of Aaliyah, a total A-1 knockout, and she's just bored with everything, the elevators could explode behind her and she'd go "pffft" like she knew it was gonna ruin her lunch break. An "out of my league" type girl. Her name's Yolanda. She knows my last name because she has to enter it EVERY DAY in the computer and print up a little temporary building pass for me to stick onto the front of my shirt. I sidle up to the desk, in a fantastic mood. I'm the prodigal son, I've conquered foreign taxicabs, I can handle anything, even Yolanda. "Yolanda." She looks at me warily. "How's New York been without me?" She looks away, utterly bored. "Okay, I guess." She's typing in my name. "Did you miss me?" "Nope." She doesn't even look up. The sticker's printing. "I just came back from France." Now she's curious. She hands the sticker to me and looks up at me. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah!" "So, they have that grave there, right?" "What grave?" "Jim Morrison's grave, right?"

Are you sure that wasn't Adrienne from America's Next Top Model?

(when i grow up i want to be tracer hand)

Was this the first time you had actually talked to her or what?

I'd assume that he said "Hand. Tracer Hand" several times previously.

We'd shared many conversations that went almost exactly the same way except without the Jim Morrison part.

It was so tragic, you have to picture her sitting behind that desk, dark suit and a man's collar on, braids pulled back tight and sleek against her head, the headset-mic on, a non-nonsense GODDESS, she'd say "Sessions—" and hand me my sticker even though I'd be like four people back in the line but still every attempt at conviviality she deflected like a lion thoughtlessly twitching its tail until finally this tiny window opened up and inside was Jim Morrison

Ha! That's the funniest story here. I'm gonna print it out and stick it to my shoes.

Tracer's last post is like the greatest thing I've ever read, in all seriousness.

It is wondrous!

It's like a page out of a DeLillo novel or something.