so i’m riding the elevator up to my apartment when the emergency phone in the elevator starts ringing
and i just stand there for a second because this thing is like thirty years old and has never rung or even been used from what i know
but eventually i answer it thinking maybe something’s wrong with the elevator?? it’s an emergency phone it’s probably an emergency??? i dunno
except i shit you not it’s a telemarketer
a telemarketer that’s as confused as i am when i finally interrupt him mid-spiel to inform him he has the wrong number and then interrupt him again to explain further that “uh, no, seriously, this is an elevator phone. i’m standing in an elevator. talking to you. on the emergency phone. i really think you got the wrong number”
“oh,” says telemarketer guy.
“yeah,” i say.
there’s some mutually-confused silence.
“so, this is my stop,” i say. “i gotta go.”
“oh,” says telemarketer guy.
“good luck,” i add, because telemarketer guy seems like he’s having an existential crisis. and then i hang up on him, because he’s having an existential crisis and won’t actually end the call, and because again i’m talking on an elevator emergency phone and, you know, this is my stop, i gotta go.
i’m just a big fan of the tone in which the ending was told
my great-grandfather had to leave italy in the 20′s because he hit a fascist with a tuba, so if you think I am going to take this sitting down you are going to have to catch these hands and also this tuba
Fun story my Great Great Grandma left Germany in the 1920s because she had family in the US and could get citizenship pretty easily and once she was over in the US she then smuggled over 15 jewish families out by forging family documents so now my aunts are currently in the process of trying to tell the real ones from the fake ones because my great gran just died and there are legally over 100 surviving descendants but we know that math is a lil screwy.
Sometimes a family is you, your kids, your grandkids, your great grandkids, and the 15 Jewish families you helped smuggle out of Nazi Germany.
I was doing my makeup today while my brother was fixing his hair. It was quiet and we were both busy doing ourselves up, but after I put on mascara I noticed that Nico was staring at me. “Did you know that some guys wear mascara?” he said and I was like pfft, yeah, of course, dude. I know guys who put on way more than I do. Nico just nodded and continued with his hair. A few minutes later, he brought it up again. “I know a guy who played in my baseball team that would put on mascara. It was … cool, I guess.” And after a moment of awkward silence, I turned to him and went: “Nico, do you wanna try some on?”
Yep. He did. He told me so after a little bit of asking, but he felt intimidated to try it on himself. So, I grabbed a really natural looking mascara and lightly put on one coat for him. It wasn’t all cute and serene, btw, it was very us (”fuck, don’t poke my eye out, bro” “nico, are you fuckin serious, i’m not gonna” “aaah, fuck, you’re gonna poke me!” “stop moving!”). But afterward he looked at himself in the mirror and was hesitant. He said he didn’t know if he liked it. And i just shrugged because…I guess, I didn’t want him to think anything wild about it. He could wear mascara or not, but I didn’t want him to be insecure about it all the same. “Well, that’s fine,” I said. “It’s no big. You just wipe it off and it’s gone. You want me to pass you a wipe?”
But he kept staring at himself in the mirror and he was like: No, actually…I like it. It makes my eyes pop. Then Nico turned around and waggled his eyebrows at me and went: bitches love my eyes. they won’t stand a chance now.
Today, Nico came into my room while I was doing my nails and he asked me what’s good with my mascara and I was like ???. Anyways, that was his form of asking for mascara again, checking himself out in the mirror for a minute and a half, and finally declaring: “I fucks with how this makes my eyes look”
“you’re an art model does that mean you’re NAKED?” “yeah” “whoa….those lucky artists ;)”
…buddy.
idk who started the idea that life drawing classes have anything sexy going on like. there’s at least ten people in the room and we’re all tired and covered in charcoal.
the dude in front who’s staring at my boobs has been trying to get the shading right for 10 minutes. he’s almost out of paint. he is crying.
The ice burg being frozen solid because there are NEVER ENOUGH SPACE HEATERS.
I was an artist’s model in uni since it paid better than any other student work position. Did a life drawing class one semester, despite it being an unheated old building in the winter evenings, because the instructor was a decent fellow who always had extra space heaters. So there I am one evening, exhausted from my team’s afternoon practice, but I’m in a comfortable position on a padded stool, ready to hold the position for like fifteen minutes. Space heaters all around me, spotlights on me to get shadows in interesting places.
Beyond the red glow of the heaters and the hot-white of the spotlights, the massive drafty room is dark and quiet, broken only by the instructor’s whispers and the scratch of charcoal on paper. Me, I’m just dozing, ‘cause my ancient dorm was heated with creaky old steampipes that never really got warm, and with the new extra-powered space heater alongside the others, that night was the warmest I’d been in a month. I dozed, basking in the glorious warmth.
And then I fell asleep.
And then I fell off the stool.
I woke up rather abruptly on the cold wooden platform, and looked up to see an entire ring of terrified and worried faces around me. Everyone had their hands up, ready to help me up, except no one had touched me. Naked chick laid out face-down on the floor, and all the men and women were suddenly acutely aware they couldn’t just grab a half-asleep dazed naked chick.
Fortunately someone had the bright idea to tear the sheet down from the backdrop, lay it over me as a wrap, and then everyone was quick to help me up.
After that, the instructor and students got used to taking turns talking to me, just to make sure I wasn’t dozing off. Which was weird, at first, because I’d done two semesters just being a silent prop, and now I was interacting. It gave the class a vibe completely unlike any other I’d modeled for, and it ended up one of my favorite modeling experiences.
postscript: months later, walking on campus with someone who’d eventually become my spouse, we passed some guys on the main path. One of them stopped, peered at me, and then said hello, excitedly, saying, “sorry, I didn’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you with your clothes on!”
This is honestly so delightful and accurate
The only situation where saying “I’ve never seen you with your clothes on” is a completely normal thing to say.
