Sunday, August 21, 2011

The Terrifying Tale of the Pig-Faced Sniffer Lady

Before I begin my tale, a little house-cleaning:
Yes, Jenna, I will get around to answering your questions. But that is a day for another long post, and as I've just written a very long post, it will have to wait for another day.

The following tale is true. The only bits that were dramatized were the bits about "Deanna" and "Justine"'s reactions (sort of) and the weather. There wasn't really a storm that day. The rest of it is absolutely true, except that it is pieced together from several separate occasions; not everything in this story happened all in the same visit.

Names have been changed to protect the frightened.

The Terrifying Tale of the Pig-Faced Sniffer Lady
(Based on real events)

Justine shivered.

"What was that?" her boss, Deanna, asked.

"I don't know," said Justine, "I just got the chills all of a sudden."

It had been a slow day at the store, Olaf, where they were working together.

"You ever get the feeling something weird is about to happen?" asked Justine, peering out the large front window at the people scurrying past in the deluge of rain. Their faces were largely obscured by bulky umbrellas and the sheer amount of water pouring from the sky, but were occasionally lit up by great flashes of lightning.

Deanna considered this carefully.

"There is strangeness about this day," she agreed, also watching the storm which raged outside.

"I don't like it," Justine said firmly, as though announcing her displeasure would somehow change the course of events.

She could not know what was coming next.

Justine and Deanna were engaged in folding and straightening, when suddenly, the door opened.

In the same instant, a bolt of lightning and crack of thunder left them both momentarily blind and deaf, so they failed to see the face of the person who had just entered the store.

"Hello?" Deanna called out in an approximation of her cheerful greeting.

"Hi," said the woman, her voice high and nasal.

Justine was blinking rapidly, trying to clear the spots from her vision.

At last, the woman came into focus, and Justine wished she were blind again.

She was reminded, forcibly, of an episode of the Twilight Zone she had once watched as a child. It was the episode where a woman was getting cosmetic surgery because she believed she was ugly. When at last they remove the bandages, the woman is revealed to be quite beautiful, and the audience is led to believe that the surgery has worked. But when the woman looks into a mirror and is horrified by what she sees, it is only then that the doctors' faces are revealed. They are Pig People. It is an entire world of people with pig snouts for noses, and the woman is the only normal looking person, which, of course makes her abnormal, and therefore ugly by Pig People's standards.

That woman, the one who just entered the store, looked like one of the Pig People.

Justine bit back a scream, and exchanged looks with Deanna, who also looked like she was trying not to scream.

Pig-Face seemed not to notice their discomfort. She strode (and by strode, I mean "moved in a way reminiscent of Miss Piggy, who is a puppet, so how is that even possible-and oh God this is horrifying") over to a table which displayed gloves and scarves and other items of that nature. She picked up a scarf. Time slowed to a crawl as Justine and Deanna watched in horror. The scarf was lifted toward Pig-Face's pig nose, inch by inch, until it was smashed up against that nose, crushed to it. And then she inhaled. Long and deep she sniffed the scarf, until it was as if the scarf and the sniff had become one. She snarfled it.

Time resumed it's normal pace as the scarf was discarded. Next, Pig-Face picked up a wool hat. It, too, was squashed against the pig nose as though the sniffing were creating some sort of vacuum. The wool hat's smell was deemed unworthy, and it was cast aside. Next, she picked up a pair of leather gloves. Once again, they were presented to the pig nose for inspection. They were sniffed. Again. And again. Pig-Face next tried to separate the pair, pulling them violently apart. But the string which connected them would not break. She raised the offending string to her mouth, teeth bared in anticipation...

"NO!" Deanna shouted, taking a step forward. It was only then that Justine realized the two of them had been frozen in terror. Pig-Face looked up and Deanna quailed under that squinty gaze. "I'll..." she said, moving forward in a shuffling manner, as though her legs were still half frozen. "I'll cut them for you!" she finished triumphantly. Amazed by her own quick-thinking, Deanna scurried behind the counter to grab the scissors. With the thread cut, Pig-Face sniffed each glove individually before tossing them casually aside.

She continued in this manner around the store, sniffing anything and everything she could get her hands on. She came to the next table, further in the store, upon which several cashmere sweaters were sitting, perfectly unaware of the assault which awaited them. She picked up the first one she came to, sniffed. Sniffed it again. Rubbed her snout against the soft fabric and sniffed again. Seemingly satisfied, she brought the sweater up to the register. Expecting her to ask about the size or price of the sweater, Justine was surprised when Pig-Face threw it upon the counter, opened her purse and removed her wallet. She sniffed her credit card before handing it to Justine, then sniffed her wallet while Justine processed the purchase. Deanna wrapped the sweater in tissue and put it in a shopping bag. Pig-Face sniffed her purse.

She walked her Miss Piggy walk toward the door, periodically picking things up to sniff them as she went. At last, she went out into the storm, disappearing just as mysteriously as she had appeared.

Deanna and Justine were silent for a long time.

"Did she even look at the size of that sweater?" Deanna asked in a hoarse whisper.

"No," Justine answered, just as quietly. There was another long silence.

"Deanna?"

"Yes?"

"Nobody will ever believe us, will they?"

Deanna shook her head slowly, staring out into the storm. "No," she said softly. "No they won't."

The End

Here's the Twilight Zone mentioned in the story, in case you're interested.



Of course, now I'm watching this and thinking about the message behind this episode, and I feel like a piece of shit. I know this woman will never read this, but I feel bad for making fun of her. Actually, I kind of felt bad while I was writing it. I kept thinking "is it worth the laughs I'll get?" and I really fought with myself over whether or not to post it. She can't help what she looks like. On the other hand, WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO SNIFF EVERYTHING? Also, I have seen her in the store with her perfectly normal-looking husband and two friends, and they all seemed quite wealthy and happy so...what do I know? I know that another girl who works at the store saw Pig-Face pick up a piece of trash off the street, sniff it, and throw it back on the ground. I wish I were joking.

I guess I'll never know her story.

Also, one time I giggled and asked why my grandfather's hands shook like that, and my mom said I shouldn't make fun because someday my hands might shake like that and I wouldn't like it if someone made fun of me. At the time, I thought she meant that if I made fun of him, my hands would start to shake as a sort of karmic punishment. I realize now that that's not what she meant, but part of me still kinda believes it. Part of me still believes that if I make fun of Pig-Face, then I will have a Pig-Face too.

Oh well. I was probably going straight to Hell anyway.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Cryptic Christmas Cards *Updated*

*Update*
New headline: Mom Sheds Light On Mysterious "Tom"
Also: Tom Sheds Light On Mysterious "Tom"

Apparently, he's an old friend of my parents. Huh. Who knew? Don't take it personally, Tom, I barely remember people with whom I went to high school. My mom is usually the one to remind me, because she remembers everything.

Here is how that conversation generally goes:
Mom: "Remember? That person was your best friend for all of eighth grade!"
Me: "Really?"
Mom: "Yes, really."
Me: "Huh. I guess I vaguely remember that..."

Anyway, Tom, thanks for taking the whole post in good humor. It's nice to have a reader I didn't have to threaten and/or bribe into reading.

Cryptic Christmas Cards

It always fascinates me when someone completely random writes a comment on my blog.

I cannot think of a single person named "Tom" that I know. Certainly no one with whom I have ever exchanged Christmas cards. In fact, I only sent out Christmas cards that one year I was feeling all adult. I remember thinking, "This is what adults do at Christmas; they send out cards. I'm going to send out cards EVERY YEAR FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!"

But I only did it the one year.

So who are you Tom? And, more importantly, who do you think I am?

Is it possible that you are the Tom from my short story? Did you step out of it's pages like some sort of....erm....character which comes to life from short stories? (I thought I had something better to end that sentence, but it turns out I'm not that clever.)

If you are the Tom from my story, you must be rather confused by this world you now inhabit, as it is so very different from your own. Also, I congratulate you on your use of a computer. Unless, maybe, you are inside the computer!

Perhaps by posting this story to the internet I have unknowingly released it's characters, much like that demon was scanned into the computer from one of Giles's books in that episode of Buffy.

What have I done?

Or maybe you are just a random person who got confused about which blog you were reading.

I suppose it doesn't really matter. I'm happy that people outside of my mother and Jenna are reading this blog, I just didn't expect it to be someone I wasn't related to/hadn't even met. Usually the people which fall into that category are only interested in posting spam on my blog. I am not a fan of spam; the annoying junk mail OR the canned meat. One should not leave either on a blog. It could really start to stink.

I think this thought-train has derailed.

And I really must get ready for work now.

And no, your eyes do not deceive you: I really am awake and blogging that early. I haven't even had my coffee yet. I'm sort of surprised I can string two sentences together. And that probably explains why I can't seem to end this post properly. I just keep typing, stuck in some sort of feedback loop. I may ramble on in this manner forever, never able to wrench myself from the keyboard. NO! MUST HAVE COFFEE! MUST TEAR MYSELF AW-

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Sharing is Good

I don't share enough with you. And that's bad, because my mother always taught me that sharing is good.

Let me share some links to some websites that have helped me procrastinate lately:

First there's this, which so completely describes my life, it's kind of scary.

Then there's this, which also so completely describes my life, I can't decide which is more describy-er.

Half of my readership (AKA my mother) has already read both of these, but I wanted to share anyway. Because that's the kind of person she brought me up to be.

On the subject of being an adult:

DUDE! I WAS A MOTHERF***ING ADULT TODAY!

First, I paid a bill.
Second, I went to an appointment (voice lesson).
Third, I went to the bank.
Fourth, I purchased necessary items like shampoo, and contact cleaner.
Fifth, I came home and watched cartoons....wait, no, this was supposed to be the Why I Am An Adult List.

I lied, I didn't watch cartoons. I watched Wipeout, which, quite frankly, is basically the same thing. I laughed at people getting hit in the head with rubber objects then falling down whilst flailing their arms much in the way of Kermit the frog. (Is it Kermit the frog as in "Hi I'm Kermit, and I'm also a frog," or Kermit the Frog as in "I am Kermit, KING OF THE FROGS!! BOW BEFORE YOUR MASTER!"?)

Anyway, it's the oldest form of humor: slapstick, and I never get tired of it.

All right, let me get that elephant out of the room before we go any further, he's kind of taking up a lot of space, and making it difficult to reach my keyboard...

I haven't been updating this blog.

Also, I never wrote about The Voice Audition Experience, AKA the least fun ride at Disneyland. Not that I didn't enjoy myself at the audition, in fact, I'm really glad that I went, I'm just saying it would be like standing in line for a ride which involves standing in line.

These are things that I know. You don't have to shout.

Listen, I've been writing, just not what I call "productive writing". I also (don't hit me) haven't been writing a full 600 words every day. *whine It's haaaarrrd whine*

It is hard, and that's pretty much all I've been writing about, is how hard it is to write everyday. Then I'll write a non-sequitur. Here's an example from something I wrote a few days ago:

Blah. I don’t like where this story is going, and I’m afraid I have completely written myself into a corner, and now I have to go back and rewrite a huge portion, and well, blah. Dawn. He loved the dawn. Night was cold and mysterious, and the stars would shine and he would watch them and wonder why they shone. Day was warm and bustling, and he would watch the people and wonder who they were and where they went. But dawn was different. Dawn was a creeping warmth, a new beginning.

Now, does that little paragraph have a story attached to it? No. Could it fit into any of the stories on which I'm currently working? Not really. So it's just a fragment, a nice but ultimately useless bit of writing? Pretty much.

See why I haven't been sharing this stuff with you? It doesn't go anywhere, it just sits there taking up space in my brain, when I really need that space for other things, so I feel like maybe if I get it out and put it to paper, it will stop sleeping on my brain's couch and eating all of it's potato chips. But once I write it down I think, "Huh, that's interesting. I wonder where I could go with that? Let's explore it further even though I know it will never become a full-blown story and I'm really just pursuing it as a way to procrastinate from doing any productive writing."

Not writing about The Voice, though, that's inexcusable. There are some great anecdotes there. And eventually, I'll get around to it.

For now, I struggle on, and do my best.

OK, I'm done, I've been enough of an adult for one day. Now I'm going to play video games.

I'll share one more thing before I go:

FOREVER!!!!!!!!