if I didn't ask, I wouldn't know

Fucking, fucking telefucking marketers! So for months now, we've been receiving calls from the same number every night from about 5:00 until past 9:00. Sometimes I answer knowing it's a telemarketer for the Chronicle asking me to subscribe. I tell them, "Look, i know the Chronicle is a really great paper, but the thing is I travel all the time and I'm mostly out of town, so it really wouldn't make sense for me to subscribe." They'll argue with me for a bit and try to trick me into a Sunday only subscription, but I stay firm and usually win with the over-the-top NO WAY JOSE tone. And then they call back the very next night. At exactly the same hour.

Different topic, but related...I got this messenger bag for carrying my laptop to and fro work. You could order it personalized to say anything you want. At first, i thought I would go for a term from Wendy Mag. Something really random like "mullety moonlight" or maybe "the zurbo coffee zapping mottler" or "I feasted on Rue McLanahan's flesh." Just to fuck with people. But then one day, it struck me. I would go with a line from the classic Ray Parker Jr. hit, title track from the blockbuster film "Ghostbusters." Quite spontaneously, I placed my order for the bag.



Fast forward to present day. The bag is far more neon orange than I realized when ordering it, so it screams out its own blood-curdling call "BUSTIN' MAKES ME FEEL GOOD!!!" in the crowds of drab commuters on the public transportation each day. Surprisingly, very few people question (aloud) the mysterious message on my bag. It is San Francisco, after all, and anything goes here. The first time anyone asked, it was a group of gregarious thugish teens at the bus stop. Luckily, i was on the celly so i could only shout out to them "it's from a song!" to which they replied "Does it mean 'fucking'??"

Shit. Out of context, it does appear to indicate that fucking makes me feel good, doesn't it?

Yesterday, I was coming home on a standing-room-only Muni bus and eavesdropping on an adorable 60-something british woman with a charming accent. She was chatting with her seat neighbor about the difficulty of finding a job. She recently found a part-time job at the Chronicle, as a telemarketer! She was saying that the pay was decent and the hours are great and many of the people she calls tend to treat her nicely because they are interested in her accent. Then suddenly asked her friend, "What is bustin? What does that mean, bustin' makes me feel good?" I knew it was coming, and I tried not to blush or laugh.

"Excuse me, but what does that message on your bag mean?" she asked me.

"Oh, it's from a song."

"Bustin'. Like, bustin' out all over, I suppose."

"Yeah, maybe."

"If I didn't ask, I wouldn't know." she said. And then she returned to coaching her seat mate to apply for the job at the Chronicle.

This exchange taught me two things: 1) Never shoot the messenger. Those telemarketers are probably pretty desperate for a paying job and most likely they are adorable british seniors. 2) All the wrong people are asking me about the meaning of my bag (see yesterday's post).