Well paint me red and shove a crowbar up my nose!
Day Four: Still no footage of Mothman. Team morale grows thin.
Yes, it's true: the research job is purely related to the uncovering and exposure of cryptozoological and otherwise paranormal phenomena. I have full access to a teched-out van, classified records, and cool gray suits tailored to hide holsters.
At least, that is what I will tell myself as I go to bed tonight.
Jordan Creek Mall is a big nasty whore. The thing was so pumped up, and in a way all the build-up was right: it is a fuckin huge mall, with a bunch of stores that aren't usually here. But in an evil way; everything is so fancy schmancied and sleek (and expensive) that it seems guiltily gaudy even to be there. The Barnes & Noble, however, is exempted from this dismissal, being huge and loaded with books, and having its own little table of Halloween-appropriate literature. Hell yes! I wanted to pick up this book on demon mythology in various cultures and time periods, but it was in the fifteens of dollars and my cash count was in the fifteens of cents. Blame it on Hardees. Two egg and cheese biscuits: $3.87! They musta been charging for the extra grease . . .
Yesterday I decided: maybe living inside the actual boundaries of Des Moines proper wouldn't be so bad. So today I hauled my arse about town checking out apartments, most of which were mediocre at best, and had stains on the carpet and toilet at worst. I found a decent-to-good place on the south side of town, sort of off Army Post, where the rent was (relatively . . . oh so relatively) low, and utilities consisted of nothing but an electric bill. So that is where I can be found for the next twelve months at least. Unless I fake my death to break the lease.
Today a secretary at the office cornfusedly called and asked me to bring by some papers. I showed up unshaven and in jeans, thinking that this was a great way to make a first impression on whatever employees and supervisors I hadn't met yet. Some slump-shouldered guy who kept hitching up his khakis was listening to the receptionist, so I took a seat. She mentioned that he'd been let go, then he asked her to call someone and she said secretarial listening things like "Uh huh. He should go home and wait for your call, right. Okay." This guy was fired, and from a completely different division of the building, but still I felt bad when the receptionist asked him to wait a second, turned to me, and I had to say that I'd just been hired, and here were my parking sticker papers.
Tonight the Bil-eating couch I usually sleep on is on the porch, waiting to be loaded into a truck, and so I have to sleep upstairs in the Haunted Room. I haven't slept up here since mid-high school, when weird noises got the better of me. I heard rattling in the walls, and sometimes I thought there were voices. Now I know that I was hearing animal(s) in the walls, and that whatever I heard then has gotten big enough now to dislodge chunks of plaster or wood or something every once in a while. A few weeks ago I was talking to Alyssa and the thing in the wall sneezed. That was weird.
Yes, it's true: the research job is purely related to the uncovering and exposure of cryptozoological and otherwise paranormal phenomena. I have full access to a teched-out van, classified records, and cool gray suits tailored to hide holsters.
At least, that is what I will tell myself as I go to bed tonight.
Jordan Creek Mall is a big nasty whore. The thing was so pumped up, and in a way all the build-up was right: it is a fuckin huge mall, with a bunch of stores that aren't usually here. But in an evil way; everything is so fancy schmancied and sleek (and expensive) that it seems guiltily gaudy even to be there. The Barnes & Noble, however, is exempted from this dismissal, being huge and loaded with books, and having its own little table of Halloween-appropriate literature. Hell yes! I wanted to pick up this book on demon mythology in various cultures and time periods, but it was in the fifteens of dollars and my cash count was in the fifteens of cents. Blame it on Hardees. Two egg and cheese biscuits: $3.87! They musta been charging for the extra grease . . .
Yesterday I decided: maybe living inside the actual boundaries of Des Moines proper wouldn't be so bad. So today I hauled my arse about town checking out apartments, most of which were mediocre at best, and had stains on the carpet and toilet at worst. I found a decent-to-good place on the south side of town, sort of off Army Post, where the rent was (relatively . . . oh so relatively) low, and utilities consisted of nothing but an electric bill. So that is where I can be found for the next twelve months at least. Unless I fake my death to break the lease.
Today a secretary at the office cornfusedly called and asked me to bring by some papers. I showed up unshaven and in jeans, thinking that this was a great way to make a first impression on whatever employees and supervisors I hadn't met yet. Some slump-shouldered guy who kept hitching up his khakis was listening to the receptionist, so I took a seat. She mentioned that he'd been let go, then he asked her to call someone and she said secretarial listening things like "Uh huh. He should go home and wait for your call, right. Okay." This guy was fired, and from a completely different division of the building, but still I felt bad when the receptionist asked him to wait a second, turned to me, and I had to say that I'd just been hired, and here were my parking sticker papers.
Tonight the Bil-eating couch I usually sleep on is on the porch, waiting to be loaded into a truck, and so I have to sleep upstairs in the Haunted Room. I haven't slept up here since mid-high school, when weird noises got the better of me. I heard rattling in the walls, and sometimes I thought there were voices. Now I know that I was hearing animal(s) in the walls, and that whatever I heard then has gotten big enough now to dislodge chunks of plaster or wood or something every once in a while. A few weeks ago I was talking to Alyssa and the thing in the wall sneezed. That was weird.
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