I've had a few recent dinners at the Regular Place (right now they are doing some exciting things with turnips). But the location... one night it drew a group of over a dozen weird, loud, drunk guys who just want to get weirder, louder and drunker. So completely obnoxious. The time I finished my meal sitting next to someone I realized was a prostitute, that was kind of interesting and fun, but this was just head-shakingly wrong. There's some gland they are missing that prevents them from processing their environs properly, so they think every enclosed space is a combo strip/comedy club.
Tonight a man carting a red suitcase called me a "dickhead" and I'm certain I actually was inadvertently a dickhead to a smartly dressed old guy wearing a fedora, overcoat and rubber overshoes.
I am having a difficult time expressing how little I care about my job right now. The only word that comes to mind is "saltines." I am saltines about my job.
