It seems that our rag-tag team of "randomly" selected occupants all had another free day, because we didn't lose a single one to doubt.
It seems that Ultor chose us based on significant markers in our blood (which I am uncertain entirely on how they obtained)
[More to this post will be written at a later time]
Page ##: Nov/08/2014
So, it -was- a warehouse.
Somewhere on the scale between creepy dockside murder-house, and upper-class, mob-run "You'll never be seen again" murder-house.
Inside, there was a single table with chairs about.
And other people! Joy! Social meet and greets.
Given the visual sweep of the sausage-fest that Heike and I found myself in, I had little to no idea what job in the world would have merited these sorts of people with us.
Were we all competing for the same job? Oh no. It was one of those early 90's I.T. Cubicle-cronies 'trust fall' sorts of team building experiences. I was half-sure we were on some sort of reality t.v. show where any minute the lights would go out and we'd all be scared for the viewers pleasure.
Allow me to explain:
Around this table, there was Heike and I.
"Conor" - From Boston, Mass: He has an SUV, an accent and an affinity for Bon Jovi. Some working knowledge of Army acronyms, so probably previous military experience.
"Bobby" - From North Carolina: Bobby has never met a stranger, mainly because a stranger never stood a chance of getting away from him. He dresses in a duster and carries a whip to perform tricks on the street for money(?). Not sure if he's homeless, but I have the feeling that he's not unfamiliar to handouts from folks to help him get by. His family used to tell him stories about vampires(?), but who am I to judge? Mine told me stories far stranger than that.
"Louis" - From Paris, France: A well-carried gentleman with a sweet tooth for pastry. He's been made the leader of our "team" and I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he looks like he belongs to a completely different tax bracket above aristocratic. He's recently graduated and is "traveling abroad" and thought this would be fun. Handsome, yes; but I'm immune to the American woman's weakness for accents.
"Lucas" - From "Around" : He was "in the system", then "in the army" as a "sniper". He drinks like a live fish and smells like a dead one. He wears enough axe to drown your other four senses along with smell and is all around just a=great= guy to be around dick.
Like a total dick.
Our Ultor contact is one Mr. Henry Massena. A true Texan in tone and swagger. Finally, someone that doesn't smell like they swim in something that has a boat on the bottle. He seems all business and let's be honest, I'm not one to involve myself with coworkers. (Mainly because I've really only ever had the one, but morals are morals). But it's fun to pretend.
He's eluded that in no uncertain terms we are being hired to ... well I don't know how to write this.
We're being paid to "help individuals" that have recently been involved in the dark ways of the old worlds. "Supernatural" ... "Occult"
All the stories from grandparents that keep us out of dark alleys and our heads in books.
When confronted by the skeptics in the room, they wheeled in a glass case with a 'live' ghost within it, captured. My spine grew chills the moment they let that thing into the room. That old, knowing sign that bad juju was abundant in it. Heike confirmed it as well.
So, he's giving us a day to -think- about employment and if we accept, we meet him again tomorrow morning.
=WHO NEEDS A DAY?!=
A chance to play around in the old world? A chance to learn about the things that go bump in the night? A chance to help those that are too weak or scared to help themselves? And most importantly, a chance to get out of that book tomb of a store?!
-Yvonne "Hell the fuck yes I'm going" Schmitt
Somewhere on the scale between creepy dockside murder-house, and upper-class, mob-run "You'll never be seen again" murder-house.
Inside, there was a single table with chairs about.
And other people! Joy! Social meet and greets.
Given the visual sweep of the sausage-fest that Heike and I found myself in, I had little to no idea what job in the world would have merited these sorts of people with us.
Were we all competing for the same job? Oh no. It was one of those early 90's I.T. Cubicle-cronies 'trust fall' sorts of team building experiences. I was half-sure we were on some sort of reality t.v. show where any minute the lights would go out and we'd all be scared for the viewers pleasure.
Allow me to explain:
Around this table, there was Heike and I.
"Conor" - From Boston, Mass: He has an SUV, an accent and an affinity for Bon Jovi. Some working knowledge of Army acronyms, so probably previous military experience.
"Bobby" - From North Carolina: Bobby has never met a stranger, mainly because a stranger never stood a chance of getting away from him. He dresses in a duster and carries a whip to perform tricks on the street for money(?). Not sure if he's homeless, but I have the feeling that he's not unfamiliar to handouts from folks to help him get by. His family used to tell him stories about vampires(?), but who am I to judge? Mine told me stories far stranger than that.
"Louis" - From Paris, France: A well-carried gentleman with a sweet tooth for pastry. He's been made the leader of our "team" and I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that he looks like he belongs to a completely different tax bracket above aristocratic. He's recently graduated and is "traveling abroad" and thought this would be fun. Handsome, yes; but I'm immune to the American woman's weakness for accents.
"Lucas" - From "Around" : He was "in the system", then "in the army" as a "sniper". He drinks like a live fish and smells like a dead one. He wears enough axe to drown your other four senses along with smell and is all around just a
Like a total dick.
Our Ultor contact is one Mr. Henry Massena. A true Texan in tone and swagger. Finally, someone that doesn't smell like they swim in something that has a boat on the bottle. He seems all business and let's be honest, I'm not one to involve myself with coworkers. (Mainly because I've really only ever had the one, but morals are morals). But it's fun to pretend.
He's eluded that in no uncertain terms we are being hired to ... well I don't know how to write this.
We're being paid to "help individuals" that have recently been involved in the dark ways of the old worlds. "Supernatural" ... "Occult"
All the stories from grandparents that keep us out of dark alleys and our heads in books.
When confronted by the skeptics in the room, they wheeled in a glass case with a 'live' ghost within it, captured. My spine grew chills the moment they let that thing into the room. That old, knowing sign that bad juju was abundant in it. Heike confirmed it as well.
So, he's giving us a day to -think- about employment and if we accept, we meet him again tomorrow morning.
=WHO NEEDS A DAY?!=
A chance to play around in the old world? A chance to learn about the things that go bump in the night? A chance to help those that are too weak or scared to help themselves? And most importantly, a chance to get out of that book tomb of a store?!
-Yvonne "Hell the fuck yes I'm going" Schmitt
Page ##: Nov/07/2014
The courier that decided to stop by was unexpected. I've seen enough law shows to know not accept the package of a courier without asking where it came from. I'm not getting some sort of surprise summons for something I
Lo' and behold. There's some weird offer for work. Not just for me, but for Heike as well.
The Ultor Corporation.
Their website is pretty plain, but it seems to be all "hush hush". Even when it comes to the "job description" that they are offering us.
It's probably some weird sort of timeshare offer, but we could use a free toaster and some cheap shrimp cocktails while a guy in a bad Hawaiian shirt tells us about our dreams.
Heike isn't completely on board, mainly because she googled the location of our "interview" and said it was some sort of warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
... Whatever. Free toasters.
-Yvonne "We take a shot every time they say 'Paradise' " Schmitt
Page 16: Apr/20/2014
The following is NOT a completely hungover Yvonne's entry of the day AFTER being stood up by THE FUCKING MOST APPROPRIATELY FUCKING NAMED MOTHERFUCKER ON THE FUCKING PLANET Waldo, for the third time.
Waldo,WHO IS THE FUCKING KING OF NO SHOWS, NAMED SINCE BIRTH TO HOLD THE TORCH OF INEPTITUDE, HANDED DOWN TO HIM THROUGH HIS FAMILY LINEAGE SINCE THE BEGINNING OF MANKIND NOT SHOWING UP FOR SHIT, who I could care less about, is NEVER GETTING ANYWHERE WITH THIS so many ways out of chances.
Sure, he had great hair, and was a columnist for the Tribune. Ex-military.NO, NOT "EX-MILITARY", EX-COAST GUARD, ON THE GREAT LAKES! THE FUCK WAS HE DEFENDING US FROM? CANADA!? WOULDN'T WANT ALL THAT FREE HEALTHCARE, CHEAP MEDS, AND MAPLE SYRUP GETTING IN HERE. But that's not what makes a man.
What makes a man is the fact that he stood me up. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Every ref in every sport would say he's out.AND HE IS SO MANY WAYS OF FUCKING OUT.
I don't even care anymore. I'm done with men. I'm just.. I 'm so done.
I will adopt forty various animals, and bring them into my home. I will learn to knit and let my looks go as I overindulge on ice cream and pizza. I will be a role-model for how low self-esteem can go as I make headlines on people of walmart. com.
Updates to come.
-Yvonne "I THREW OUT ALL THE WHERE'S WALDO BOOKS I could care less" Schmitt.
Waldo,
Sure, he had great hair, and was a columnist for the Tribune. Ex-military.
What makes a man is the fact that he stood me up. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Every ref in every sport would say he's out.
I don't even care anymore. I'm done with men. I'm just.. I 'm so done.
I will adopt forty various animals, and bring them into my home. I will learn to knit and let my looks go as I overindulge on ice cream and pizza. I will be a role-model for how low self-esteem can go as I make headlines on people of walmart. com.
Updates to come.
-Yvonne "
Page 15: Apr/11/2014
So the whole cliche' of "Oh My God! You met him online?! What if he's an axe murderer? What is he's a rapist!? Do you want to borrow my pepper spray/handgun/sword of +5 pervert prevention?" is really starting to grind on that one nerve between the base of your skull and the start of the back of your neck.
I should have never even mentioned anything to Heike, but being the little overachiever that she is, had him more thoroughly Facebook stalked than the NSA could have managed in their deepest of wet dreams. Turns out, he may -not- be a natural "bad-boy black" in hair color.
Sometimes, I wish I could gingerly put my hands on either of Heike's shoulders and shake her a little.
Just a little.
Until she becomes so confused as to -why- I'm shaking her, that she forgets to keep looking up every little detail of life before living it.
If I am to be =HORRIBLY MAIMED AND/OR SLAUGHTERED= by some guy on the internet, that a friend of a friend of a friend knows from somehow or somewhere, then I really doubt going through every picture he's publicly posted on his timeline is going to save me.
I went out to the bar, a neutral one of varying amounts of usage.
I wore an outfit of somewhere on the scales of "I may be a easy" and "Could be an undercover cop, so don't slaughter me". Sensible but sexy.
No heels, at Heike's suggestion, in-case I need to "make a quick getaway".
Cleavage on a scale of "Your buying the drinks" and "Hello, you'll forget my name, won't you?"
Maybe not as sensible, but first impressions are fun to fuck around with.
Turns out, Waldo forgot we were meeting tonight ... thinking we'd be meeting on Saturday instead of Friday? I think?
Walking home, in my sensible shoes, I looked up to the night sky lost in thought. There was a general haze, a glow from the lights. It was quiet... for Chicago. And in this deep, introverted moment, all I could ask myself was "Where's Waldo?"
....
-Yvonne "Just.... I don't even... Why?" Schmitt
I should have never even mentioned anything to Heike, but being the little overachiever that she is, had him more thoroughly Facebook stalked than the NSA could have managed in their deepest of wet dreams. Turns out, he may -not- be a natural "bad-boy black" in hair color.
Sometimes, I wish I could gingerly put my hands on either of Heike's shoulders and shake her a little.
Just a little.
Until she becomes so confused as to -why- I'm shaking her, that she forgets to keep looking up every little detail of life before living it.
If I am to be =HORRIBLY MAIMED AND/OR SLAUGHTERED= by some guy on the internet, that a friend of a friend of a friend knows from somehow or somewhere, then I really doubt going through every picture he's publicly posted on his timeline is going to save me.
I went out to the bar, a neutral one of varying amounts of usage.
I wore an outfit of somewhere on the scales of "I may be a easy" and "Could be an undercover cop, so don't slaughter me". Sensible but sexy.
No heels, at Heike's suggestion, in-case I need to "make a quick getaway".
Cleavage on a scale of "Your buying the drinks" and "Hello, you'll forget my name, won't you?"
Maybe not as sensible, but first impressions are fun to fuck around with.
Turns out, Waldo forgot we were meeting tonight ... thinking we'd be meeting on Saturday instead of Friday? I think?
Walking home, in my sensible shoes, I looked up to the night sky lost in thought. There was a general haze, a glow from the lights. It was quiet... for Chicago. And in this deep, introverted moment, all I could ask myself was "Where's Waldo?"
....
-Yvonne "Just.... I don't even... Why?" Schmitt
Page 14: Apr/04/2014
FOR THE RECORD:
Not all men are jerks?
This journal will eventually be a Lifetime movie.
His name is Waldo.
He added me on Facebook.
He is a friend of a friend of a friend.
He likes my posts.
He is in a band.
He plays lead guitar. (which is a total step up from Fatticus's Back-Up Bass, to clarify)
He has a motorcycle.
He has tattoos.
He does NOT wear eyeliner.
He may be my Kryptonite.
His name is -Waldo-.
-Yvonne "Maybe it's a nickname?" Schmitt
His name is Waldo.
He added me on Facebook.
He is a friend of a friend of a friend.
He likes my posts.
He is in a band.
He plays lead guitar. (which is a total step up from Fatticus's Back-Up Bass, to clarify)
He has a motorcycle.
He has tattoos.
He does NOT wear eyeliner.
He may be my Kryptonite.
His name is -Waldo-.
-Yvonne "Maybe it's a nickname?" Schmitt
Page 13: Mar/30/2014
Finally finished re-reorganizing the Art reference section in the basement.
The book cover's colors are now commingling in ways other people's forefathers fought against in time's before my own.
It's visual chaos, but we can "find things" and it's "like every other shelf" like "every book store in the world."
Like Heike has been to -every- bookstore in the world.
I bet France does things by color. They love color. That's why they have Fashion Week there.
Good Store Ideas:
==> Start a store (or take over the full management of one store in particular = insert malicious hand rubbing here) and file everything by color. Call it "Fabulous". The gays (Totally PC to say in Chicago) will get behind it, and really that's all a successful business needs.
==> Have some sort of master catalog to explain how "Fabulous" will work. Like, book title, author name, it's in red... but sort of an auburn, near orange, but dark red section.
==> Rethink "Fabulous". Colors are complicated and the more cattier folk will be all "that's not mint that's granny smith" "No! It's juniper!" It sounds like more headache than this store really.
==> Hammocks in the basement? (Brainstorm on how to prevent hobos and hipsters from sleeping in them)
Good Yvonne Ideas:
~~> Buy myself a hammock. Figure out where to put it in my room.
-Yvonne "Jesus I'm bored" Schmitt
The book cover's colors are now commingling in ways other people's forefathers fought against in time's before my own.
It's visual chaos, but we can "find things" and it's "like every other shelf" like "every book store in the world."
Like Heike has been to -every- bookstore in the world.
I bet France does things by color. They love color. That's why they have Fashion Week there.
Good Store Ideas:
==> Start a store (or take over the full management of one store in particular = insert malicious hand rubbing here) and file everything by color. Call it "Fabulous". The gays (Totally PC to say in Chicago) will get behind it, and really that's all a successful business needs.
==> Have some sort of master catalog to explain how "Fabulous" will work. Like, book title, author name, it's in red... but sort of an auburn, near orange, but dark red section.
==> Rethink "Fabulous". Colors are complicated and the more cattier folk will be all "that's not mint that's granny smith" "No! It's juniper!" It sounds like more headache than this store really.
==> Hammocks in the basement? (Brainstorm on how to prevent hobos and hipsters from sleeping in them)
Good Yvonne Ideas:
~~> Buy myself a hammock. Figure out where to put it in my room.
-Yvonne "Jesus I'm bored" Schmitt
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