I blame myself, you’ve hit a level of “unfit for human consumption” that I thought only I had attained.
You see, when you’ve seen behind the curtain and all its horrors you now have to categorise your experiences into neat little folders so you can have a conversation with muggles without frightening them.
For instance, after my innocent nephew had mentioned that he had seen a famous person once and it was exciting. I felt the need to tell him the story of when I worked for a famous DJ and how in his rider he demanded a blonde, brunette, and redhead be waiting in his hotel room, and they can touch whatever they wanted EXCEPT his monogrammed towels. Only winners get to leave dry.
I’ve since filed this in the “not for 10 years old and under” folder.
It’s a common mistake, really.
You see, when this lovely, unsuspecting, adorably-impressed-by-a-three-story-club, private school boy told you about his “cRaZy” night in vegas, the appropriate response was “wow, that’s so cool *sip*, tell me more about how the best show you’ve ever seen was Cirque Du Soleil…”.
It was not an invitation to bestow upon him the horrors from behind the curtain. You could have chosen literally any other folder and yet you felt the need to break glass on The Box, hold his eyes open at the flame, clockwork orange style, without even the relief of an eye dropper of saline.
You weren’t just the one bringing the gun to the knife fight. You issued a drone strike for a game of hop scotch.
That boy wasn’t ready. You took his innocence as ours was taken that faithful night.
I work for the cops these days, so I get a lot of emails about really gnarly things. Workplace injuries, critical incidents, mental health stuff etc. I hear a lot of gross bodily fluid stories from my sworn colleagues and see a lot of court files with yucky stuff in them.
But I was wholly unprepared for this.
Thank god I have an office with a door, because the look of absolute open-mouthed horror on my face might might have worried a few blue-shirts. What the actual fuck.
Incidentally, I also met Orlando Bloom once at one of those nerdy conventions a decade ago. He was rude and dismissive. Perhaps I misinterpreted it though and he was just traumatised.
Wow I wasn't prepared for a story like that at 712am, taking the very white collar ferry to work this morning. Never fail to entertain Steph with your writing!
Oh Steph… no. Not that. Anything but that.
I blame myself, you’ve hit a level of “unfit for human consumption” that I thought only I had attained.
You see, when you’ve seen behind the curtain and all its horrors you now have to categorise your experiences into neat little folders so you can have a conversation with muggles without frightening them.
For instance, after my innocent nephew had mentioned that he had seen a famous person once and it was exciting. I felt the need to tell him the story of when I worked for a famous DJ and how in his rider he demanded a blonde, brunette, and redhead be waiting in his hotel room, and they can touch whatever they wanted EXCEPT his monogrammed towels. Only winners get to leave dry.
I’ve since filed this in the “not for 10 years old and under” folder.
It’s a common mistake, really.
You see, when this lovely, unsuspecting, adorably-impressed-by-a-three-story-club, private school boy told you about his “cRaZy” night in vegas, the appropriate response was “wow, that’s so cool *sip*, tell me more about how the best show you’ve ever seen was Cirque Du Soleil…”.
It was not an invitation to bestow upon him the horrors from behind the curtain. You could have chosen literally any other folder and yet you felt the need to break glass on The Box, hold his eyes open at the flame, clockwork orange style, without even the relief of an eye dropper of saline.
You weren’t just the one bringing the gun to the knife fight. You issued a drone strike for a game of hop scotch.
That boy wasn’t ready. You took his innocence as ours was taken that faithful night.
Shame on you.
Be better.
Why do I have ANY wild New York stories, Lucie….?
I might not have even HAD that folder. Except for one corrupting influence.
Like I said, I blame myself.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA.
hahaha this kind of story on a date is a big green flag for me
Well at least there’s two of us out there.
I work for the cops these days, so I get a lot of emails about really gnarly things. Workplace injuries, critical incidents, mental health stuff etc. I hear a lot of gross bodily fluid stories from my sworn colleagues and see a lot of court files with yucky stuff in them.
But I was wholly unprepared for this.
Thank god I have an office with a door, because the look of absolute open-mouthed horror on my face might might have worried a few blue-shirts. What the actual fuck.
Incidentally, I also met Orlando Bloom once at one of those nerdy conventions a decade ago. He was rude and dismissive. Perhaps I misinterpreted it though and he was just traumatised.
Honestly - I could not have appreciated a comment more than this one, Lauren.
Thank you for confirming to me that this is a terrible, disgusting story.
Fucking awful.
The bright side is that this made an otherwise awful Monday less awful in comparison.
<3 Pink
Wow I wasn't prepared for a story like that at 712am, taking the very white collar ferry to work this morning. Never fail to entertain Steph with your writing!
Thanks KB!! Honestly, few things are funnier to me than people being adults in the real world and then stumbling on this filth.