Of Moose And Men
The Best Laid Plans Of Both Often Go Astray

A small plane hit a condominium highrise in Manhattan this afternoon. No terrorism suspected at this time. (see any news site for details)

And yet, despite reading “no connection to terrorism,” upon seeing the images, the chest still grows tighter, the the pulse quickens, the stomach gets all flustered, and feelings from five years ago return.

I suppose this is the side effect of living in the other metropolitan area to get hit back then. Not that I want to move, and not that I feel particularly unsafe here in DC, but it does make me wonder if those feelings will ever fade or if they’ll still this vivid for the rest of my life.

I sat down in the bathroom, for the usual reasons. The middle stall, beside me, was occupied. Soon he took some paper off the roll. And then some more. And then again. It didn’t sound like he was blowing his nose, but he kept taking off bits of paper, with only seconds in between each burst of unrolling. Then he flushed. And then started again with the paper. And flushed again. This happened (flushing and continued rolling) at least twice while I was in the stall, and once more when I was washing my hands.

This after noticing that the jerk who uses the paper hand towels to cover the seat instead of the perfect good (and flushable) seat cover things (he regularly clogs up one of the toilets in the bathroom, which doesn’t get fixed for days on end afterward) must’ve been in the stall I picked sometime before I was, because there were extra towels on the floor around the toilet.

I work with some really freaky men.