"Um, I need that thing, the magazine?" she tells me, pulling a pink strand of gum out and looping it back into her mouth. She's tan, wearing a tight white half-tee and a short denim coat open. Her hair is unkempt but she's rather cute.
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, that one under there," she says, tapping on the counter.
I'm tempted to demand that she SAY it. She's got enough brains to accessorize her short goofy puffy skirt in a faux Catholic-school-girl plaid with her weirdo plaid boots, so I assume she can say "Broadcasting and Cable."
Apparently not. I give her the slip to fill in and no, she doesn't write "That Thing The Magazine," for the title, she writes her name on the title line and puts "Wednesday, 45 of Monkey, 7602" for the date. On the line provided for her name she draws a kitty cat, a square house with a triangle roof, a crude representation of mommy and daddy with stick figure arms coming out of circle heads, and a sunshine smiley face. I note that she's really hot and will likely end up doing what Jennifer Gilbert or Denise Koch do now--reading simple sentences while staring into a camera.
Conniption comes in not two minutes later, and we talk about people who say "like" like ALL the time, and how, like, it's so FUCKING ANNOYING we like want to kill them.
Conniption--who finally saw Fah. 9-11--busts on right-wingers who bust on Michael Moore for not being fair and balanced in his movies. "When we watch a documentary about Hitler," he reasons, "we don't require the filmmaker to present Hitler's point of view for balance." He's gone back to Art class now to take a test, while I sit here not grading my ENGL263 papers, which are either really great, really awful, or completely plagiarized so far.
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