January 9, 2007
No, no, not that one — y’know, the other country we invaded? (The one that actually had something to do with 9/11?)
Taliban forces, shattered and ejected from Afghanistan by the US military five years ago, are poised for a major offensive against US troops and undermanned NATO forces. This has prompted US commanders here to issue an urgent appeal for a new US Marine Corps battalion to reinforce the American positions.
NATO’s 30,000 troops in Afghanistan are supposed to have taken responsibility for security operations. But Taliban attacks have risen sharply, and senior US officers here describe the NATO operation as weak, hobbled by a shortage of manpower and equipment, and by restrictions put on the troops by their capitals.
The accelerating war here and the critical need for troops complicate the crumbling security picture across the region — from Afghanistan, where the United States chose to strike back after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, to Iraq, where US troops, in almost four years of fighting, have been unable to establish basic security and quell a bloody sectarian war.
I hope we’re not planning on “staying the course” in Afghanistan, too.
Tonight I got back my first two take-home quizzes from Shakespeare: 16/20 on my character study of John of Gaunt from Richard II; 18/20 on my map of England featuring locations mentioned in Richard II. Not bad, but I’m embarassed on the map goof that cost me those two points: I spelled “Wales” with an ‘H.’ Whooooops.
Yesterday, Prof handed us a list of the entire assigned quizzes. We have to turn in five (including the two we’d already handed in), but we can do as many as we like (I’m doing “Is Fallstaff a Coward?” “Battle Techniques from Henry V” and “Scene Analysis from Oliviet or Branaugh’s Henry V”).. Our lowest grades will be dropped. There is an optional paper, but even the Prof advised against it.
Speaking of the Prof: I’ve always heard he’s a stickler and a demon and to avoid him at all costs (and until this minimester, I had), but now that I’m nearly halfway done the course, I (somewhat) wish I could take an actual semester-long class with him. I mean, okay, maybe he does start his 8am classes at 7:50, but that’s all diffused by the funny accents he shifts into when reading from the plays.
Fun Fact:
This is the only full week of class in the entire minimester, and tomorrow is the exact mid-point. Last week, we only met on Tuesday and Wednesday because Towson University was closed for New Year’s Day. Next week, Towson is again closed on Monday for Martin Luther King Jr. day. The following week the minimester ends on Tuesday. Minimester is a fun word, and a fucking apt description for such a shortened class.
So I’ve got one of the Indy’s counter phones up to my ear, and the hold music is blasting Tchialkovsky full volume. I’ve got the second phone, also, and I’m trying to shout into it, “Can you hold?” but the fucker keeps trying to explain that all he wants is a turkey sub with everything and mustard. He doesn’t understand I’m already using both my hands (and my penis doesn’t know how to write, and even if it did — it is a very smart penis — it doesn’t have an opposable thumb* so the matter is moot) so given the choice, I make my decision: mind, I’m on hold on the first phone because we had an issue with a credit card number given to us for a rather large order, and since it includes a $20 tip for moi, that’s where my priority is. Plus, if I don’t get this number, then Gary’s down $160 for pizzas he’s already made. Long story short, “I just want a turkey with everything and mustard” gets hung up on, and I get a working credit card number and am shortly thereafter out the door with fifteen extra-large pizzas in my trunk.
Apparently, sometime before I got back from my delivery, “I just want a turkey with everything and mustard” showed up and asked for his food. “I didn’t give a name,” he told Gary. “I just ordered a turkey with everything and mustard.” Gary told him he didn’t have a ticket but would have one made for him right quickly. Seems Mr. Couldn’t Hold couldn’t wait either, and without caring that it would have taken about thirty seconds to make a turkey with everything and mustard, walked out in a huff and a puff. I explained what had happened to Gary and Gary shrugged it off: “He wasn’t that important.” Damn right.
*And, really, who wants a penis with an opposable thumb?
*”Everything” at the Indy is, in the immortal words of Pothead Neal, “Anything we want it to be”, and very rarely includes mustard. Most regulars know that, in practical terms, “everything” is lettuce, tomato, mayo and hots. On a cold cut, we also include Italian dressing.
I don’t know what inspired Greg to put an Easy Button into his order from Staples, yet sure enough, the box came Monday, I signed for it, and reached in and pulled out the Easy Button after he’d opened it. “You got an Easy Button? You know what this means, right?”
We both imagined it: Zebulon, stepping over to the makeline. Ten pizzas flash on the screen. None have been made. He looks around, frantic, sees the Easy Button, presses it … immediately picks up his phone. “Greg, it’s Zebulon. I pressed the Easy Button but the pizzas didn’t get made, Greg. The Easy Button didn’t make the pizzas! I don’t know what to do!”
By the time I’d gotten out of work at 3pm, I think Greg was sick of the Easy Button: I kept pressing it every few minutes, and a battery-powered voice promptly said “THAT WAS EASY!” Imagine, if you will, being poor Greg. You’re in the office, doing work, and I stick my head in the door. “Greg, the sink is dry and I don’t know how to fill it up.” Then the filtered noises of me manually filling the drains, at the end of which: “THAT WAS EASY!” Me again: “Oh, Greg, look, the sink is filling itself!”
And, of course, the reverse when it came time to stopping the sink from filling itself; washing the dishes; moving the dishes from the soak sink to the wash sink to the sanitizer sink; moving the dishes to the dry rack; draining the sinks; topping boxes; getting out of the chair in the box corner; at every aspect of going to the bathroom; trying to open my drop-box to get my money when it was time to leave; etcetra, etcetra, ad naseum.
At one point, while sitting, I put the putton in my lap and showed Greg as he walked past. “Look, Greg, I’m Easy! Think any girls’ll fall for it?” He shook his head, sighed, and hurried away.
I predicted that Greg was going to throw it out by the time the store closed, particularly considering the playful natures of the drivers working last night. I don’t work again there until Thursday, so I won’t find out until then.
