This morning I woke up before my alarm, a very nice thing. Then the fly started to pester me, which was a bad thing. In my inbox I had received an e-mail from someone with an address that contained the phrase “monkey girl”, informing me that she reads my blog. At first I thought that this was Katie, since I’ve called her “monkey girl” a bunch of times. I’ve called some other people that, Hillary a few times, and so on, and not enough to Katie for it to be a nickname, but as it turned out that was just a weird coincidence (not as weird as the one that’s coming up). I e-mailed that person back asking if I knew them. At work, the reply came, and the answer was no. I asked her about herself and she told me a bit, lives in West Virginia, a bit about her college and work status, and the weirdest thing of all: how she found my site. I’ve got to hand it to this girl, she knows how to build up the dramatics in a short e-mail. She tells me that she put in stevenski.com into the white box and hit enter. I’m thinking at this point “Bull!@#$, no one just punches that word in out of randomness,” then my answer came. It’s her last name. Stevenski is her last name. I knew there were Stevenski’s out there, but it never occurred to me that one with that surname would turn up at my page. Why I picked that word for my site is something I won’t post until a very specific moment in time. Also, I can’t really cite her for it, I’ve searched for that word on Google before, and as a result have been introduced to the works of Stevenski Brewster, an urban artist. His technique I almost hate, but his messages I almost always enjoy.
Morning shift went surprisingly well. We had a take out of small size, but all of it was me, not Tom. We had a decent bit of walk in business and we had a large party in the back, a thirty-odd group. They had a set menu and it went real smooth. Tom didn’t flip out or anything.
Near two o’clock, Vince asks me to stay behind until this woman leaves so that I can help him haul this scooter out. I tell him I will. At about ten after the hour, Vince comes back and tells me that I shouldn’t be off the clock (which I wasn’t), since I might as well make a bit of money for waiting around. I told him “That’s the price you pay for noncompliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990,” he said, “Yeah, I know.” If you want to get legal about it, he is in compliance with the law itself, since he doesn’t legally have to have a ramp until he puts in more than three thousand (I think) dollars worth of renovations into the building.
During my shortened break, I went to Jason’s. He showed me a stun gun that he had bought. He didn’t even have to ask. I went downstairs, used the bathroom, and came back up and prepped myself up to stun myself. This is a 300,000 volt unit. Not top of the line, but definitely not a toy. I wouldn’t have been nervous at all about this test if it wasn’t for the noise this thing makes. If you turn it on without pressing it up against something it makes this nasty snapping noise that any ear would know is not only electricity, but angry electricity that has just discovered that squirrels have stolen it’s mail and used it to build a nest. The first blast of the juice I took from it was through a leather glove into my hand, not so bad. The next went into my thigh. A few jolts of the stun gun and I was brave enough to take it to my abdomen. My longest zap of that thing was probably only a second and a half into my stomach. My abdominal muscles still hurt from that.
When a quarter of a million volts of electricity are coursing into your muscular tissue, it spasms. A lot. Ever see one of those products that were advertised on TV last year? The pads that you stuck to your skin and it “tones the muscles” so you don’t have to actually get off your couch and do something? Well those are stun guns in a different shape that you pay to shock you. I think I did about ninety sit-ups on my right side in a second in a half today.
Now, as any of my readers should know, this sort of product testing should come with a review. Is a stun gun worth having as personal protection? A gun is better, because it’s about the same size. A gun is worse, because lots of people don’t really like the idea of being responsible for ending the life of a human, even if it is an attacker.
Stun guns are “less than lethal”, which is a different term from “non-lethal”. Non-lethal means “this won’t kill you,”. Less than lethal means “this shouldn’t kill you”. Stun guns are worse than pepper spray/mace because they’re not as compact and accessible. Stun guns are way better than pepper spray/mace because, I, a 170lb semi-active male, can function in the capacity of a mugger while enduring a healthy blast of pepper spray to the face. Yes, I know this from experience. I’ve been pepper sprayed/maced several times, at least once self inflicted, at least once accidental. A stun gun? The sound of that thing alone would act as a deterrent for me. “Give me your money!” SNAPSNAPSNAPSNAPSNAP “You know what, I changed my mind,” I think that two full seconds of the juice going into my body would have taken me to my knees, if I hadn’t been sitting down that is.
What I really, really, really don’t understand is this: the thing is powered by two nine volt batteries. Ever put the top of one of those to your tongue and felt that tickle? Turns out that if you have two of those you can incapacitate a person with them. That doesn’t really make sense to me. I guess I just don’t know how electricity works.
Back at work, I get an e-mail from “M M”. Ryan was actually a bit excited about this one. My conspiracy theory fell apart, which I found a bit disappointing, but it turns out “M M” is a guy named James and he’s a digital life voyeur. I’m trying to be one of those, but let’s face it, how many interesting blogs are out there? I’m guessing that Xanga doesn’t host many of them, because that’s my favorite hunting grounds. James didn’t give me much information about himself, but I bet he’s an interesting person.
At one point during the night Ryan said to me “These are the sort of things that people shouldn’t walk in during the middle of,” and I said “Yeah, they’d say ‘Why is that (edit …) hitting the other (edit …) in the jaw with a sausage?’” For your information, I was the hit-ee. This, in addition to other things that happened during the night I thought, “Hrm, I acknowledge that I don’t go out of the way to uphold the various things that males are “supposed” to do, but I am getting kind of homo recently,” so to counter act things I had a bunch of “impure” thoughts about Katie. I don’t know if she’d be upset about that, you know trying to do the friends thing and all, but I’m trying to offset the gayness, so I bet she wouldn’t mind being helpful in that way. Also, I’ve been trying to really do the Jesus thing better (edit …), inside as well as outside, but I didn’t really feel bad about this.
I showered, I shaved, I’m going to bed.