Category Archives: Cheer’s Favorites

Cheer's Favorites, Dating, Internet Dating

Internet Dating: Richie

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After numerous friends’ positive reports on internet dating, Cheer finally decides to give it a try. She begins a conversation with a man who appears too attractive to be on a dating website, proffers signs of intelligence, feels perfectly emotionally unavailable, and seems like just enough of a narcissist to get her motor running.

Cheer and Richie discuss film through the exchange a few messages before Richie asks to meet. Cheer agrees, and a week or so later, they’ve arranged a date on a Monday.

The bar chosen for the date is very small. The entire room can be viewed from the front door, and there are just 8 seats at the bar. Cheer arrives 5 minutes fashionably late and sits at the bar next to the only man who could be Richie. He has facial hair and a hat on—things absent from his profile pictures.

Cheer: “Hi.”
Man: “Hi.”
The man is expressionless, offers no handshake, and does not open his posture to Cheer.
Cheer: “How’s it going?”
Man: “All right.”
Cheer: “What are you drinking?”
Man: “Gin and tonic.”
Cheer orders a Manhattan. It is the worst Manhattan she’s ever had.
Cheer: “It’s really warm out tonight.”
Man: “Yeah.”
Cheer begins to doubt that the man next to her is Richie. She thinks she may be making awkward conversation with a random bar patron—who doesn’t much care for it. She decides to mention something specific, hoping for confirmation, bracing for a truly awkward moment with a stranger.
Cheer: “So, Connecticut, huh?”
Man: “What?”
Cheer: “Connecticut. You just drove down from Connecticut, right?”
Man: “Oh. Yeah.”
Cheer is relieved she has the right guy, but is annoyed by his lack of acknowledgement or enthusiasm.
Cheer: “Your profile says you live in NYC, but evidence suggests that you’re a dirty, dirty liar and you really live in Connecticut.”
Richie: “Yeah, I’m a dirty, dirty liar.”
Cheer: “How long did it take you to drive here?”
Richie: “Oh, about 2 hours.”
Cheer: “Holy crap. You live really far away.”
Richie: “Yeah.”
Cheer: “You’re lucky I like unavailable men. This could still work out.”
Richie: “Cool.”
Cheer: “So, what do you do in Connecticut?”
Richie: “Live with my grandmother for free, and play, I mean, create video games.”
Cheer: “How old are you?”
Richie: “30.”
Cheer: “So, tell me about making video games at grandma’s.”
Richie: “Essentially, I’m building this game that requires thousands of man hours and a team of people. But, I’ve decided to not follow the typical format for creating a game, do the steps out of order, and do it alone, because no one wants to work for free. And I live with my grandmother and play video games, so I can’t exactly pay anyone.”
Cheer: “So, do you feel that you’ll complete this project? And if so, will it be profitable? Or is this a hobby?”
Richie: “Oh, totally profitable. I also have a patent for a design element in this type of game. It’s brilliant, because I’m brilliant, and it’s worth, like, a bajillion dollars.”
Cheer: “That’s cool.”
Richie: “But, I’ll never put forth the effort to make any money from it.”
Cheer: “You’re becoming more of a catch every minute.”
Richie: “I’m a total catch. Have I mentioned that I’m super smart? My IQ test results prove it. I won’t tell you my IQ though, because you’d just feel stupid. Have you ever had your IQ tested?”
Cheer: “No.”
Richie: “I’ve taken all those expensive official tests.”
Cheer: “Why so many?”
Richie: “They thought I might be retarded as a child.”
Cheer: “What a wonderful topic to bring up on the first date.”
Richie: “I’m retarded like that.”
Cheer: “What did you do as a child that made them start testing you?”
Richie: “I didn’t speak until I was 3 years old.”
Cheer: “At all?”
Richie: “Not a word. I didn’t even babble.”
Cheer: “Then, at age 3, you started babbling?”
Richie: “Oh, no. At 3, when I first spoke, I spoke in complete, grammatically correct sentences.”
Cheer: “That’s believable.”
Richie: “So, once I started talking, my parents asked me why I hadn’t spoken before.”
Cheer: “And?”
Richie: “And I told them that I didn’t have anything to say.”
Cheer: “What a plausible tale.”
Richie: “Also, I never walked or crawled. I started running at 9 months.”
Cheer: “Running at 9 months, silent until master of speech at 3. Obviously you’re a genius.”
Richie: “Pretty much.”
Cheer: “So, genius, since you’re not ready to sell your game or your patent, what do you do for money?”
Richie: “I just pick up jobs now and then from Craigslist, work enough to not work for a while, and generally continue to jerk off in my grandmother’s basement while she makes me pie.”
Cheer: “You’re livin’ the dream.”
Richie: “Indeed.”
Cheer: “So, if money were no object, what would you be doing? Would you be making a video game?”
Richie: “Probably.”
Cheer: “Is that your thing though? Anything else?”
Richie: “Well, the other things are very NC-17.”
Cheer: “What?”
Richie: “We’ve been having a very PG-13 conversation, and my other interests are more of an NC-17 topic.”
Cheer: “OK. Try me.”
Richie: “Well, basically I like to have a lot of sex. Like, a lot of sex. And, if I had it my way, I’d have five women.”
Cheer: “So, the answer to your million dollar question is to have a harem of five.”
Richie: “Yeah. I think five would be the perfect number.”
Cheer: “So, these five women… Do they know about each other?”
Richie: “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
Cheer: “OK. So, why five? Why is five the perfect number?”
Richie: “Well, once you pass five, it’s difficult to see each one very often. I’d like to have them in a good rotation, not just every few weeks. Plus, I can’t have sex with someone for very long without it being more than sex, and more than five of that type of relationship would be taxing.”
Cheer: “I’m starting to find this one hour relationship with you pretty taxing.”
Richie: “It only gets more ridiculous from here.”
Cheer: “Then let’s get another drink. If you’re going to talk about a harem of five—which I’m not yet sure if you’re inviting me to be a part of—I need more booze.”
Richie: “OK.”
Cheer, having learned her lesson with the Manhattan, orders a rye whiskey on the rocks, and Richie follows suit.

five_girls

Richie: “So, I wasn’t kidding when I said I like to have a lot of sex.”
Cheer: “Contrary to most of our conversation to this point, I didn’t doubt that.”
Richie: “I mean, like twice a day. Or maybe even like, twice a day, but also, three times a day, twice a week.”
Cheer: “Got it.”
Richie: “So, you know, that’s part of why I need multiple girls, because I’d just wear one out. Like, once I was dating these two girls—who knew about each other—but one got super jealous one day and demanded I be her monogamous boyfriend. I told her OK, but that she needed to understand that that would mean that I would only be having sex with her. And, I had to ask if she was, like, ready for that, cause, she knows me, and knows how much sex I need.”
Cheer: “Let’s talk more about your insatiable sexual appetite and your exes. I’m super stoked about these topics.”
Richie: “OK, well, there was this girl I grew up with who I always wanted to fuck.”
Cheer: “Who doesn’t have at least one of those?”
Richie: “Well, this girl is like, supermodel hot.”
Cheer: “So, why’d you never tap that?”
Richie: “She’s a virgin.”
Cheer: “Currently? Or when you knew her?”
Richie: “Both… As far as I know.”
Cheer: “Why is this supermodel girl a virgin? Religion?”
Richie: “No.”
Cheer: “Missing limb?”
Richie: “No.”
Cheer: “Then what?”
Richie: “Her mom had her when she was 18. She was trying to avoid becoming her parents by avoiding having sex at all.”
Cheer: “What a shitty decision.”
Richie: “I know, right?”
Cheer: “So, this supermodel…”
Richie: “Yeah?”
Cheer: “If she asked you to take her v-card now, would you?”
Richie: “Hell yeah. But, I mean, I feel like I’d have to warn her.”
Cheer: “Warn her?”
Richie: “Yeah…cause, like, maybe she’d want to find a smaller penis that would be easier to handle. But, I’d be so flattered she asked me, I don’t think I’d really say that.”
Cheer: “You’d just pulverize that tight pussy without warning.”
Richie: “Exactly.”

The bar is closing early, due to it being a Monday night, and Cheer and Richie get their bill. They each put $30 on a $43 dollar bill, and the bartender asks if they’d like change.
Richie: “Yes. Absolutely. We need change.”
Cheer: “OK. I’m going to the restroom.”
Cheer returns.
Richie: “Do you have like $1? Or like 60 cents?”
Cheer: “60 cents? For the tip? I would never give you 60 cents to give as tip. But, I have an entire dollar.”
Richie: “OK.”
Richie has left $8 on the bar, pocketed the other $9, and asked Cheer for an additional dollar. Cheer initially puts down the dollar, then two more for their extended time at the bar with few drinks.
Outside the bar, Richie: “But wait, you put in like $5 more than me.”
Cheer: “Whatever.”
Richie: “But, what if you never see me again? You’ll never get your $5 back.”
Cheer: “Seeing as you just pocketed our change and asked me for more money, I know I’ll never get any money back. Also, I just put in $33 on our $53 total. I paid $13 more.”
Richie: “No comment. Let’s walk.”

Cheer and Richie walk a few blocks before Cheer stops them.

Cheer: “Are we walking with a destination?”
Richie: “I don’t know. Where’s your apartment?”
Cheer glares at Richie: “I don’t know. Where’s your car?”
Richie: “It’s up a few blocks.”
Cheer: “OK.”

Cheer and Richie arrive at Richie’s car.

Richie: “So, can I give you a ride?”
Cheer: “No, thanks.”
Richie: “Really?”
Cheer: “Really.”
Richie: “Then will you sit in my car and talk with me for a minute?”
Cheer: “No, I’m good right here.”
Richie: “Really? This smoking 1997 Pontiac doesn’t make you want to get inside and take all your clothes off?”
Cheer: “No, no it does not. You can’t talk to me here.”
Richie: “But, it’s so…public.”
Cheer: “Exactly.”

Cheer and Richie are quiet for a moment before Richie speaks.

Richie: “Do you know what a posterior fornix is?”
Cheer: “Posterior forn—”
Richie: “It’s this cavity behind the cervix. It’s like, the deepest part of the vagina.”
Cheer: “Why are you talking about this?”
Richie: “I like finding them.”
Cheer: “What?”
Richie: “Well, you know, because it’s so deep, most guys can never get near it. But, I happen to have a cock that’s good for locating posterior fornices. I thought you should know.”
Cheer: “When you mentioned your size earlier, while speaking about supermodel pussy pounding, I held doubt. But now that you’ve mentioned it twice, I know it must be huge.”
Richie: “I’d like to find your posterior fornix.”
Cheer: “Please stop talking.”
Richie: “I bet you’ve never experienced the full pleasures it has to offer. Even if you’ve had some big dick, it wasn’t my big dick, with my superior moves for posterior fornix pleasure.”
Cheer: “I’ve been so deprived. My posterior fornix is wriggling with anticipation of your godly penis. Finally, I found you.”

posterior_fornix

Richie: “I’m going to abruptly change the subject.”
Cheer: “Good idea.”
Richie: “You look different from your profile.”
Cheer: “And?”
Richie: “And what?”
Cheer: “You’re not supposed to mention that unless you say I look better, or give a compliment indicating your approval of what you see now.”
Richie: “Oh. OK. I really like your boobs.”
Cheer: “Uhhh…”
Richie: “And, mmmm…your hips.”
Cheer: “Thanks?”
Richie: “And your eyes…they’re alright.”
Cheer: “Just alright?”
Richie: “Yeah. But, your boobs. They’re…mmmm…yeah. They’re like a…a…34C? Yeah? No? Maybe D? You’re not a 32. Yeah, maybe a D. Not a double D. Yeah? See, with sizes, it’s complicated, cause like, the actual size of the cup changes depending on the other measurement, so you could be like a 36C or a 34D and I wouldn’t know. Can’t know, really. I slept with this girl once who was a double F. So, naturally, you know, she was a bigger girl. But, in a nice way. I mean, with boob size, there’s big, and then there are those who are just fat. So, you have to exclude the ones who are just fat, cause that’s different. But this girl, she was just bigger.”
Cheer: “OK, well on that note, I’m go—”
Richie: “She had a really nice round ass too.”
Cheer: “Ohhhkay.”
Richie: “Really round. Unnaturally big and round… But I had to stop sleeping with her because she was crazy. So, yeah, bra sizes are weird, cause, like, Victoria’s Secret’s sizes aren’t exactly the same. Those sizes are a little different. So, it’s hard to ever really tell by size, but yours….mmmm…are nice. I like you.”
Cheer: “Oh, joy.”
Richie: “Yeah, you’re pretty cute…and nice…you’re fuckable.”
Cheer: “Wow, I feel like a winner now. I’m so glad I’ve achieved fuckable status with you. I’m going home now.”
Richie: “Awww. No, don’t go yet.”
Cheer: “Yeah, I’m going.”
Richie: “But, now I’m all riled up, with a long drive ahead of me. And you’re leaving? What am I going to do with this hard on?”
Cheer: “Date over.”

Cheer's Favorites, Other

Apartment Cleaning

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Day 1: Lease Begins

Cheer: “When will the apartment be cleaned? It looks like the love nest of caramel apples and concentrated New York City sludge in here.”

Manager: “The cleaning dude is coming tonight at 6pm.”

Cheer: “Do I need to be at the apartment to let him in?”

Manager: “No. Just leave the apartment door open. He can get in the building without you.”

Cheer: “OK.”

Cheer leaves her new apartment unlocked and vulnerable for a much needed scrub down. She sleeps at her old apartment one last night, and wakes early to begin moving into her newly painted, squeaky-clean apartment.

Day 2

Cheer: “I’m so glad that the cleaning fairy came while I was sleeping. I’ll just mosey on over to the new place and start basking in freshness.”

Cheer goes to her new apartment.

Cheer: “Whatthefuck.”

Cheer calls the manager.

Cheer: “I left the apartment open all night and the cleaning guy never came. When will he be coming today?”

Manager: “He was there.”

Cheer: “No. No he was not.”

Manager: “He told me he was there. What’s not clean?”

Cheer: “Everything.”

Manager: “Everything?”

Cheer: “Yes. I believe the bacteria have multiplied and it’s actually worse than when I was here yesterday.”

Manager: “OK. Let me call him and see when he can get there.”

Cheer: “Thanks.”

8 hours later, the manager calls Cheer back.

Manager: “He can’t make it today. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Cheer: “Oh, good. That will give me just enough time to eat, sleep, breathe, bathe, and cherish the grime of the previous tenants, who were obviously a feral child and a troll that sweats motor oil.”

Manager: “That’s hot.”

Cheer: “What time shall I expect him tomorrow?”

Manager: “1pm.”

Cheer: “OK. I’ll be here.”

Day 3

Cheer continues to treat her entire apartment like a public bathroom–refusing to touch anything with her bare skin. Come 1pm, no one has come to clean. At 1:30pm she calls the manager.

Cheer: “The cleaning guy hasn’t shown yet. What’s the deal?”

Manager: “Oh, I don’t know. Here’s his phone number. His name is Bubba. You figure this shit out.”

Cheer: “Bubba?”

Manager: “Yeah. Bubba’s your man.”

Cheer: “Right.”

Cheer calls Bubba. She gets his voicemail and leaves a message. Hours pass. She calls again. Voicemail. Second message. At nearly 5pm, Cheer is certain Bubba isn’t going to show and she puts on her shoes and jacket. As she is opening her door to run errands, Bubba calls.

Cheer: “Hello?”

Bubba: “Hi.”

Cheer: “Bubba?”

Bubba: “Yes, this is Bubba.”

Awkward pause.

Cheer: “So… I thought you were going to be here at 1 today. What happened?”

Bubba: “Yeeeeaaaahhh… See, when I woke up this morning, I had this, like, really bad headache. So…”

Cheer: “A headache? A goddamn headache?!”

Bubba: “A really bad one.”


my_head_hurts2

Cheer: “Are you completely inept at phone use? Completely unaware of social etiquette pertaining to appointments arranged with strangers?”

Bubba: “Well, obviously.”

Cheer: “So why are you calling me now?”

Bubba: “Oh. Well, I was going to come clean now.”

Cheer: “Now? 4 hours late?”

Bubba: “Yeah. I mean, is that a problem? You’re not home?”

Cheer: “Well, I was just walking out my door…”

Bubba: “We can arrange another time.”

Cheer: “Dear god, no. Just get your ass over here.”

Around 5:30 the doorbell rings.

Cheer: “Bubba?”

Bubba: “Bubba.”

Cheer: “You don’t weigh 300lbs, have low riding plumber pants with visible crack, and you’re not breathing heavily, in a manner which makes those around you concerned they may have to call 911 on your behalf at any moment.”

Bubba: “No. I’m a tall, thin, soft-breathing man with well-fitting pants.”

Cheer: “I didn’t think men of your appearance were allowed to be named Bubba.”

Bubba: “I got a special exception.”

Cheer: “Ah.”

As Bubba enters the apartment, Cheer peers around the corner into the hallway looking for cleaning supplies. There are none.

Cheer: “You didn’t bring any cleaning supplies?”

Bubba holds up a small grocery bag. Said bag is that which one typically receives at a New York corner store–black, plastic, and small. It is not full. Cheer could have been convinced that it contained only a sponge and a Snickers bar.

Cheer: “Please tell me that bag has Mary Poppins powers.”

Bubba: “Huh?”

Cheer: “Nevermind.”

Bubba: “So, I was here yesterday. What isn’t clean?”

Cheer raises an eyebrow and seriously wonders if Bubba is actually blind. She feels awkward as she tells him things that need to be cleaned, because she feels she is just stating obvious facts.

Cheer: “The entire bathroom is covered in a visible layer of dirt. If you were to run your bare finger down any surface in there, it would be qualified as a biohazard, have to be removed, and then disposed of via special containment. The stainless steel sink is a brownish-green color and I’m certain that radioactive tadpoles are living under the sink strainer. Every surface in a two foot radius of the stove is covered in a urine and honey reduction. I’m scared to touch any cupboard because I would become permanently bonded to it. Due to the inability to escape the flypaper cupboard, I would eventually perish in my dirty kitchen, 4 inches out of reach of all food and water. I don’t want to die.”

Bubba: “OK.”


Biohazard-Warning2

Cheer web-nets while Bubba cleans. Every now and then he calls on her for approval.

Bubba: “Clean?”

Cheer: “Cleaner than before.”

…

Bubba: “Clean?”

Cheer: “Ummmm.”

…

Bubba: “All done?”

Cheer: “If I were a goat without a sense of smell, it might suffice.”

Bubba: “So, I can leave now?”

Cheer: “Yes. You’re obviously the manager’s second cousin’s husband and were never meant to be employed in the cleaning industry. Thanks for wiping the first layer of dirt off. I will clean for real now.”

Bubba: “Works for me. Laterz.”

Cheer spends approximately 30 hours during the following weeks cleaning her apartment to her standards. Bottle after bottle of cleaning fluids are emptied, sponges and brushes are worn and tattered, and perhaps a year’s supply of paper towels are kaput. She regrets not hiring a cleaning company, but her apartment fucking sparkles.

Click to enlarge
faucet2


Illustration below copyright Haven Duveyoung

layers_of_dirt

Cheer's Favorites, Dating

Train Guy

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After a long summer double shift at work, Cheer is sweaty, disheveled, and exhausted. She gets on the express train toward home. Too tired to read, she puts her headphones in and mutes the din of the subway car with music.

While on the train, Cheer eyes an attractive man sitting across from her. Cheer and the man exchange glances for a few stops. (This is routine in the world of the subway. Two people admire each other, exchange looks, and within a few stops, one person exits the train, and they never see each other again.)

As the train approaches Cheer’s stop, she acknowledges this typical train situation and gives a mental goodbye. She throws a final glance at the man as she stands and prepares to exit the train. Just before the doors open, the man speaks to Cheer, but she doesn’t hear what he says due to her music.

Cheer removes her headphones: “What?”

The man repeats himself: “What’s your name?”

At this point, the doors have opened and Cheer is stepping out of the car. After a slight hesitation, the man jumps out of his seat and exits the train with Cheer.

Cheer: “So, this is your stop now, huh?”

Man: “Yes.”

Cheer laughs: “OK.”

Man: “What’s your name?”

Cheer: “Cheer. What’s yours?”

Man: “For the purpose of this story, you can call me Train Guy, because that’s how you’re going to reference me to your friends later anyway.”

Cheer: “True. OK. Train Guy. So, tell me, Train Guy, why’d you get off the train with me just now?”

Train Guy: “Well, I, I, I, just had to talk to you. You’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen.”

Cheer: “Wow. Thank you. I think you’re just a regular amount of good looking.”

Train Guy: “That’s OK. As long as you’re paying attention to me. When I saw you, my heart started racing. The pounding in my chest was so intense, I just had to talk to you.”

Cheer: “That’s very sweet. So, how many times a week do you jump off a train for a girl?”

Train Guy: “None! Never! Just for you! You’re the first one!”

Cheer: “I don’t believe you, but, it’s still flattering.”

Train Guy: “This isn’t my stop. What am I doing jumping off the train so soon? It’s crazy! It’s because of you. You’re just so beautiful. So sexy. I just had to talk to you.”

Cheer: “Seeing as I’m a horrendous mess after a long day of food service, I’m taking all this to be extra complimentary.”

Train Guy: “Good.”

Cheer: “So, where are you from?”

Train Guy: “Africa.”

Cheer: “Africa’s a pretty big place. Care to be more specific?”

Train Guy: “Mali.”

Cheer and Train Guy continue to have small talk interspersed with exclamations from Train Guy like, “I can’t believe I got off the train!” and “You’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen!” The latter of which Cheer really never tires of hearing.

After walking and receiving compliments from Train Guy for about three blocks, Cheer stops and turns to face Train Guy on a corner.

Cheer: “OK. I’m going to walk by myself from here.”

Train Guy: “What? Really? Why?”

Cheer: “Because though you’re very flattering, you’re a complete stranger who just followed me off of the train, and you’re not going to accompany me all the way to my apartment and gain the knowledge of the location of my residence.”

Train Guy: “Oh. OK. Well, can I have your phone number?”

Cheer hesitates but ends up giving Train Guy her number. She then sends him on his way, and she goes home, ego boosted.

The following day at work, Cheer becomes increasingly curious about just how prematurely Train Guy exited the train. As if, the further the distance, the more attractive she must be. Eventually, she sends Train Guy a text message to find out.

CHEER: What’s your actual subway stop?

TRAIN GUY: One bajillionth street (30 blocks north of Cheer’s stop)

TRAIN GUY: What are you doing [sic]

CHEER: I’m at work.

TRAIN GUY: Me to. a call. You to night [sic]

CHEER: OK

TRAIN GUY: So. What time are you get off [sic]

Cheer doesn’t respond due to being at work. When she is done working, she sees a missed call from Train Guy. After getting home, she responds via text.

CHEER: Sorry I missed your call. I’m home now, but I’m going to bed. Talk tomorrow?

TRAIN GUY: ok

CHEER: Cool.

Minutes after this text exchange, Train Guy calls Cheer.

Cheer: “This isn’t tomorrow.”
Train Guy: “I know. But I wanted to talk to you.”
Cheer: “Un-huh.”

Cheer humors Train Guy by participating in a 10 minute conversation of get-to-know-you type exchanges. She then re-announces her intent to go to sleep and hangs up with Train Guy, agreeing to speak again soon and arrange a time to get together for a drink.

After nearly two weeks of only minimal text exchanges, Train Guy sends Cheer a text.

TRAIN GUY: can you send me your picture [sic]

Cheer decides this is slightly creepy and she will absolutely not send him a photo. Instead, she will craftily avoid the situation with humor.

CHEER: Have you forgotten what I look like?

TRAIN GUY: no

TRAIN GUY: You at work

CHEER: Yes

TRAIN GUY: What time are you get off [sic]

Cheer decides to ignore the last text. After she clocks out at work, she thinks she’s sending a text to her friend, whom she has arranged to meet that night. In true Hollywood writing style, Cheer accidentally sends the text to Train Guy.

CHEER: I just clocked out. Where are you?

Cheer has no idea she has sent this message to Train Guy instead of her friend until Train Guy responds, overjoyed by Cheer finally giving some initiative to see him. Cheer slaps her forehead and feels awful, since the situation cannot be explained to Train Guy truthfully, and now she has gotten herself into quite a pickle. She wriggles out of her accidental text saying she’s tired and going home.

After two plus weeks, Cheer has a Monday night off work and decides it’s high time she gave Train Guy a chance. She texts him to arrange a date.

After a handful of texts, it has been decided they will meet on Monday, at 9pm. They agree to speak on Monday to arrange a place. To Cheer, this means the conversation is over, and the next appropriate time for contacting one another is on Monday. Minutes after Cheer’s assumed completion of the conversation, Train Guy sends an additional text.

TRAIN GUY: I miss you.

Cheer goes into a panic. Her inner monologue consists of repeating the statement “Oh, fuck. I just made a date with a crazy person.”

After a few minutes she settles from her panic and turns to her brain for logic. Trying desperately to give Train Guy the benefit of the doubt, Cheer credits this statement to his poor English, and Cheer assures herself, he can’t really think he misses her; he just doesn’t understand the weight of these words in English. Finally she responds in the most light-hearted way she can muster.

CHEER: Nah… You can’t miss someone you don’t know. You just want to see me.

Though she scrambled for some type of explanation for his ‘I miss you’ text, Cheer knows deep down, that she has actually made a date with a crazy person.­ She decides to follow through with the date anyway, mostly just to see what happens.

Monday comes, and, via text, Cheer suggests to Train Guy that they meet at a wine bar a few subway stops from her apartment. Train Guy responds.

TRAIN GUY: I sorry idont dorink [sic]

After Cheer recovers from the humor of his typos, the meaning of the words hit her. Cheer had been apprehensive about the date since the “I miss you” text, and the thought of having a dry date with a crazy person only fuels her anxiety. Never has she felt like such an alcoholic.

Cheer’s train of thought: “Oh, shit. Doesn’t drink? Who doesn’t drink? I can’t go on a date with someone who’s crazy and doesn’t drink! AA member. He must be an alcoholic. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? I’ve already written this guy off, why am I freaking out? I need a drink…”

After Cheer overcomes her reaction, she tries to think of what people in NYC do on a first date without drinking. She realizes, maybe she doesn’t just feel like an alcoholic, maybe she is an alcoholic. She thinks of canceling. She texts Train Guy, and does her best to sound like a rational human being—one who doesn’t panic when threatened with the absence of alcohol.

CHEER: OK. Well, what would you like to do instead?

TRAIN GUY: We go to the restaurant? [sic]

TRAIN GUY: Do you tike African food? [sic]

Cheer panics all over again at the thought of committing to an entire dry dinner with “I miss you” man. It’s too early to claim she’d already eaten. She gives in. She realizes she behaving like an alcoholic child, and no one likes alcoholic children.

CHEER: Well, I’m a vegetarian, so what limited African food I’ve had, I liked. Do you have a place in mind?

TRAIN GUY: Yes

Cheer feels that a “yes” answer in this situation warrants a follow up text giving more information. Such a text does not come.

CHEER: Care to tell me which one? What’s the name of the restaurant? Where is it?

TRAIN GUY: Meet me in 116. St. Ok [sic]

CHEER: Where on 116th? Where’s the restaurant?

TRAIN GUY: Cool

CHEER: Ummmm…. 116th and what avenue? What time?

A half hour passes without a response from Train Guy.

CHEER: ?

TRAIN GUY: 8 av [sic]

CHEER: What corner? What time?

Cheer is beginning to feel like she’s holding a text conversation with someone who is highly intoxicated, despite Train Guy’s claim of sobriety. Still, she refuses to call, due to her aversion to speaking with people she doesn’t know well on the phone.

TRAIN GUY: What time are you tike? [sic]

CHEER: How about 8:30?

TRAIN GUY: Ok

Cheer decides not to attempt to get any more info from Train Guy, but to tell him which corner.

CHEER: OK. 8:30. Northwest corner.

Cheer has some time to kill before 8:30, and decides to pre-game for her date. If she can’t drink on the date, she figures she might as well take the edge off beforehand. Two beers later, Cheer leaves her apartment to meet Train Guy.

Come 8:30, Cheer and Train Guy meet, not on the northwest corner, but after a phone call and passing each other mid-crosswalk.

The restaurant is a no frills, homey joint, with paper napkins, plastic water cups, and no AC. Cheer is fine with this, actually enjoying the atmosphere, but hoping it means the food is grand, the way only hole-in-the-wall type places can be.

Cheer and Train Guy are seated. They order only water to drink. Skimming the menu, Cheer doesn’t find a single vegetarian dish. When the server arrives, Cheer asks for a vegetarian suggestion. The server suggests ordering sides. This is something to which Cheer, a lifelong vegetarian, has become accustomed, but in this instance, she’s a little peeved that, after she specifically mentioned her diet, Train Guy took her here. A plate piled high with carbohydrates arrives as Cheer’s meal. Whereas most restaurants offer some kind of vegetable as a side, there was no such glory here. Cheer is a big fan of carbohydrates, make no mistake, but typically, a girl on a first date has no desire to consume a plate of rice and plantains the size of her head.

Cheer quickly gets over the lack of exciting food and gets to conversing with Train Guy. She gets right to the things she wants to know.

Cheer: “So, why don’t you drink?”

Train Guy: “I’m Muslim.”

Cheer feels an extreme urge to flag down the server and order a strong drink. She resists.

Cheer the atheist: “Oh, shit.”

Cheer: “So, like, a for reals Muslim? Like, pray 5 times a day, don’t drink, believe in one true monkey in the sky, Muslim?”

Train Guy: “Yes.”

At this point, 5 sentences into their date, Cheer is done. She knows she could never date a seriously religious person, and from here on out, the dinner is about platonic interest for Cheer, no longer a date. This takes a lot of pressure off of her and allows Cheer to ask questions about whatever she wants to know, without attachment to the answers.

Cheer and Train Guy proceed to talk all about Train Guy’s religion, his mosque, his job, his praying, how he takes breaks at work to pray, his views about marriage, his goals (or lack thereof), his homophobia, his aversion to crying due to it being an unacceptable activity for men, his family, his life in Africa, his life in NY, his ex, and pretty much every topic you were ever told to avoid upon first meeting someone. Some of Cheer’s favorite excerpts from her conversation with Train Guy are as follows:

THE EX

Train Guy is speaking of his ex-girlfriend, explaining why they broke up: “She drank.”

Cheer: “I drink. That’s not a problem for you?”

Train Guy: “You’re different. I mean, we would go out for dinner, and she would have to have wine, every time. But you, you’re here, and you’re just having water, and it’s fine.”

Cheer: “Pre-game? What pre-game? Two beers? Who? Me? I didn’t have two beers. What are you looking at? I’m a perfect angel who would never prepare for a dry date by drinking. Pshhh! I am so above your ex. I mean, who would feel the need to drink around you? Speaking of your ex, I think I might like her. Maybe we could be friends.”

HOMOSEXUALITY

Train Guy says something in passing during the conversation which alerts Cheer to the fact that he has different views on homosexuality.

Cheer: “Wait, what? You think homosexuality is a choice?”

Train Guy: “Well, kind of.”

Cheer: “What do you mean kind of?”

Train Guy: “Well, most lesbians are lesbians because a man treated them poorly at some point.”

Cheer: “Most? What about the rest?”

Train Guy: “Well, the rest just want to be men.”

Cheer: “Oh. Of course. That makes perfect sense. What could be more true? So, let’s follow your pattern for men… Are most gay men gay because they were mistreated by a woman at some point?”

Train Guy very matter of factly: “No. Men just choose it, because they want it.”

Cheer: “Uhhhhhhh…”

Train Guy: “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know why, but they choose it.”

Cheer doesn’t have words and her face shows it.

Train Guy: “What?”

Cheer: “I’m just baffled. But, I’m not going to make any attempt to change your mind here, because I don’t think it’s possible. I think if you had some homosexual friends, your view would change.”

Train Guy: “No, I had a gay friend once.”

Cheer: “Really?”

Train Guy: “But, I can’t be friends with gay men anymore, because I don’t want them to try to have sex with me.”

Cheer: “Why do you think they would try to have sex with you?”

Train Guy: “Well, my gay friend touched my hand once. Then I knew he just wanted to put in my butt, and now I think that all gay men are trying to fuck me.”

Cheer: “My head hurts.”

MONEY

Train Guy: “I can’t date women with money.”

Cheer: “Why not?”

Train Guy: “Because rich women just want to control you.”

Cheer: “How have you arrived at this generalization?”

Train Guy: “Well, once I dated the daughter of a politician, and she had money, and she wanted to control me.”

Cheer: “Well, that definitely proves that all women with money want nothing more than to control you.”

Train Guy: “I know, right?”

During their conversation, Cheer asks lots of questions. The answer to one question leading to the asking of a new one, and on and on the way a conversation flows. But this is a different kind of conversation. Cheer realizes, not too far into it, that this is a one-sided conversation. One-sided, meaning all the talking is about only one of the two people involved. One asking all the questions, the other doing all the talking… about himself. Cheer is very familiar with this conversation format, because she has a striking ability to be attracted to extreme narcissists.

After realizing this is the type of conversation she’s in, Cheer decides to take note of how long it takes Train Guy to ask her anything in return. For two hours, Train Guy never produces a single question for Cheer. Cheer proffers a few facts about herself in response to some of the things Train Guy says, but he never once attempts to turn the conversation to learn about Cheer.

After two hours, there is a natural break in the conversation. At this pause, Train Guy says to Cheer: “I like you.”

Cheer’s response to this is slightly harsh, because at this point, she feels it is a silly statement for him to make, when he hasn’t made any effort to find out who Cheer is and find out if he likes her brain. To Cheer, he’s just saying he likes her looks, which after two hours of picking his brain, is insulting.

Cheer: “How do you know that? You don’t know a thing about me.”

Train Guy suddenly realizes he fucked up and responds by saying: “Well, tell me about yourself.”

Feeling a bit odd about the preface to this command, Cheer takes a breath and speaks about the classic things that people mention in such a scenario. She includes oddities about herself which typically garner an influx of questions and commentary, such as her upbringing in a hippie community in the Midwest, and the names of her siblings, but all of these facts go uninterrupted. Cheer speaks for a good minute and a half without stopping, strangely summing up her life by noting major events. All the while, Train Guy sits and nods, and occasionally produces noises like “mmm-hmm.” Cheer wraps up her mini bio and sits waiting for some kind of verbal response from Train Guy. Anything that might prompt her to speak more, or continue into any kind of conversation. Such a verbal response never comes.

Soon after Cheer’s forced, awkward life history, Cheer and Train Guy leave the restaurant, due to Cheer pretending she needs her beauty sleep for work in the morning. As they walk, Train Guy continues to mention how much he likes Cheer and how he still can’t believe he jumped off the train to meet her. Cheer thought it was cute the first 5 times he mentioned his train-exiting gall, but now, the charm has long gone. As he yammers on about how great she is, pushing her pedestal higher and higher, she thinks to herself: “What the fuck is wrong with this guy?”

She feels the need to start shouting things at him in order to stomp down her pedestal.

“I’m an atheist!”
“I had two beers before coming to meet you!”
“I want to have shit loads of money! Rich. Rich. Rich.”

She resists the urge to shout such things, mostly because it would probably evoke further conversation, (about Train Guy), instead of allowing her to escape and drink more beer in her apartment.

Train Guy leaves the date with a hug from Cheer, feeling as though he is one step closer to sleeping with her. Cheer leaves the date 100% sure she will never sleep with Train Guy.

After four days and three unanswered text messages, Cheer decides she really has to break things off with Train Guy. She decides she needs to man-up with her rejection, as opposed to her usual brush-him-off-nicely-until-he-finally-gets-the-hint-and-gives-up technique, due to her extreme aversion to confrontation. This time, she decides, she will be honest and straightforward, and she will get it over with sooner.

Before Cheer actually gets around to replying to Train Guy with her rejection speech, she receives another text late at night.

TRAIN GUY: Tomorrow is my birthday.

Cheer decides she cannot reject the guy on his birthday, and continues to be MIA. The day after Train Guy’s birthday, he texts Cheer again.

TRAIN GUY: I hope you are doing. Well ? But now if you don’t want to talk is ok? [sic]

Cheer finally responds with a lengthy text.

CHEER: Hi. Sorry I haven’t been responding. I need to be honest with you. I’m sorry if this is too blunt or harsh, but I don’t want to lead you on. I’m not interesting in dating you and I don’t think we should see each other anymore. You’re very sweet, and I’m sorry.

After sending the message, Cheer feels relieved. She is proud that she finally confronted a rejection instead following her usual routine. Soon after she sends it, she receives a response.

TRAIN GUY: Ok but I tike you? [sic]

Cheer finally went for the direct approach to a rejection, and he doesn’t get it. She laughs, and responds.

CHEER: Yes, I know. That’s the problem. I’m not into you the same way. I’m sorry, but it’s not going to work out.

TRAIN GUY: So way me? [sic]

Cheer tries to decipher this message. She concludes that he must have intended to ask “So why me?” but Cheer still can’t make sense of why he would say that, and throws her hands up. She decides to take a shower and deal with the text later.

Cheer gets out of the shower and looks at her phone. Train Guy has texted her again without her ever responding the his last text.

TRAIN GUY: So send me your picture ple [sic]

This text is followed by a photo of Train Guy.

At this point, Cheer freaks out a bit. She’s truly convinced she’s acquired a stalker and starts to worry. Her thoughts run away with her and she’s sure she’ll have to change her number and get a restraining order. She decides she can no longer be nice to someone who just doesn’t get it. Fearing for her well being, she texts him back.

CHEER: Please don’t text or call me ever again.

Train Guy honors Cheer’s request and she doesn’t hear from him again.

Cheer's Favorites, Restaurant, Unemployment

Unemployment: Applications

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Filling out applications for restaurant jobs is a worthless activity, commonly classified as torture. Here’s how it works:

You go to a restaurant which has announced its need for employees. You bring your resume, because you have to. If you don’t have a resume, you’re not trying to get a job.

At the restaurant, there may be 100+ other desperate, jobless losers to keep you company.

You get an application from the hostess. It will have a number on it designating your place in the wait-an-hour-for-a-five-second-interview line. While you wait with application #137, you fill out its multiple pages, with multiple sections, which ask the following:

Basic Info:

Please fill out your name, phone number, email, and all that other shit that is clearly typed on your resume. We only know that you’re truly ready to be a slave if you give us this information again in your best I-hate-this-and-I-hate-myself handwriting.

Not So Basic Info:

Please give us more information about yourself than is even close to being necessary.

Your real name. C’mon. We know you’re a criminal and you changed your name.

Social security number.

Have you committed a felony? Please explain, as if there is any explanation for a felony that would result in us hiring you.

Mother’s maiden name.

Can you legally work in the United States, you damn dirty foreigner?

Bank account passwords.

Have you ever applied here before? Please tell us so that we can reject your application even faster this time.

Blood type.

Have you ever been fired from a job before? Please explain why exactly we shouldn’t hire you.

Superhero identity.

Previous Employment:

Please continue to prove your slave dedication by entering your employment history, which is also clearly typed on your resume. And, yes, we really do want the name of your supervisor and his phone number from the place you worked 5 years ago.

References:

Please list names and phone numbers of people who like you so we may call them and make them not like you after we harass them.

Education:

Tell us every school you ever attended and what degrees you earned. Yes, we really did ask for your elementary school and whether or not you graduated from it.

Skills:

Nunchuck or otherwise, you better have some, ’cause, like girls, we like people with skills.

The Exam:

This is the part of the application which no one, no matter their schooling or experience, can complete perfectly. It is a test. You will be graded harshly. We know you’re a raging moron, so please prove it now so we may throw away your application.

Questions:

  1. List the five most obscure wine varietals you know. Give a geographical location where the grape is commonly grown, and mention what the soil smells like. Describe each wine as you would to a master sommelier.
  2. Name and describe three types of Sicilian grappa.
  3. What are the ingredients of an Exploding British Gumdrop cocktail?
  4. What is 2 + 6?
  5. List every ingredient in the following sauces: Remoulade, Bernaise, and Financière.
  6. Name 16 spices used in Tibetan cooking.
  7. Which of the following words are misspelled? Potatoe, Cheeken, Suk, Mai, Cocke
  8. If a customer asks for a flying tulip with his ribeye steak, what do you bring him?
  9. Name and diagram every possible cut of steak. Explain the flavor characteristics for each as you would to Jean-Georges.
  10. If a customer urinated on you, what would you do?

And finally…

Sign Your Life Away:

Sign and date under a series of clauses that say things like:

When you sign this, you promise you’re not lying about anything and have never lied, like ever, in your whole life. And if we find out you lied, we can, like, not hire you.

And:

When you sign this, we have the right to stalk you. In every way possible. If there is a way to get information about you, you give us permission to do so. This includes stalking you on Facebook and Twitter and wherever else you may have posted personal information about yourself. We can stalk you and we will use it against you. And again, not hire you.

Click photo to enlarge.
SignYourLifeAway

Upon completing your application full of lies, you must wait. And wait some more. Finally, #137 will be called and you will hand your application and resume to a suit, who, like a bad one night stand, won’t look you in the eye, and says he’ll call you but never will.

You leave feeling worthless and abused, and you will repeat the process at the next restaurant.

Cheer's Favorites, Other

Luxury Cars and Cold Hard Cash in the Morning

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Cheer lists her 2002 Lexus IS300 for sale online and receives an email response from Tom, who is interested in seeing the car. Tom gives his phone number and requests a call from Cheer. Tom is available anytime, he says. Tom does not believe in punctuation or capitalization. Cheer and Tom meet one night for a test drive after Tom gets out of work. Tom is of average height, mid-twenties, looks to be of Middle Eastern decent, but has a New York accent. He’s clean cut, trendy, confident and wearing too much cologne. Tom brings his baby boy and a friend. Tom’s friend is Sedgwick, who is the strong, silent, don’t-fuck-with-me type. Sedgwick holds the baby. Cheer and Tom leave Sedgwick and baby behind, and Cheer gets in the passenger seat to let Tom drive her baby.

In the car driving around New York City’s Upper East Side:

Tom: “You know I was quite surprised upon meeting you tonight.”

Cheer: “Why?”

Tom: “Well, when I spoke to you on the phone I thought you were Indian.”

Cheer: “Hahaha. Indian? What?!”

Tom: “Yeah, Indian or black.”

Cheer: “Black? What?! Hahaha. Indian or black? Those were the two options?”

Tom: “Yeah, you know, you sounded different. And you’re over there in Harlem.”

Cheer: “Wow. You are the first person to ever tell me I sounded Indian or black, or anything other than the non-accented, pasty, redhead I am.”

Tom: “Really?”

Cheer: “Really. But, your error amuses me greatly.”

Tom: “So, how’d you end up in Harlem?”

Cheer: “Well, that’s where I found an apartment with everything I was looking for. I opted for space and amenities over location.”

Tom: “Huh. I don’t approve.”

Cheer: “I’ll keep that in mind while I continue to live there. But I’ll humor you, where do you suggest I live? Long Island? That’s where you live, right?”

Tom: “No, I work in Long Island. I live in Queens.”

Cheer: “Ah. So, I should live in Queens?”

Tom: “Yeah. Queens is great.”

Cheer: “Why’s that?”

Tom: “Well, I grew up there, and I still live there, so to avoid cognitive dissonance, I think it’s the best place to live.”

Cheer: “That’s cute.”

Later that same test drive:

Cheer: “So, are you familiar with the IS? Or do you want to know a little about it?”

Tom: “Nah, I’m familiar. I used to have a GS.”

Cheer: “GS, IS, same thing. What evs. So, why do you need a second car?”

Tom: “Oh, I’m not buying it for me.”

Cheer: “Oh. Who are you buying it for?”

Tom: “My baby mama.”

Cheer: “Did you really just use the phrase, ‘my baby mama,’ in a completely serious tone?”

Tom: “Pretty much. That’s how I roll.”

Cheer: “OK. Just wanted to clarify. So…that’s a pretty nice gift.”

Tom: “Yeah, well, you know. She’s driving me crazy without one.”

Cheer: “Well, I know that’s my number one reason for buying people luxury cars.”

Cheer and Tom return to Sedgwick and the baby. Tom likes the car and wants it. Tom wants the car for far less money than the price listed in the ad.

Tom: “I want the car. I’ll give you less than you’re asking, in cash, tomorrow.”

Cheer: “Cash? As in cash, cash? You want to hand me thousands of dollars in cash?”

Tom: “Yes, cash, cash. I don’t do banks.”

Cheer: “Cash and I get along. I could like this idea. But, it’s worth more and you know it.”

Tom: “There are scratches, I have to fix the CD player…”

Cheer: “It’s still worth more. But, I’ll bargain with you. How about $500 less than my listed price?”

Tom: “I don’t bargain. Same offer.”

Cheer: “Everyone bargains in car sales. It’s like, how this works.”

Tom: “Nope. Same offer.”

Cheer: “This is where you offer $500 more than your original offer.”

Tom: “Same offer.”

Cheer: “It’s worth more. It’s from Cali. I’ll pull up the Kelly Blue Book right here on my iPhone.”

Tom: “Meh. You’re going to sell to me for less because you don’t want to find another buyer.”

Cheer: “Well, that’s a two way street. You also don’t want to find another seller.”

Tom: “You weren’t supposed to point that out.”

Cheer: “So, that’s why you need to bargain.”

Tom: “Nah. Same offer. By the way did I mention I’m cocky?”

Cheer: “I’ve picked up on it.”

Tom: “So, let’s make this deal.”

Cheer: “Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of your deal.”

Tom: “Yes, you are.”

Cheer: “Cocky. Not so perceptive.”

Tom: “Cocky is more important.”

Cheer: “Good to know. I think you should give me more money.”

Tom: “Aight. Well, I gotta talk to the wife. Cause it’s really her decision.”

Cheer: “You’re buying the car. Doesn’t that make it your decision?”

Tom: “I gotta see if it’s really what she wants, blah blah blah.”

Cheer: “OK. Is the wife the same person as the baby mama?”

Tom: “Yeah.”

Cheer: “OK, well, you talk to the wife/baby mama and you call me with a real offer.”

Tom: “OK. We’ll talk tomorrow about the same offer. The wife really has nothing to do with the purchase. I just want to make you think you might lose me, making you panic and sell for less after you think about it all night.”

Cheer: “Nice strategy. I see it through it, though.”

Tom: “OK, well, I’ve already started this façade, so I’m gonna keep going with it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Cheer: “OK.”

The following day Cheer and Tom speak, as scheduled, about the same offer.

Tom: “So, did you think about it?”

Cheer: “Me? You were the one who was supposed to think about it and talk to the wife/baby mama. You have a better offer yet?”

Tom: “No. Same offer. That’s all I can do.”

Cheer: “Uh-huh.”

Tom: “Look, I’m gonna have to fix the scratches, the CD player, and it’s gonna cost me a lotta money.”

Cheer: “C’mon. BAR-GAIN.”

Tom: “I can’t go any higher.”

Cheer: “Don’t you realize that that number is like, my bottom, last resort number?”

Tom: “Yeah. That’s why I won’t budge.”

Cheer: “You’re making my life very hard and very easy all at the same time.”

Tom: “Thanks. I’ve spent years honing the skill to accomplish that very thing.”

Cheer: “C’mon.”

Tom: “How about this. You sell for my offer and I’ll take you out to dinner.”

Cheer: “Hahaha. Did you just ask me to dinner?”

Tom: “Yeah.”

Cheer: “Do I get to pick the restaurant?”

Tom: “Yeah. Anywhere you wanna go.”

Cheer: “Hah. Well, if I get to choose, I will get my extra money out of you anyway.”

Tom: “There ya go.”

Cheer: “Or you could just give me more money.”

Tom: “Or not.”

Cheer: “You really aren’t going to budge, are you?”

Tom: “No.”

Cheer: “Lemme think about it.”

Tom: “OK.”

For a multitude of reasons, including the impending doom of New York City insurance rates and the stress of owning a car in the city, Cheer agrees to sell to Tom for less than she had hoped, but ultimately feels good about it.

Cheer and Tom speak the following day and work out the details of transferring the car. This arrangement involves Cheer driving to Queens and meeting Tom at a branch of her bank at 10:30am. Cheer is not a morning person.

Cheer to bank teller: “Hi. I, uhhh, need to make a large cash deposit. How, ummm, do I go about doing that?”

Bank teller: “You’re adorable, and I’m going to smile and make you feel A-OK about your large cash deposit ignorance.”

Cheer: “Great, cause, unfortunately, I’m not well versed in this.”

Bank teller: “Just fill out a regular deposit slip and bring it back here with the money.”

Cheer: “Easy enough. Thanks.”

Cheer walks over to a nearby bank counter where Tom and Sedgwick are standing. She begins filling out the deposit slip. Tom pulls a large wad of cash from his pocket, and he and Sedgwick begin counting out the money to be given to Cheer.

Cheer: “Filling out deposit slip…do do do… Too fucking early. Need more coffee. Hmm hmm hmmm. That’s a lot of money being counted next to me. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Tom: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. One. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Two. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Three…”

Sedgwick double checks Tom’s counting. They are precise and fast.

Cheer: “Money, money, money, money, moooooonnnneeeeey. Oh fuck.”

Tom: “What?”

Cheer: “Oh nothing. I just thought that that hundred had bloody fingerprints on it.”

Tom: “Nah.”

Cheer: “Yeah, I’m gonna go with ‘nah’ as well.”

Cheer begins counting the cash that Tom and Sedgwick have just counted out. Cheer is not fast, or precise in the morning.

Cheer: “I’m just gonna take a while counting and knock the piles of cash around with the sleeve of my jacket, okay?”

Tom: “That’s OK, take your time. But I do have an appointment.”

Cheer: “Right. I’ll just brush the piles into each other again as you are talking.”

Sedgwick: “She’s nervous.”

Tom: “It’s OK.”

Cheer: “I haven’t slept.”

Sedgwick: “OK.”

Cheer: “Yup. There goes the bloody fingerprint hundred. Right through my hands. I’ve got bloody fingerprint money all over my hands. I’m doing deals with drug dealers. Mafia. Mafia drug dealers.”

Tom: “All good?”

Cheer: “Yup.”

Cheer takes the wad of cash to the teller.

Cheer: “Hi, again. Can you please count this, verify it as valid currency, ignore the bloody fingerprints, and deposit it?”

Teller: “Yup, do it all the time, and yup.”

Cheer: “Woot.”

Teller: “Sign here.”

Cheer: “OK.”

Teller: “You’re all set. Here’s your deposit receipt.”

Cheer: “Thanks.”

Cheer signs over the title, and fills out bill of sale forms with Tom. She leaves the bank and drives her car for the last time. She follows Sedgwick’s brand new 7 series BMW into a parking garage a short distance away. She removes her California license plate and checks for belongings one last time. She gets in the beamer with Sedgwick and Tom, who drive her to a subway stop nearby.

In the beamer:

Tom: “So, when are you gonna get out of Harlem?”

Cheer: “As soon as it’s not fun to live there. You’re not a big fan of Harlem, huh?”

Tom: “No. There are a lot of…” Tom stops himself. “…African Americans over there, yeah?”

Cheer: “Heh. Yeah.”

Tom: “You’re probably the only one there that looks like you.”

Cheer: “One of a few.”

Tom: “So, what do you do?”

Cheer: “Well, currently, I’m unemployed.”

Tom: “OK. What did you do before?”

Cheer: “Most recently, I was waiting tables.”

Tom: “Huh.”

Cheer: “I wasn’t going to dare broach the subject, but since you brought it up, what is it that you do, Tom?”

Tom: “I’m in real estate and hair styling.”

Cheer: “Hair styling, huh?”

Tom: “Yeah.”

Cheer: “So, there’s a lot of cash in hair styling or is it the real estate?”

Tom: “Well, it’s both, but more the hair styling.”

Cheer: “Ah. Well, perhaps I’ll have to get into hair styling.”

The car arrives at the subway stop.

Tom: “It was a pleasure doing business with you. Thank you.”

Cheer shakes hands with Tom and Sedgwick.

Cheer: “You as well. You have my number. Let me know if you have any trouble registering it or anything.”

Tom: “Will do.”

Cheer gets out of the car.

Tom: “And, hey, I owe you dinner.”

Cheer: “Hah. Yes. You let me know about that.”

Cheer's Favorites, Other

NYC Parking Adventures with Cheer

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Thursday, September 17, 2009:

8am
Cheer has slept only 2 hours. She slides off the edge of her bed to prepare for the 1.5 hour sit-in-her-car-doubled-parked-with-her-fellow-car-owning-neighbors-until-street-cleaning-ticketing-time-is-over process. She endures this whenever she forgets to move her car to the opposite side of the street the day before. In a very unbalanced manner, she gets into pants, shoes and a hoodie. She’s ready for the torture to begin.

8:10am
Cheer leaves her apartment and walks in a zombie-like manner one avenue east and one street north to where she left her car.

8:12am
Her walking slows and Cheer’s eyes open a little wider.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Her pace quickens as she scans the cars until she finds herself at the end of the block. “Oh….Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Cheer walks briskly up and down long avenues panicking, looking for her car, and hoping to find it before 8:30 – ticketing time for cars left on the to-be-cleaned side of the street.

Cheer’s inner monologue:
Where the fuck is my car? Where the fuck? My car. The fuck? I was sure I left my car there. Why? Oh. Shit. Why is it not there? Am I losing it? Did I really park it somewhere else and I don’t remember? My car is gone. My car was towed. No. There is no reason for it to have been towed. Perfectly legally parked. What the fuck. Oh fuck. Where the fuck is my car? Stolen. My car has been stolen. Oh fuck. Oh fuck? Maybe this is good. I was trying to sell it. Now it has been stolen so I’ll just get the money from my insurance. Fuck. What the fucking fuck. Pain in the ass. I’ve heard that takes months to process. And they’ll take my deductible. But, it could be good. This is bad. This is sooo bad. Where the fuck is my car? Stolen. Towed. Stolen.

8:50am
Cheer returns to her apartment and begins web-netting how to find a towed car. She finds the website and enters her license plate number. Nothing. Her car is not in the system. According to the city of New York, it hasn’t been towed. There are no current tickets associated with it.
“Fuck.”

9am
Cheer calls her local police precinct.
Cheer: “Hi, I think my car may have been stolen.”
Officer: “It was probably towed.”
Cheer: “It wasn’t found in the tow database online.”
Officer: “Well, if it was towed this morning, it might not be in that system yet. You have to call all these numbers of all the different places in the city that tow and ask them.”
Cheer: “And if I don’t locate it, then I can call you back and file a report for a stolen vehicle?”
Officer: “No. You can go down to where you left your car parked and then call 911 for an officer.”
Cheer: “So this system is complete bullshit and I can’t do the report over the phone?”
Officer: “Correct.”

9:05am
Cheer proceeds to call all 6 phone numbers to find her possibly towed car. Calls result in the following:

Call 1: We don’t tow cars from Harlem. We don’t have your car.
Call 2: Nope. Not in the system. We don’t have your car.
Call 3: We don’t tow from Harlem. No dice.
Call 4: This is the mayor’s office. You want the sheriff’s office.
Call 5: No answer and no machine at sheriff’s office.
Call 6: We don’t got it.
Call 7: You have reached a Verizon automated voice messaging system.

9:20am
Cheer calls local precinct back.
Cheer: “I wanted to double check the numbers you gave me because I was unable to get through to two of them.”
Cheer checks numbers with officer. They are “correct.”
Officer: “OK. You need to go to where you left your car and call 911.”
Cheer: “Can’t you just send an officer? Why do I have to call 911?”
Officer: “Yeah, I guess that would be reasonable. I’ll send someone. Go there now.”

9:22am
Cheer is on street corner, in the rain, on the coldest day since she’s arrived in NY. Wearing only a hoodie, she’s freezing. She waits.

9:25am
Cheer calls precinct.
Cheer: “It’s the stolen car girl again.”
Officer: “Oh, hi.”
Cheer: “ Just wanted to let you know I’m here and I’m wondering how long I’ll have to wait for an officer.”
Officer: “Oh, yeah, I tried to get in touch with someone to come meet you, but didn’t get anyone to respond. Sorry. You should just call 911.”
Cheer: “So glad you planned on telling me.”
Officer: “Meh. Whatevs.”

9:26am
Cheer calls 911 and is told an officer will be there shortly. She waits.

9:27-10:30am
Cheer waits. Rain. Cold. She waits. She watches 4 police cars drive through the intersection, but none are there for her. She even asks one officer while he’s stopped at the red light if he’s the one she’s been waiting for.
“I’m not the one. Just wait. Someone will come for you.”

10:30am
The officers sent for Cheer finally arrive. She explains her car search thus far.
Officer: “It wasn’t stolen.”
Cheer: “No?”
Officer: “It was probably towed. Is there glass on the ground?”
Cheer: “I didn’t look for glass.”
Officers get out of car and walk with Cheer to the area where her car was parked. No glass.
Officer: “It was most likely towed. I’ve been in this precinct for 5 years and he’s been here for 15 years and we’ve never had a car actually stolen. They just don’t do that around here. It was towed.”
Cheer: “That’s both comforting and disconcerting all at the same time.”
Officer: “Yeah. You’re not the first to naively believe her car was stolen.”
Cheer: “OK. So, if it was towed, why? It wasn’t parked illegally.”
Officer: “Yeeaah, that’s what you think.”
Cheer: “Huh?”
Officer: “It was, you’re an idiot, and your car was towed.”
Officer points to flyer-like sign taped to a gate: “Did ya see this sign?”

Cheer looks at flyer: “Uhh. No. No I did not.”
Officer: “Told ya! We were right, you were wrong. Neener neener. That’s where your car is. Good day.”
Cheer: “Uhhh, thanks?”

Cheer takes photo of sign for information and returns home.

11am
Cheer calls the number from the sign.
Recording: “You’ve reached blah blah blah. If your car has been towed and it’s the middle of the night, call 311.”
Cheer: “The fuck?”
Cheer hangs up and tries to find a website. That would be convenient and modern, so there is no website.
Cheer calls back and leaves a message, seeing as it is not the middle of the night.
Cheer calls 311.
311 Lady: “Hi, I’m the nicest and most helpful person you will talk to all day.”
Cheer: “Cool. I’m pretty sure my car was towed, but it’s not registered in the system online. I called a plethora of numbers given to me by my precinct, and none of them have any information on my car. I found a tow away sign where I was parked, so I believe it was towed the night before last. If that is the case, it should be in the system by now. And now I can’t get an answer from the number on the sign.”
311 Lady: “What kind of sign?”
Cheer: “A flyer-like sign that says there is going to be pavement milling in the middle of the night. There’s info for the project including an address and phone number, but I can’t get them on the phone.”
311 Lady: “Oh, it was for construction?”
Cheer: “Yeah.”
311 Lady: “Well then they didn’t tow it to a lot. They just moved it.”
Cheer: “Eh?”
311 Lady: “If the tow reason was construction, they don’t impound the car, they just move it to somewhere within a 10 block radius.”
Cheer: “Say whaaaaa? That’s some crazy shit.”
311 Lady: “I know.”
Cheer: “So, they came and towed my car, but just parked it somewhere else within 10 blocks?”
311 Lady: “Yup.”
Cheer: “In this neighborhood I’m surprised they’d find anywhere to move it!”
311 Lady: “Haha. I don’t know how they find a space either, but they do.”
Cheer: “So how do I find out where they re-parked it?”
311 Lady: “Your local precinct will have that information for you.”
Cheer: “OK. Thanks.”

11:15am
Cheer calls the local precinct once again.
Cheer: “Apparently my car was towed for pavement milling and the 311 lady told me that they just moved it to somewhere within a 10 block radius. Is she on crack?”
Officer: “No, she’s not. That’s what would happen.”
Cheer: “Why didn’t anyone mention this as a possibility before?!”
Officer: “Cause this is New York fucking City and we have better things to do than actually help you find your car.”
Cheer: “Fuck. OK, well, can you please tell me where my car was relocated?”
Officer: “If you come into the precinct with your license and registration we can get the information for you.”
Cheer: “You can’t give it to me over the phone?”
Officer: “No, that would be practical and wouldn’t waste everyone’s time.”
Cheer: “I see. Well, my registration is in my car, so I can’t bring it. Will you still be able to tell me where it is?”
Officer: “Do you know your plate number?”
Cheer: “Yes.”
Officer: “Then we can give you the info when you come in.”
Cheer: “Great.”

11:25am
Cheer walks 5 blocks to precinct. While she waits in line, she listens to the guy in front of her telling an officer why he’s there.

Guy: “My friend is trying to kill me.”
Officer: “Your friend? Why?”
Guy: “Well, my ex-friend, I mean, he was my friend. But now he’s crazy and trying to kill me.”
Officer: “OK, what happened?”
Guy: “He threw a rock at my head.”
Officer: “And you believe this was a murder attempt?”
Guy: “Well, I have epilepsy. He knows this and knows that if he were to hit me in the head just right it could induce a grand mal seizure and I would die.”
Officer: “OK. So, did you call 911?”
Guy: “No.”
Officer: “Why not?”
Guy: “Cause I didn’t want to rile him up…make things worse.”
Officer: “How’d that work out for ya?
Guy: “It still got worse.”
Officer: “Mmmm hmmm.”

Cheer is called up by another officer. She explains her car search.
Officer looks through a pile of pink papers looking for a report of her vehicle.
Officer: “There’s no record of it here. These are all the reports from today and it’s not here.”
Cheer: “I believe the car was towed on Tuesday. Would you please look at those papers?”
Officer: “Tuesday? It’s Thursday. You’re just now coming in? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Cheer: “I parked the car Tuesday afternoon and there was no street cleaning provoking me to move my car before this morning. Which is when I realized it wasn’t where I had parked it.”
Officer: “Riiiiight. One minute.”
Officer finds new stack of papers and locates Cheer’s car info and gives her an address 2 blocks away.
Cheer: “So, it’s possible that the car now has a ticket because of its new location and this morning’s street cleaning, huh?”
Officer: “Yeah. I suppose so.”
Cheer: “So…I’m just screwed?”
Officer: “Well, yes and no. First go see if the car is actually at this location. If it is, and there is a ticket, come back and we’ll give you a copy of this paper. Then maybe the court will dismiss your ticket.”
Cheer: “Right. Thanks.”

12pm
Cheer walks 2 blocks. She finds her car ticketless and beautiful. She re-parks closer to her apartment, and searches the street for hidden evil towing notices taped to gates like garage sale signs. None. She goes home and gets back in bed.
“I have got to sell that fucking car.”

Cheer's Favorites, Management, Restaurant

Management II

2 Comments

Pre-shift staff meeting:

Manager: “So, we know it’s been a little hot in the restaurant lately.”

Staff: “It’s not a little hot, it’s I-don’t-want-to-be-outside-unless-I’m-naked-and-swimming-while-eating-a-popcicle hot.”

Manager: “I’ll allow you to feel that way, but it doesn’t mean I verify that statement’s absolute truth and I will actually disagree with you on principle.”

Staff: “Riiiiight.”

Manager: “Anyway, it’s been a little hot in the restaurant and we know it can be a wee bit, tiny bit uncomfortable.”

Staff: “We have heat rash between our ass cheeks.”

Manager: “We know that you’re sweating profusely and panting due to your rapid dehydration, but, we really want to hide that from the guests. So, please don’t fan yourself, or wipe your brow. We’d really love it if you could just pretend you’re a superhuman that doesn’t produce fluids.”

Staff: “So when we don’t wipe our brows and we drip sweat on to the tables, food, and customers, you want us to pretend it’s not happening?”

Manager: “Ideally.”

Staff: “Just to be clear, you don’t consider us humans, but annoying, sweating machinery.”

Manager: “Yes.”

Staff: “What about our customers? They want to physically beat us in the face until we get you to close the goddamn doors and turn the AC the fuck on.”

Manager: “Well, we’re very willing to give the guests free prosecco or sorbet.”

Staff: “What about us? We’re wearing twice as much clothing and running around. Can we have a glass of prosecco or some sorbet?”

Manager: “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Staff: “Why don’t we just put all that free beverage and cold sugar money toward fixing the AC?”

Manager: “We’re working on it.”

Staff: “You’ve been working on it for 3 months.”

Manager: “Yeah, when we say we’re working on it, it really means we’re waiting for winter.”

Staff: “Is schadenfreude a requirement for being hired as a manager here?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Cheer's Favorites, Management, Restaurant

Management

4 Comments

Manager: “So, I’ve noticed you’ve done a few strange things lately in terms of your priorities during service.”

Cheer: “Uhhhh, like what?”

Manager: “Well, for example, last night you asked me for a stapler during the middle of service. Then you had the gall to ask the host to find you a stapler when I didn’t bother looking or telling you I didn’t have time.”

Cheer: “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. You’re a manager. You’re here to assist in service and sort out shitty problems.”

Manager: “No, Cheer. You’re completely mistaken. My true job here is to make more money than you, talk to you like you’re mentally challenged, do as little as possible, and degrade you at every opportunity.”

Cheer: “Oh. I’m sorry. I was terribly misguided.”

Manager: “So, when I’m on the floor doing nothing and you ask me for something, it’s really cutting into my doing nothing. Sometimes it’s interfering with my drinking of wine and eating of food which you cannot have.”

Cheer: “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your gourmet meal and fancy wine party.”

Manager: “So, I’d really like it if you would find your own staplers and quit bothering me.”

Cheer: “OK. I hate you.”

Manager: “Good. Then this has been a successful waste of your time.”