roxanne's_assistant_refuses_to_hire_megalomaniac andru235 since i had some time to pass before returning to talk with the fortune teller about what i assumed to be a new job (fortune_teller_refuses_to_hire_megalomaniac), i decided to visit the ballet studio located elsewhere in the strip mall. as i entered Roxanne's Ballet Studio, i was overcome with a sense of disillusionment. i had always supposed that ballet lessons were taught in voluminous pantheons, not boxy strip malls. granted, i had also been disappointed by the presence of the fortune teller (shouldn't there be a zingaro's wagon on the edge of town, or something?). strip malls simply don't offer the proper...aesthetic. a lady sat at a desk, working on something. behind her was an open floor, edged with wall mirrors and that bar-type-thing for which ballet studios are known. as i entered the lady looked up and said, "you must be Mr. Albertson, here to sign up Tulip?" "god, i sure hope not," i said, and ran over to the wall mirrors to get a good look at myself. i was relieved to see that i was still me. "nope! i'm still Andru235," i said, smiling into the mirror. when the gravity of this struck me, i nearly fell to the ground and wept. but i quickly regained my composure and went to the lady's desk, which i plopped myself down on the edge of. she looked at me sitting on the edge of her desk. "what can i help you with, mr. ... um ..." "it's Andru235. two - thirty - five, " i said plainly. "not two - thirty - eight. i know you americans! you go and build fission reactors all over the place and start generating tons of toxic byproducts, yet 90% of your populace can't even identify the difference between ME and my the 238's!" she stared at me like she'd never seen someone who was visiting carbon-based-life as a representative of some other element-based-life before. she said nothing. "anyway, i'm here about that job." "what job?" she asked. she seemed nervous. "...er...you know. the job. the dancing, the opera buffa." "we do NOT deal with OPERA BUFFA," articulated the lady. "ballet and opera buffa have nothing in common." "yeah, except for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, possibly an english horn, 2 bassoons, 4 trumpets, 4 horns, 2 of which are tuned to F and two of which are -" "mr. andru, with all due respect i am *quite* familiar with standard 19th century orchestration. i do NOT need a lecture. now if you will excuse me, i have things to DO," said the lady. "oh yeah? like what, pas de deuxes?" she looked at me with a face that suggested serious irritation. grabbing the ledger book, she held it up. then she held up some receipts, waving them about for me to see. "busy," she said. "bye bye." i didn't want to infringe on her turf any more, and felt sort of bad for having agitated her. i left, tears welling in my eyes. as soon as i stepped out the door i slapped myself. talk about NOT living up to megalomanian standards! i spun around and walked back in. "listen, Roxanne, I am curre-" "I'm not Roxanne," she said, standing up. "that's ok. please, please listen to me," i asked in a wailing, plaintive voice. the sudden change in demeanor seemed to catch her off guard and she fell right over. i offered her my hand and helped her up. "uh...thanks," she said. "anyway, look. *I* just became a megalomaniac three days ago and *I* am having a seriously hard time finding a job. what *am* *I* supposed to do, hmmmm? just what? no one will hire me! they wouldn't hire me when i wasn't a megalomaniac, either. my only credentials are that i write music and these days no one wants anything to do with composers, thanks a lot YOU FUCKING SERIALISTS," i yelled, storming out of the store. i knew my anger was misplaced, of course. it was raining outside and i shook my fist at the sky, mainly as a gesture of solidarity. i started thinking about my hair. then i thought about pancakes, and after that, Roxanne's mojo. i hadn't seen her and i really didn't want to, but i sensed that Roxanne had it goin' on. i looked around for a clock, but i couldn't see one anywhere. however, there were four huge lit up signs advertising the strip mall and the stores in it, plus the huge signs on the store, plus a plane flying in the sky with a banner proclaiming the strip mall's wonderfulness (which seemed increasing dubious to me). the exact time didn't matter. it had been at least twenty minutes since i had left the fortune teller, who had said i should return later in the afternoon, which it now was. i started to walk towards the fortune teller when i felt myself being inexplicably pulled into another one of the strip mall's shops...moments later i found myself standing in "the sports port", surrounded by tough guys - and one extra tough gal. 051024 ... andru235 sports_port_refuses_to_hire_megalomaniac 051024 what's it to you? who go blather from