The collective voodoo doll.
How do you do that voodoo that you do.
An excellent way of improving booth-life came to me this morning.
The collective voodoo doll.
Everytime someone aggravates th heck out of you, you stick another pin into a doll - a collective representation of all the evil in the world. This encompasses all the people who make up their own timetables and don't understand why their busses aren't running according to schedule. It applies to all the people who can't read, and walk up to you, asking for tickets to destinations that probably don't exist and that we don't offer services for anyway.
"Uzbekestan, please."
(pointing at sign over my head). " A-i-r-port coaches. We run the busses to the a-i-rport."
"You mean to say that you won't sell me a buss ticket to Uzbekestan?"
"I mean that we have busses that run to the airports alone. And tickets to match."
"This not including Uzbekestan?"
It applies to all the regular schmoes who ask me why exactly they are expected to know where gate 21 is situated. How were they supposed to know that gate 21 was behind their back all along. How. And how am I supposed to know that you are not a senior and not interested in the senior discount but that your skin is just trying to crawl off your body voluntarily. How.
It applies to all the men who sneak by staring at you longingly but confused because they cannot comprehend the fact that some girls, in some booths, do not spontaneuosly take all their clothes off and start pumping their groin at you. It applies to all Russians. It's, simple, neat, and pinfull.
How do you do that voodoo that you do.
An excellent way of improving booth-life came to me this morning.
The collective voodoo doll.
Everytime someone aggravates th heck out of you, you stick another pin into a doll - a collective representation of all the evil in the world. This encompasses all the people who make up their own timetables and don't understand why their busses aren't running according to schedule. It applies to all the people who can't read, and walk up to you, asking for tickets to destinations that probably don't exist and that we don't offer services for anyway.
"Uzbekestan, please."
(pointing at sign over my head). " A-i-r-port coaches. We run the busses to the a-i-rport."
"You mean to say that you won't sell me a buss ticket to Uzbekestan?"
"I mean that we have busses that run to the airports alone. And tickets to match."
"This not including Uzbekestan?"
It applies to all the regular schmoes who ask me why exactly they are expected to know where gate 21 is situated. How were they supposed to know that gate 21 was behind their back all along. How. And how am I supposed to know that you are not a senior and not interested in the senior discount but that your skin is just trying to crawl off your body voluntarily. How.
It applies to all the men who sneak by staring at you longingly but confused because they cannot comprehend the fact that some girls, in some booths, do not spontaneuosly take all their clothes off and start pumping their groin at you. It applies to all Russians. It's, simple, neat, and pinfull.
