Stairwell Aficionado
This will be my first Evergreen stairwell post since I stopped working in the bagel department. I thought I'd move on to bigger and brighter things, yet here I am plugging away at this website with a near-empty bank account. Alright...this is getting a bit depressing.
UPDATE: I've taken my vitamin D. Let's just jump into it, you fatherless foxes!
This stairwell is my go-to guitar-playing spot. The reverb is nice, and I'm out of range from passerby's cabbage/tomato barrage. A few years ago I did, however, see a human-sized turd just chillin' on the halfway point between stair sets. Not making this up. It took me a long time to give this stairwell another chance. Even when I'm playing guitar here I'm constantly looking over my shoulder for a stealth squatter squeezing out a smelly shit.
So I pulled in to Evergreen and rolled down my window to pay the ticketmaster my $3 in quarters stuffed in my back pocket. I counted $2.75 in my hand. Shoving my hand back in there I realized one must have fallen out. I thrust my fingers in the crack between my butt and car seat, and I touched it. But my touch had pushed it a little further into the crack. A line of cars was forming behind me. My butt crack started to sweat. I fingered around some more, touching the coin again and, again, pushing it a little further in. I glanced over at the ticketmaster and assured him that this was a one-time thing--that this never happens to me. The pressure was mounting. My fingers were getting slippery.
The ticketmaster started slowly reaching for the 'Customer Eject' switch. "I'm too young to be flung into Capital Forest," I thought. I had barely managed to escape my last venture into that hazardous jungle. The scar from a molten plastic Buzz Lightyear face was still imprinted on my back, and the primal screams of art degree jungle people were fresh in my mind.
Then my thumb and forefinger latched onto the coin. I hoisted it out and dropped it into the ticketmaster's outstretched hand.
"This is a VR Troopers pog," he said to me. Now I knew my ass was grass. My body couldn't take another stint in the jungle. The things I've seen in there would make Seth Rogen blush. But then the ticketmaster handed me my day pass. "We are VR," he spoke softly.
I parked and made my way to the stairwell in question; no poop persisted in my presence. Good enough for me.
This stairwell gets 2 Danwiches on the Einstein Bros secret menu out of 5.
