On Friday I ushered at MSU’s basketball arena for the first time. My two hours of formal usher training were put to the test as I stood around for three and a half hours and did absolutely nothing, making this the third consecutive job I’ve had where I don’t have any kind of real purpose. The only way my next job is going to be any easier is if I am literally supposed to just stand around in a field or something all day. Meanwhile, at my job controlling parking for MSU’s football games, I’ve decided that people really hate people who control parking at MSU’s football games. Hell, I’ll see somebody across the street wearing the same little orange blazer I am and think, “Man, look at that loser over there. Christ, what a loser. I’m glad I’m not like . . . wait a minute.” Yesterday, for instance, for about an hour after the football game, I had to force people coming out of some parking structure to turn right instead of left, like everybody apparently wanted to. People were like, “Oh my God! I need to pick my daughter up from ballet! I will kill you in your sleep!” I’d say, “Listen, pal, I can’t let you turn left. You’re just going to have to go around the block.” Then they’d be like, “I will eat your future children! You do not know the meaning of pain! You will burn in the fiery pits of hell!” Apparently, my blazer does not resemble a symbol of authority, though I find more people listen to me when I chew gum. I’m thinking of getting some sunglasses—then people would know to do what I say. “Rich, you better turn right like he says. The man has sunglasses for Pete’s sake.”
Man, these recent Guestbook entries have become out-of-hand. And yet, there remains a question: Who is responsible for them? My money’s on Bobbo (Abdullah the butcher).