Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<





Join Zipcar and get $25 in free driving!

Trillian McMillian
Trillian McMillian
Create Your Badge





www.flickr.com





Instagram






Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?


"50 First Dates"






Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
Enter ZIP Code:

or Search by State

Find State Officials
Enter ZIP Code:

or Search by State

Contact The Media
Enter ZIP Code:

or Search by State





Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)

Quasar
Hyperbole
Amenable
Taciturn
Ennui
Prophetic
Tawdry
Hubris
Ethereal
Syzygy
Umbrageous
Twerp
Sluice
Omnipotent
Sanctuary
Malevolent
Maelstrom
Luddite
Subterfuge
Akimbo
Hoosegow
Dodecahedron
Visceral
Soupçon
Truculent
Vitriol
Mercurial
Kerfuffle
Sangfroid




























 







Archives
<< current
ARCHIVES
4/27/03 - 5/4/03 5/4/03 - 5/11/03 8/3/03 - 8/10/03 8/10/03 - 8/17/03 8/17/03 - 8/24/03 8/24/03 - 8/31/03 8/31/03 - 9/7/03 9/7/03 - 9/14/03 9/14/03 - 9/21/03 9/21/03 - 9/28/03 9/28/03 - 10/5/03 10/5/03 - 10/12/03 10/12/03 - 10/19/03 10/19/03 - 10/26/03 10/26/03 - 11/2/03 11/2/03 - 11/9/03 11/9/03 - 11/16/03 11/16/03 - 11/23/03 11/23/03 - 11/30/03 11/30/03 - 12/7/03 12/7/03 - 12/14/03 12/14/03 - 12/21/03 12/21/03 - 12/28/03 12/28/03 - 1/4/04 1/4/04 - 1/11/04 1/11/04 - 1/18/04 1/18/04 - 1/25/04 1/25/04 - 2/1/04 2/1/04 - 2/8/04 2/8/04 - 2/15/04 2/15/04 - 2/22/04 2/22/04 - 2/29/04 2/29/04 - 3/7/04 3/7/04 - 3/14/04 3/14/04 - 3/21/04 3/21/04 - 3/28/04 3/28/04 - 4/4/04 4/4/04 - 4/11/04 4/11/04 - 4/18/04 4/18/04 - 4/25/04 4/25/04 - 5/2/04 5/2/04 - 5/9/04 5/9/04 - 5/16/04 5/16/04 - 5/23/04 5/23/04 - 5/30/04 6/6/04 - 6/13/04 6/13/04 - 6/20/04 6/20/04 - 6/27/04 6/27/04 - 7/4/04 7/4/04 - 7/11/04 7/11/04 - 7/18/04 7/18/04 - 7/25/04 7/25/04 - 8/1/04 8/1/04 - 8/8/04 8/8/04 - 8/15/04 8/15/04 - 8/22/04 8/22/04 - 8/29/04 8/29/04 - 9/5/04 9/5/04 - 9/12/04 9/12/04 - 9/19/04 9/19/04 - 9/26/04 9/26/04 - 10/3/04 10/3/04 - 10/10/04 10/10/04 - 10/17/04 10/17/04 - 10/24/04 10/24/04 - 10/31/04 10/31/04 - 11/7/04 11/14/04 - 11/21/04 11/21/04 - 11/28/04 11/28/04 - 12/5/04 12/5/04 - 12/12/04 12/12/04 - 12/19/04 12/19/04 - 12/26/04 12/26/04 - 1/2/05 1/2/05 - 1/9/05 1/9/05 - 1/16/05 1/16/05 - 1/23/05 1/23/05 - 1/30/05 1/30/05 - 2/6/05 2/6/05 - 2/13/05 2/13/05 - 2/20/05 2/20/05 - 2/27/05 2/27/05 - 3/6/05 3/6/05 - 3/13/05 3/13/05 - 3/20/05 3/20/05 - 3/27/05 3/27/05 - 4/3/05 4/3/05 - 4/10/05 4/10/05 - 4/17/05 4/17/05 - 4/24/05 4/24/05 - 5/1/05 5/1/05 - 5/8/05 5/15/05 - 5/22/05 6/5/05 - 6/12/05 7/24/05 - 7/31/05 7/31/05 - 8/7/05 8/7/05 - 8/14/05 8/14/05 - 8/21/05 8/21/05 - 8/28/05 9/4/05 - 9/11/05 9/11/05 - 9/18/05 9/18/05 - 9/25/05 9/25/05 - 10/2/05 10/2/05 - 10/9/05 10/9/05 - 10/16/05 10/16/05 - 10/23/05 10/23/05 - 10/30/05 10/30/05 - 11/6/05 11/6/05 - 11/13/05 11/13/05 - 11/20/05 11/20/05 - 11/27/05 12/4/05 - 12/11/05 12/11/05 - 12/18/05 1/1/06 - 1/8/06 1/8/06 - 1/15/06 1/15/06 - 1/22/06 1/22/06 - 1/29/06 1/29/06 - 2/5/06 2/5/06 - 2/12/06 2/12/06 - 2/19/06 2/19/06 - 2/26/06 2/26/06 - 3/5/06 3/5/06 - 3/12/06 3/12/06 - 3/19/06 3/19/06 - 3/26/06 3/26/06 - 4/2/06 4/2/06 - 4/9/06 4/9/06 - 4/16/06 4/23/06 - 4/30/06 4/30/06 - 5/7/06 5/7/06 - 5/14/06 5/14/06 - 5/21/06 5/21/06 - 5/28/06 6/11/06 - 6/18/06 6/18/06 - 6/25/06 6/25/06 - 7/2/06 7/2/06 - 7/9/06 7/30/06 - 8/6/06 9/10/06 - 9/17/06 9/17/06 - 9/24/06 10/8/06 - 10/15/06 10/29/06 - 11/5/06 11/5/06 - 11/12/06 11/12/06 - 11/19/06 11/26/06 - 12/3/06 12/3/06 - 12/10/06 12/17/06 - 12/24/06 12/24/06 - 12/31/06 12/31/06 - 1/7/07 1/21/07 - 1/28/07 1/28/07 - 2/4/07 2/4/07 - 2/11/07 2/11/07 - 2/18/07 2/18/07 - 2/25/07 2/25/07 - 3/4/07 3/4/07 - 3/11/07 3/11/07 - 3/18/07 3/18/07 - 3/25/07 3/25/07 - 4/1/07 6/24/07 - 7/1/07 7/1/07 - 7/8/07 7/8/07 - 7/15/07 7/15/07 - 7/22/07 7/22/07 - 7/29/07 7/29/07 - 8/5/07 8/5/07 - 8/12/07 8/12/07 - 8/19/07 8/19/07 - 8/26/07 8/26/07 - 9/2/07 9/9/07 - 9/16/07 9/16/07 - 9/23/07 9/23/07 - 9/30/07 9/30/07 - 10/7/07 10/7/07 - 10/14/07 10/14/07 - 10/21/07 11/4/07 - 11/11/07 11/11/07 - 11/18/07 12/9/07 - 12/16/07 1/6/08 - 1/13/08 1/13/08 - 1/20/08 1/27/08 - 2/3/08 2/3/08 - 2/10/08 2/10/08 - 2/17/08 2/24/08 - 3/2/08 3/2/08 - 3/9/08 3/9/08 - 3/16/08 3/16/08 - 3/23/08 3/23/08 - 3/30/08 3/30/08 - 4/6/08 4/6/08 - 4/13/08 4/13/08 - 4/20/08 4/20/08 - 4/27/08 4/27/08 - 5/4/08 5/4/08 - 5/11/08 5/11/08 - 5/18/08 5/18/08 - 5/25/08 5/25/08 - 6/1/08 6/1/08 - 6/8/08 6/15/08 - 6/22/08 6/22/08 - 6/29/08 6/29/08 - 7/6/08 7/13/08 - 7/20/08 7/20/08 - 7/27/08 8/3/08 - 8/10/08 8/10/08 - 8/17/08 8/17/08 - 8/24/08 8/24/08 - 8/31/08 8/31/08 - 9/7/08 9/7/08 - 9/14/08 9/21/08 - 9/28/08 9/28/08 - 10/5/08 10/5/08 - 10/12/08 10/12/08 - 10/19/08 10/19/08 - 10/26/08 10/26/08 - 11/2/08 11/2/08 - 11/9/08 11/9/08 - 11/16/08 11/16/08 - 11/23/08 11/30/08 - 12/7/08 12/7/08 - 12/14/08 12/14/08 - 12/21/08 12/28/08 - 1/4/09 1/4/09 - 1/11/09 1/11/09 - 1/18/09 1/18/09 - 1/25/09 2/1/09 - 2/8/09 2/8/09 - 2/15/09 2/15/09 - 2/22/09 3/29/09 - 4/5/09 5/3/09 - 5/10/09 5/10/09 - 5/17/09 5/17/09 - 5/24/09 5/24/09 - 5/31/09 5/31/09 - 6/7/09 6/7/09 - 6/14/09 6/14/09 - 6/21/09 7/12/09 - 7/19/09 7/19/09 - 7/26/09 7/26/09 - 8/2/09 8/2/09 - 8/9/09 8/9/09 - 8/16/09 8/16/09 - 8/23/09 8/23/09 - 8/30/09 8/30/09 - 9/6/09 9/20/09 - 9/27/09 9/27/09 - 10/4/09 10/4/09 - 10/11/09 10/11/09 - 10/18/09 10/18/09 - 10/25/09 10/25/09 - 11/1/09 11/1/09 - 11/8/09 11/8/09 - 11/15/09 11/15/09 - 11/22/09 11/22/09 - 11/29/09 11/29/09 - 12/6/09 12/6/09 - 12/13/09 12/13/09 - 12/20/09 12/20/09 - 12/27/09 12/27/09 - 1/3/10 1/3/10 - 1/10/10 1/10/10 - 1/17/10 1/17/10 - 1/24/10 1/24/10 - 1/31/10 1/31/10 - 2/7/10 2/7/10 - 2/14/10 2/14/10 - 2/21/10 2/21/10 - 2/28/10 3/14/10 - 3/21/10 3/21/10 - 3/28/10 3/28/10 - 4/4/10 4/4/10 - 4/11/10 4/11/10 - 4/18/10 4/18/10 - 4/25/10 4/25/10 - 5/2/10 5/2/10 - 5/9/10 5/9/10 - 5/16/10 5/16/10 - 5/23/10 5/23/10 - 5/30/10 5/30/10 - 6/6/10 6/6/10 - 6/13/10 6/13/10 - 6/20/10 6/20/10 - 6/27/10 6/27/10 - 7/4/10 7/4/10 - 7/11/10 7/11/10 - 7/18/10 7/18/10 - 7/25/10 7/25/10 - 8/1/10 9/19/10 - 9/26/10 10/3/10 - 10/10/10 10/10/10 - 10/17/10 10/17/10 - 10/24/10 10/24/10 - 10/31/10 10/31/10 - 11/7/10 11/14/10 - 11/21/10 11/28/10 - 12/5/10 12/5/10 - 12/12/10 12/12/10 - 12/19/10 12/19/10 - 12/26/10 12/26/10 - 1/2/11 1/2/11 - 1/9/11 1/9/11 - 1/16/11 1/16/11 - 1/23/11 1/23/11 - 1/30/11 1/30/11 - 2/6/11 2/6/11 - 2/13/11 2/13/11 - 2/20/11 2/20/11 - 2/27/11 2/27/11 - 3/6/11 3/6/11 - 3/13/11 3/13/11 - 3/20/11 3/20/11 - 3/27/11 3/27/11 - 4/3/11 4/3/11 - 4/10/11 4/10/11 - 4/17/11 4/17/11 - 4/24/11 4/24/11 - 5/1/11 5/1/11 - 5/8/11 5/15/11 - 5/22/11 5/22/11 - 5/29/11 5/29/11 - 6/5/11 6/12/11 - 6/19/11 6/19/11 - 6/26/11 6/26/11 - 7/3/11 7/10/11 - 7/17/11 7/31/11 - 8/7/11 8/21/11 - 8/28/11 8/28/11 - 9/4/11 9/18/11 - 9/25/11 9/25/11 - 10/2/11 10/2/11 - 10/9/11 10/9/11 - 10/16/11 10/16/11 - 10/23/11 10/23/11 - 10/30/11 11/6/11 - 11/13/11 11/13/11 - 11/20/11 11/20/11 - 11/27/11 11/27/11 - 12/4/11 12/4/11 - 12/11/11 12/11/11 - 12/18/11 12/25/11 - 1/1/12 1/1/12 - 1/8/12 2/5/12 - 2/12/12 2/19/12 - 2/26/12 3/4/12 - 3/11/12 4/1/12 - 4/8/12 4/15/12 - 4/22/12 4/29/12 - 5/6/12 5/13/12 - 5/20/12 5/20/12 - 5/27/12 6/24/12 - 7/1/12 7/1/12 - 7/8/12 7/8/12 - 7/15/12 7/15/12 - 7/22/12 7/22/12 - 7/29/12 7/29/12 - 8/5/12 8/5/12 - 8/12/12 8/12/12 - 8/19/12 8/19/12 - 8/26/12 8/26/12 - 9/2/12 9/2/12 - 9/9/12 9/9/12 - 9/16/12 9/16/12 - 9/23/12 9/23/12 - 9/30/12 10/7/12 - 10/14/12 10/21/12 - 10/28/12 11/4/12 - 11/11/12 12/9/12 - 12/16/12 12/23/12 - 12/30/12 1/6/13 - 1/13/13 1/13/13 - 1/20/13 1/20/13 - 1/27/13 1/27/13 - 2/3/13 2/3/13 - 2/10/13 2/10/13 - 2/17/13 2/17/13 - 2/24/13 3/3/13 - 3/10/13 3/17/13 - 3/24/13 3/31/13 - 4/7/13 4/7/13 - 4/14/13 4/21/13 - 4/28/13 4/28/13 - 5/5/13 5/5/13 - 5/12/13 5/12/13 - 5/19/13 5/19/13 - 5/26/13 6/16/13 - 6/23/13 6/23/13 - 6/30/13 7/14/13 - 7/21/13 8/11/13 - 8/18/13 8/25/13 - 9/1/13 9/8/13 - 9/15/13 9/22/13 - 9/29/13 10/13/13 - 10/20/13 10/20/13 - 10/27/13 11/10/13 - 11/17/13 12/1/13 - 12/8/13 12/15/13 - 12/22/13 12/29/13 - 1/5/14 6/29/14 - 7/6/14 9/14/14 - 9/21/14 9/21/14 - 9/28/14 10/12/14 - 10/19/14 11/23/14 - 11/30/14 12/7/14 - 12/14/14 12/28/14 - 1/4/15 1/25/15 - 2/1/15 2/8/15 - 2/15/15 2/22/15 - 3/1/15 3/8/15 - 3/15/15 3/15/15 - 3/22/15 3/22/15 - 3/29/15 4/12/15 - 4/19/15 4/19/15 - 4/26/15 5/3/15 - 5/10/15 5/17/15 - 5/24/15 5/24/15 - 5/31/15 6/14/15 - 6/21/15 6/28/15 - 7/5/15 7/5/15 - 7/12/15 7/19/15 - 7/26/15 8/16/15 - 8/23/15 11/6/16 - 11/13/16



Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue

Slanglish

It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations


Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"


















 
Mail Trillian here





Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)

CellStories

Alliance for the Great Lakes


Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras


The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.



Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.

Shag

Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto

Jotto




Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.





Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"







Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.


< chicago blogs >





Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains





























Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero

 
Thursday, May 04, 2006  
Dude, where’s my blog?

Gotta love the ironic timing in my life(?).

I'm working on a couple of major serious projects with a couple major serious clients. I'm once again repairing damage done by my boss. (no I in team, greater good, higher purpose, no I in team, greater good, higher purpose, no I in team, greater good, higher purpose, no I in team, greater good, higher purpose) Part of the damage control is customer service. Good customer service. My boss has a way of trivializing everything into condescending categories. Everything. Everything's "little" and everything falls into one of these four groups: "cute" or "fun" or "silly" or "boring." "Cute little," "fun little," "silly little," or "boring little." I hate fun used as an adjective to describe objects. Parties are fun. Concerts are fun. Shoe shopping is fun. Party hats, however, are not fun. Nor are lighters. Or shoes. "Fun little party hats." "Fun little lighters." "Fun little shoes." On rally day she remarked that there were "all these cute little immigrants on the street with fun little flags." Kill me. Please. Kill me. It's the only humane thing to do. I'm suffering and deserve to be put out of my misery.

Yes. My name is Trillian and I work in Hell.

As you can imagine this way of trivializing everything, (and yes, really, I do mean literally everything, yesterday she noted that my "cute little swelling" had gone down. Now will you kill me? Still don't believe me about her bogus credentials?) this way of trivializing doesn't always set well with the more intelligent and prestigious clients. In fact some of them find it as insulting and offensive as I do. Consequently I am called in to use concepts and a vocabulary beyond my boss' four little groups. I'm a shot at redemption but there's only one bullet in the gun and if I miss on my first shot I don't get another chance. And yes, sure, the obvious blame lies in my boss' original trivial condescension. But we're not about blame, are we? We're about solutions.

I'm an okay problem solver. I don't always hit upon the best solution, but it's usually appropriately creative or at the very least solid and respectable. So, you know, really, I don't mind the actual work. It's the damage control aspect that gets to me. I have to solve several problems at once, an all encompassing solution which solves the original problem while also smoothing over the problems caused by my boss' lack of gravitas.

Which means I have to be ultra professional and respectful.

Again, fine, not a problem. I'm generally not unprofessional or disrespectful.

I worked really late finishing a project for a client who was, shall we say, not amused or impressed by my boss' fun little vernacular. I had made arrangements to drop off the project at their office after hours because time was critical and I wanted them to have it first thing in the morning. Things had been going pretty smoothly to this point. Things seemed to be on a more even keel. I came up with a couple of ideas they really liked, so, things were turning around to a better direction.

And then I got stuck in their elevator.

You heard me.

Stuck in the elevator of their office building.

Alone. After hours. With a security guard on duty who was new on the job. He wasn't sure what to do, he said, over the elevator intercom, so maybe I should call 9-1-1. Yep. Problem solving, and customer service, I am starting to realize, doesn't come naturally to a lot of people. Apparently he couldn’t be bothered with my silly little predicament.

Getting stuck in elevators in Chicago happens. (and other skyscraper laden cities) A fact of life in tall buildings. It's not pleasant, but, it usually doesn't last long. It's usually just something minor. People don't go around plummeting to their deaths in elevator mishaps every day. This was hardly 9-1-1 worthy. I was more annoyed than concerned. And I had no mobile signal to call 9-1-1 anyway.

"I don't have a signal on my mobile. I'm in an elevator. In an interior bank of elevators. Stuck. In an elevator. Kind of impossible for me to call 9-1-1. Maybe you could call for me," I suggested over the elevator intercom, "or maybe ask the maintenance guy if he knows anything about the elevators."

I'd seen an older guy working on a light fixture in the lobby – the kind of older guy who looked like he’s been working in the building so long he’s got the wiring schematics and HVAC vent routes memorized like scripture. And he had a tattoo on his arm, an old tattoo back from the days when only certain types of men got tattoos. Not one of those new fangled wussy boy tats of oriental philosophy symbols or poseur boy barbed wire and dragons. Nope, his was the real deal: An almost naked woman with a US flag draped around her and, you guessed it: Semper Fi written above her. The real deal. My guess is back when he got that tattoo he flexed his lower arm and muscles rippled to wave the, um, “flag.” My observation in life is that guys “like that” are often the type of men who are really good at fixing things or at least coming up with solutions which may not be conventional but get the job done. I was pinning my hopes of rescue on him so yes, I was piling stereotypical qualities on him. Even though there was no trace of muscle on him now and the almost naked woman was sagging with age. But hey, our flag was still there, not gallantly streaming, but still there.

I thought, “Okay, the elevator’s stuck, no big deal, they’ll have me moving in a minute.”

So I just stood there in silence, waiting, expectantly. Musing about how the tattoo guy feels about La Vida National Anthem Loco. Figuring him to be of Viet Nam vet age or possibly Korea. Wondering if he saw any combat. Wondering if he has an inept moron for a boss, too. Wondering if, when he rescued me (now assuming he would be my rescuer) I should compliment him on his tattoo or if he would think coming from me that I was being condescending. Not that I would say, “What a fun little tattoo,” but, you know. I’m not a guy like him or even a guy and not of his generation, so any remark from me about his tattoo might sound sarcastic to his ears. I certainly didn’t want to offend him.

But first he needed to rescue me. And then I needed to drop off the project. And then I really needed to go home and try to get some sleep. So whether or not I should compliment him on his tattoo was nothing more than bored musing while stuck in an elevator. Which I decided is the name of the band I will form when I actually learn how to play guitar and am given a voice which can sing in tune and decide to do the coffee house girl rock folk singer thing. Hey. It could happen. It probably won’t, but it could. At least I’m prepared. At the very least it would make a good title for a book of bad poetry.

Oh Mr. Aging Marine,
My country, tis of thee I sing.

Who is that woman on your arm?
Why can’t I hear the emergency alarm?

Do you value your right to bear arms?

Rescue me from my solitary cell.
Move me, remove me, from this Hell.

Semper Fi. Wi Fi. Hi Fi. High Five!
Rock on, bring ‘em back alive.

I salute you, not persecute you,
When I say I like your tattoo.


I’ve been re-reading a lot of Kerouac lately. Can you tell? Does it show?

Anyway. Stuck. Stuck like gum in the tread of a shoe. Captive. Waiting. Wating for what? Waiting for the elevator to move, the short term solution to my current problem, or something bigger? Bigger. Like an epiphany. Other people have epiphanies in moments like these. Life changing epiphanies. It occurred to me I needed to be having an epiphany. The elevator would be moving soon and I needed an epiphany now! I’d wasted precious epiphany having time musing about the tattoo on the maintenance guy’s arm. I was piecing together his story when I should have been searching my soul.

That last paragraph is the metaphoric story of my life, by the way, and will undoubtedly be used as the pull quote on the side bar of my life.

That last sentence is the closest I came to an epiphany in the stuck elevator. Also a good band name or poetry book title. Epiphany in a Stuck Elevator. Yes. I like that. Shame I didn’t actually have an epiphany other than realizing I needed to stop worrying or caring about other people and have an epiphany. Which I suppose is a sort of micro-epiphany. It’s a start, maybe. But then, by definition epiphanies don’t have a progression, there’s not an arc or timeline. They’re jolts. They start and end all at once. You don’t really “start” to have an epiphany. They just kind of hit you, jolt you all at once, Blam! “I just had an epiphany!” It’s never, “Hmmmm, you know what, I think I’m coming down with an epiphany. Or the flu. Too soon to tell which right now, but I’ll be taking the next few days off work just in case I’m contagious or need to completely alter the course of my life.”

Right. Stuck in the elevator. Still. Stuck. Stuck like gum in the tread of a shoe. I pressed the alarm again. It was now almost twenty minutes since I first became stuck. No voice responded to the alarm. Hoping the elevator intercom might still be on I called out, “Hallloooo? Hello? Anyone? Someone? It’s me, the woman in the stuck elevator? I called down for help? Remember me? Hello?”

No response and now the alarm was buzzing.

Stuck in an elevator, a small 10’ x 10’ chamber of isolation and the loud buzz of an alarm. Could be worse, I thought. Really. It could be worse. It could be Zydeco.

Still. I realize they were probably scrambling to fix the problem and very aware than a woman was stuck in one of their elevators, but you know, as a common courtesy you might think they’d check in on me, say hello, try to pacify me with a “help is on the way” or something.

But no.

So I sat down. On the floor. In a skirt. Who cares, right? Not like anyone’s going to see me.

The buzzing was getting really annoying so I pulled out the Pod and turned the volume low so I could hear the intercom when someone bothered to talk to me from Down Below.

I clicked on my “Stuck in an Elevator Trying to Drown Out the Buzz of the Alarm” playlist, heretofore known as my “Bang Your Head” playlist.

And that it is how it came to happen that three firemen, the maintenance guy with the old tattoo, the doorman and my client found me sitting on the floor of the elevator in skirt with legs spread singing and enthusiastically air guitaring AC/DC’s Money Talks.

May God have mercy on her soul.

Apparently the elevator wasn’t stuck at all. The door on the client’s floor was simply locked. So when I pushed that floor’s button, the elevator whisked me there but the door wouldn’t open because it was in secure mode. As a security feature, the elevator goes into “locked” mode until someone on the outside presses the up or down button to summon it. Meaning, the doorman in the lobby would have merely had to push the lobby elevator button and the elevator would have returned me to the lobby. Or, if someone on the floor where I was locked happened to push the up or down button, the door would open. That’s what one of the firemen told me. The nice one who winked at me and said he always thought Razors Edge was better than Back in Black.

Apparently they didn’t figure out any of this until after the rescue party unlocked another elevator, rode to the floor where the main elevator board said I was stuck, met up with my client who decided to work late and wait for me to show up with the projects (and who had no idea I was there or stuck until the firemen showed up in the hall outside the office, thought they heard a buzzing down the hall but didn’t investigate), pushed the up button and discovered me impersonating Brian Johnson and Angus Young on the floor of the elevator. In a skirt. With my legs splayed all over the place.

Silly little Trill.

I had my epiphany. And that epiphany was: I’m an idiot. You were right. I’m an idiot.

You know, there’s just nowhere to go but down after that. Figuratively and literally. There’s not one possible solution to the problem which doesn’t involve turning in your resignation, selling everything you own and moving to Newfoundland.

“Heh heh. Hi guys. Heh, wow, right here on the floor all along. Imagine that. Huh. Har har. Thanks for the rescue. Hi client, um, here’s your project. We can take a minute to go over it if you’d like…”

Which we did, and I think they were pretty happy with it and maybe, possibly, they’ll take the unique circumstances of the situation into consideration before passing judgment and dismissing me with the same impression and accusations of unprofessionalism they voiced over my boss. Maybe they’ll forget it or at least never speak of it. Or maybe they’ll laugh about it or spread the story all over town. On the one hand I don’t really care, you know, for my sake. I don’t personally care that I was air guitaring and singing AC DC on the floor of a stuck elevator (in a skirt, don’t forget that) and got “caught.” Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, right? Glass houses and all that, right? But. There I was running damage control to an already shaky reputation my boss earned and trying to be all professional and full of decorum and respect and everything and, well, yeah. You get the picture.

Silly little Trillian.

I had a job and some money coming in,
Trying to get ahead, but couldn't win.

Days were a struggle and nights were lonely,
But I toiled away hoping and thinking, "if only..."

Then one night stuck in elevation,
I pulled the plug on my own reputation.

"Come on, come on, love me for the money,"
If it weren't so ironic it would be funny.

Offended a client and work it did stop,
That's why I'm singing bad poetry in a coffee shop.

Labels: ,


1:03 PM

 
This page is powered by Blogger.