More Fantasies
1. I fantasize that, after getting rich, I hold an awards ceremony for my favorite food service people in Houston. Larry from Jack in the Box, Ana from the cafeteria at my work, and the entire morning shift of my fave Einstein Brothers Bagels, among many others, would be honored for their awesomeness. With cash prizes, probably. I could make a non-profit organization to handle the awards every year. Hence, I could write it off on my taxes.
2. I wish I knew Kung Fu well enough to protect myself from someone holding a gun. That way, I wouldn’t be as worried all the time. (Why don’t I take classes, then? I don’t know. I just never do.)
3. A big fantasy is that I could find a way to keep people from being such jerks all the time. I don’t believe that most people are jerks, but I do believe that the real jerks spread negative energy starting each morning at rush hour, and it ripples outward exponentially until night. My dad thought this one up, and I stole it from him. He wished he had a ray gun that would, upon shooting someone, straighten out every cell in its victim’s body. You know – just straighten them the hell out. Give them the manners and morals their parents forgot to teach them. Erase whatever trauma made them jerks in the first place. Make the world a better place for everyone to live.
4. This morning on my commute that has become over an hour long now that school’s begun, I revisited an old fantasy in which I am a very good dancer. I think it would be nice to dance well. I’ve never really been very good at it. I’m okay – passable – but also sometimes awkward, and always self-conscious. I wish I could be the kind of person who unselfconsciously dances alone in the middle of the floor, without being drunk first, either.
5. I often fantasize that I become just famous and/or rich enough for customer service people to always be nice to me. But not, you know, famous/rich enough for people to stalk or bother me. I don’t want to be the kind of jerk who snaps her fingers at people and gets her ass kissed for it. I’m just saying – it would be nice to be treated with respect, even if I weren’t wearing designer clothes or driving a Jaguar. You know? I try to treat people with respect and I’m a good tipper. But sometimes, (read: at Capital Grille), that’s apparently not enough.
