Work Complaints

Ice cream night was appropriately annoying.  I’ve noticed that I tend to be a bit psychotic at work sometimes, like when I’m angry about something.  Here is just one example.

Turtle approached at a slow moment to check if I needed any refills; when I didn’t, he just stood there.  I decided to voice a particular peeve.

“You know what drives me up a fucking wall, Turtle?”

“What’s that?”

“Those obstinate fools who persist in calling Reese’s Pieces ‘Reesie’s Piecies‘, despite the obvious lack of an ‘i’ at the ends of the words.”

I punished every one of them by giving them only one very small scoop.  Or perhaps I was rewarding the ones who did pronounce it correctly by giving them two.  This Reese’s thing has irked me since I was a little kid; I remember chiding Psychobrat for it many years ago.

And another thing:  Is there any other type of ice cream that looks like mint chocolate chip?  Answer:  No, there isn’t.  Nobody puts chocolate chips in pistachio.  And that’s it.  That’s the only other ice cream that color.  So why did so many people come through my line tonight and say, “What kind of ice cream is that?” as though they had never seen or heard of mint chocolate chip before?

The Mormon and I went to Barnes and Noble and Walmart when I got off.  We were, in fact, passing through that spot where we first kissed, and I said, “Aww, this is where we kissed for the first time.”  So naturally, we stopped and did so at that moment.  That’s gotta be good luck or something.

And now I must go and finish my laundry, because Nicole and I are going to Orlando tomorrow to stay with Cortney for the weekend.  That, too, will kick much arse.


Work was fun the other day; unfortunately, I have to serve ice cream tonight.

At work last week, Turtle walked by on his way to refill something and placed his hand on my lower back.  I thought this was strange, yes, but as I was busy, didn’t really stop to think about it.  A few minutes later, Turtle said, “Check your back.”

“What?” I said.

“Check your back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check.  Your.  Back.”

Finally I got what he was saying and turned around, and there was a sticker on my back–a tail sticker.

Turtle grinned.  “It’s Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” he said.

I grinned back, and stuck it on Bob the next time he walked by.  Bob, being busy and…well, Bob…never caught on to the “Bob…check your back” thing, and so, two hours later, I suddenly noticed that it was still there.  I pointed this out to Turtle, who went and told Bob that it was there and that I had done it.  We all laughed about it, and it was forgotten.

Two days ago, Michelle was standing near me when I happened to notice that there was a sticker on her shoulder that said, “HOT DOG, $2.99” (or however much they cost).  I immediately assumed that Turtle had done this, and pointed it out to Adrianna.  We started snickering about it, and then Adrianna showed Bob.  Michelle still had no idea what was going on, and we finally filled her in.  Bob, recalling that day last week, told her it was probably me, which seemed to be the case–I was, after all, the one who had spotted it.  But Turtle made more sense to me, because he was the one who had originally stuck it on me.  So I told Michelle as much.

A few minutes later, Turtle approached me and said, “Why would you frame me!?”

“I did no such thing!” I said.

“You told Michelle I stuck the hot dog sticker on her back.”

Suddenly realizing that Michelle had taken off the sticker before he’d seen it, I thought my name was clear.  “Ah-ha!” I said, pointing at him accusingly.  “How did you know it was a hot dog sticker if you didn’t put it on there?”

“Michelle told me,” he said, without missing a beat.

“Oh.”  I looked at Michelle, who had just come up, for clarification.   She clarified. My name was not clear.

I have the misfortune of, for some reason, always looking guilty, even when I am not.  It has always been so.  I don’t know exactly why this is; I think I just get nervous that I won’t be able to find evidence enough to clear my name; I’ve never been good at defending myself.  And when I’m nervous, I laugh.  Nervously.

Anyway, the important thing is that I was not guilty.  But something about Turtle made me think he wasn’t, either.  Although who else could it have been?  So I assumed it was him, and he assumed it was me.  Michelle informed us that she didn’t trust either one of us.

We all went back to serving, and I was standing there thinking, How can I argue my way out of this using logic?  There had to be a way.

At last, I thought of something, and walked down to where Michelle was.  I placed my hand deliberately on her shoulder and said, “If I came down here and placed my hand on your shoulder, just like this, it would feel kind of strange, wouldn’t it?  You would definitely notice it, wouldn’t you?”  Michelle was visibly uncomfortable.  I continued.  “On the other hand, if Turtle came down here and put his hand on your shoulder like that, it wouldn’t feel quite so strange, would it?  You may not even notice that it was there, it would feel so normal.”  (Michelle and Turtle have been dating for a while now.)

Michelle looked enlightened as she shoveled taco toppings onto a plate for the guy in front of her.  “Just a second, let me serve this guy,” she said.  “I think you’re onto something!”

I paused, beaming at the fact that I was so totally about to clear my name, when, from right behind me, I heard Michael the grill cook laughing very hard.

At first I thought, I love that Michael is completely amused by the whole mystery of the hot dog sticker thing.  I know we’re all getting a kick out of it.  But as I continued to stand there, waiting for Michelle to have a chance to turn around and discuss the sticker, and Michael just laughed harder, I thought, He’s laughing awfully hard…suspiciously hard….  And then it dawned on me that all of those hot dog stickers were right there on the counter, within Michael’s grasp….

I whirled around and pointed my finger at Michael.  “It was you!” I said, realization dawning.  “It was you the whole time!”

Michael had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.  And then he confessed.

I found it all quite amusing, too.  So did Sandra, when I went back to my line to tell her the story.  “Elementary, my dear Sandra,” I said.

At one point at the beginning of work, Michelle came up to me and said, “Adrianna just got ‘Let It Go’ stuck in my head.”

“Aww!” I said, expressing my disgust.

“I know!”  She walked away, leaving me to think, Of course, now I’ll have it in my head, just because she mentioned it.  And then she came back, grinning evilly, and said, “So…is it in your head yet?”


“Good.”  And she walked to the other end.

A minute later, I walked down to her end, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, “I just have four words for you, Michelle.”  She looked at me expectantly.  I grinned.  “It’s a small world.

“I HATE YOU!” she said, as I turned, threw my head back, and laughed a perfectly divine evil laugh.  It was so splendid; I was incredibly proud of it.  No evil laugh I had ever laughed compared with this one.  This means my practice has been paying off.

I knew it was wonderful, and so I turned back and said, “Did you hear my incredible evil laugh?”

“Yes!” Michelle said.  “That was awesome!  But Adrianna didn’t like it.”

I turned and looked at Adrianna, who was scrunched down, with huge eyes and mouth gaping open…she looked like a frightened rodent.  It was priceless.

“That was so scary, Ginny!” she said.

I grinned even more widely.  “Good.”

Then I ran back to my line to ask if Sandra had heard it; she’d been impressed, too.  And then we spent the rest of the night going back and forth, trying to get the most annoying songs stuck in the other side’s heads.

We really do work some of the time; I swear.

Paint Jeans, a Grievous Dream, and a Trip to a Frightening Dimension

I got new paint splotches on my paint jeans tonight–red and white ones.  This is very exciting for me, because it is my oldest pair of jeans, and they were starting to seem so old and tiresome, but now they will feel newish again.  The novelty is back.  I heart novelty.  Novelty is a great word and a great thing.

For anyone who’s wondering, the paint appeared when The Mormon (who is so extremely hot, by the way, and greater even than novelty) and I were painting his bookshelf.

The Mormon lives way out in the middle of nowhere where my GPS doesn’t work, and I left his house tonight at about 10:30, and as I was driving along, I was listening my voice messages.  All of a sudden, I noticed that the road seemed…different.  While it normally seems dark and empty, it was now even more so.  There was nothing on either side of me.  I kept driving, thinking I must have just been imagining things; the farther I went, however, the more it just felt wrong.  There was nothing, and I couldn’t escape that horrible feeling that I had somehow ended up in another dimension.  Now don’t get me wrong, finding myself in another dimension could be a really cool thing, but I think I have to add to my list of irrational fears that of accidentally ending up in some freaky dimension where all there is is a road that just keeps going and there’s nothing around, and it just keeps going and going forever with nothing and nobody to speak to.  This is what I thought had happened.  So I called The Mormon.  No answer.  Tried again.  Still no answer.

Okay, I thought, let’s just calm down and think about this rationally.  I knew I had made a right turn, so if the fault was mine, and not that of the multiverse, then it meant I’d just made the wrong right turn.  If I approached the huge Watson building, I would know that that was what I had done.

The huge Watson building appeared, and, assuming that it was the one I was thinking of and not an alternate-dimension Watson building (a Bizarro Watson building, if you will), I pulled into the parking lot and turned around.

Things were going fine, until I got it into my head that I had been driving for way too long and started freaking out again.  Where was the end of the road!?  And then I hit a dead armadillo and screamed very loudly.  But everything was fine a few minutes later when the end of the road finally made itself known, and I made the correct right turn and was on my way.  The Mormon finally called and explained that his cell phone was on vibrate and he had no idea it was ringing (although he was quite concerned when he saw I’d called three times, as he is well aware of my tendency to get lost).

That’ll teach me to check voice messages while driving.

Well, no, not really.  It’ll just remind me while I’m doing it that I shouldn’t be.  But I happen to enjoy getting scared.  Gryffindors convert fear into energy.

There are student elections going on on campus right now, and all across the green, there are these big wooden signs stuck in the ground that read:


We were joking about swapping the piece that read, “HANDS?” with the piece that read, “ASS” so that the sign would read:


This was all going to take place in the middle of the night; it would have been great.  We could have gotten away with it.  Unfortunately, nobody else wanted to risk getting community service over spring break, so we didn’t do it.  It would have been such fun.   I was telling The Mormon about it, and I said, “We’re going to dress all in black, and wear ski masks–”

He interrupted me at this point, looking seriously concerned, and said, “Oh, don’t do that! That’s a capital offense.”

I laughed and punched his arm lightly.  “Don’t worry, I’m only joking,” I said innocently.  “We don’t own ski masks.”

I had this horrible tragic dream that Gary was going to die.  It seemed to be back in high school, because Ms. M. was there, as well as all the drama kids.  And Gary had won all these medals for acting and stuff, but they were all broken and laying in the dirt, and nobody really saw them there, but I saw them and reached over sadly to pick them up.  Ms. M. was just talking to us all, explaining what was wrong (I’m not really sure what was wrong) and how much longer he had (like a day).  It was so sad.

So I went inside to my locker, where Gary was at his locker right next to mine (Gary never had a locker right next to mine, but that doesn’t really matter, because the school looked nothing like ours, anyway).  He was pulling stuff out of it, and when I got there next to him, he said, “Hi, Ginny,” and I said, “Hi, Gary…so…I heard.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Ginny…before I go, there’s something that I have to tell you.”

And then that was it.  I woke up.  I never found out what he was going to tell me.

I’m going to go and watch The X-Files with Brother.  He’s been waiting so patiently.

Secrets Internalized

A while back I was sharing a short story with you all in serial form about a girl named Astrid.  It ended up being much longer than I expected, but I am pleased to report that it is finally complete and you may read it all for free here!  If you happen to check it out and so desire, there is a button near the bottom of the page that says “Kudos” and I have discovered that guests may use that, so that will bump my views, I believe.  Comments will help even more.  Thank you in advance!

For those who have not already seen the beginning, or do not remember, this is the story of a girl whose parents were casualties of a cruel war when she was a small child.  For her own safety, she keeps this secret from the entire world all her life.  Now, fresh after graduation, she is interning at the largest publication in Britain when she accidentally stumbles onto a terrorist plot.  Seeing an opportunity to get ahead at work, she opts to tread dangerous waters to follow the lead, battling addiction, trouble at work, and an abusive relationship along the way.

It also happens to be set in the Harry Potter universe, if that’s your thing.  Being familiar with the books would undoubtedly increase enjoyment of the story, but I suppose one could pick it up with only a cursory understanding of HP.

Be sure to drop me a line here or there to let me know what you think!


I love when work is actually entertaining. It should always be so.

This is my first entry from the new laptop, which is fantastic, by the way.

They’re doing some kind of special dinner thing at work, and even though today would already be long enough as it was just because of the special dinner thing, they want us in there an hour early.  Blah.

It’s been a while since I posted a real update—one that wasn’t all dreams—but there hasn’t been much happening of late that is postable.  My boyfriend is completely fabulous, as always.  He made me dinner on Friday, and it was very good, although he claims he can’t cook.  (He cooks better than I do, anyway.)  We went to the Highland Games yesterday, which was much fun, and then out to eat with Cort and crew.

All right, I’ll finish updating after work.


Work ended up being a lot of fun tonight, surprisingly.  When we arrived, an hour early, we had about ten bags of confetti to randomly throw around, and at each other.  We were also each given one of those party popper things, and once we finally figured out the correct way to open and then point them, we were shooting those off, too.

When dinner was over, we decided to help sweep, since we’d made most of the mess, and I went to fetch three spare brooms, two of the semi-okay black ones, and the one rather good brown one, and I approached Michelle and said, “Suit up; I play Seeker.”

Michelle snatched the brown one and said, “That’s fine, but I get the Firebolt.”

So we swept for about half an hour, and then chased each other around the floor on the brooms while people batted balloons around for us to beat and seek.

Here’s an amusing tale about the Highland Games.  At one point, I was standing by a tent kissing The Mormon, when I felt something against my hair.  I ignored it—what I thought it was was just one of those oversized, rather stupid bumblebees that is always flying into you by accident because it doesn’t know where it’s going.  So I sort of brushed my hand under my hair to ensure it was gone, and went on kissing The Mormon.

Then I heard Milo’s voice say, “What was that?” and realized, of course, that it had been Milo flicking my hair.  He and his sister had planned to meet us there at some point, but neither of them had their cell phones on them, so we had no idea when or where that was going to be.

I turned to look at him and said, “Oh, I thought you were a bug.”

I don’t know if he heard me or not, but…how great is that?

I feel sort of bad—I don’t want to give the impression that I have anything against Milo, because I don’t, at least not so far as him being my friend goes.  He’s a very good friend.  But I mean…well, what I mean is, even if he wanted me now, I would seriously make him wait, and if I never came around, that’d be his problem.  He’s lost.  I don’t even care if he gets jealous or not.  (Although you can’t possibly blame me for enjoying it if he does.)  I realize that almost every mention of him these days sounds like I really resent him; but he’s still my friend, so anything I say against him is merely against that side of him, not the friend side.  If that makes any sense.

The Mormon, who, by the way, brought me Gryffindor-colored flowers the other night for absolutely no reason, told me he talked to L’Owen, from whom I hadn’t heard anything for a while.  I miss having stories about L’Owen.  Coincidentally, I was actually just wondering this morning if The Mormon had talked to him recently.  He said he mentioned me to L’Owen, who commented that he’d noticed us getting pretty close last semester, that we were spending a lot of time together.  So when The Mormon told him he’s sort of seeing me, L’Owen got all excited and his voice rose like it does when he’s excited, and he and Know-It-All, who was also in the room at the time, started teasing him.  That’s just such a hilarious mental image.  He mentioned going to the Highland Games with me, and L’Owen was all, “You’re going on a real date with your girlfriend!”

I can picture it all so easily.  I just think it’s funny that even L’Owen, apparently, saw it all coming before I did.

Oh, I forgot to tell about my birthday!  It was very lovely.  I went to The Olive Garden with the family and Nicole and The Mormon and Spidermonkey.  When we asked for a table for eight, and they asked what our name was, I told them Seinfeld.  (I figured out of all the names I could have given them, that one would be the most embarrassing to Psychobrat and Spidermonkey should they show up late enough to have to ask.  They didn’t.)

Then the next night at work, there were these three guys in my line, all three of whom I recognize, but only one whom I know by name.  He was asking me how my weekend went, and I told him my birthday happened, and when he asked how old I’d turned and I told him, he said, “No way!  You’re 21?  I had no idea!”

The guy behind him overheard this and said, “You’re 21?  You are not.  There’s no way!  I can’t believe that!  Are you really?  21?  Damn!”  And then he turned to the guy behind him and said, “Did you know she’s 21?  Can you believe that?”

The guy behind him said, “You really don’t look it.”

I thanked them all.  That’s a compliment, in my opinion.

I just found it funny that my entire line was aghast that I’m older than they thought.  It’s because they’re all freshmen, so they don’t know I was there last year.

Okay, that’s about all, so I’m ending this here, with a solitary lament that the roof of my mouth is burnt presently and very uncomfortable.

Another Crazy Dream

The Mormon was dead, to begin with.  I don’t know how or why he was dead, but he was.  This was depressing enough in itself, but all of his friends then decided that they needed to date me, because “he wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone”, as they said.  (None of these were any of his real friends that I’ve met or ever heard him mention—I was just being pursued by all these fake guys.)

One in particular seemed really crazy about me, and even went so far as to tell me he loved me.  I did not reciprocate this feeling, and told him so.  All of this, for some reason, took place at our house in Virginia, which, for more reasons I don’t understand, has been entering into my dreams frequently of late.

There were also these twins—two big white guys (that’s important later) who were kind of robotic and crazy.  One of them wanted me dead; the other just…wanted me.  *shudder*  So they were both chasing me all over the house and the backyard and the street…the entire area we used to play in when we were little.  I never knew where they were, but it would have been very dangerous to run into either of them at any time.

So I’ve got all The Mormon’s friends after me, plus these two twins, one of whom is trying to kill me.  And then Lukealike shows up in what used to be our kitchen and professes his undying affection for me.  He claims he has known since the first time he saw me that we were meant to be together.  He also says he can take me away from all of this and protect me from the twins and all The Mormon’s friends.  I look at him and say, “I’ll think about it” rather coldly, and he says, “That’s good enough for me” and walks away.  (Lukealike, for those who are wondering, is a guy I work with—two years younger than me, might I add—who slightly resembles Luke from Gilmore Girls.)

Later that night, I’m lying in my bed.  My bed in my old room in my old house, right where it used to be, next to the wall.  Psychobrat’s bunk is underneath it, like it was, but her other bed was also there, right against the wall where it was after she decided she didn’t want the lower bunk anymore.

The Mormon’s one friend who loved me was sleeping under my bunk, and Lukealike, apparently, was in the other one, because while I was lying there alone, wondering where the twins were and if the one was going to kill me in my sleep, I finally decided to sit up and shout, “LUKEALIKE!  LUKEALIKE!”  In the bed across the room, I saw him sit up, plus two girls I’d never seen before, and he just stared at me solemnly for a moment and then left the two of them without a word and climbed up there with me.  (I find this disturbing on a number of levels.)

So Lukealike was lying next to me, his arms around me, and I was just drifting off to sleep at last, when from below me, I heard The Mormon’s friend say, “Ginny, I love you!”

No!” I called back.

The next day, I was riding on like a subway somewhere, when I heard two women say hello to me, and I looked up and they were twins, too, and there was this tiny black girl with them who explained that she was very sorry about the whole ruckus with the twins, that they had…malfunctioned…they were creations of hers (they were supposed to be clones of her, both of them) but that she’d “fixed” things.  She’d somehow made them look like…well, like two identical large white guys who were now two identical large black girls, or just large white guys trying to look like black girls.  Whatever–at least they weren’t trying to attack me anymore.

Later, I was standing somewhere I’ve never seen before, talking to The Mormon’s friend, when I decided to go into the Afterlife and retrieve The Mormon, because this had all gone on quite long enough.  So I climbed the stairs to the overhead thing above us, and that, apparently, was the “Afterlife”.

The Mormon was standing there silently, a cigarette in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, and just…staring.  He didn’t really seem to see me.

I was trying to coax him back down to Life, but he wasn’t going to be able to go, because somebody had to take his place.

Just then, the elevator (next to the stairs) dinged, and Lukealike appeared to inform us that he was going to take The Mormon’s place so that we could return to Life together.  And he did.

The next thing I know, we were on this roller coaster, but a slow-motion one…it was moving slowly for any vehicle, not just a roller coaster.

For some reason, I was in a car completely by myself, and The Mormon was in one behind me that was completely full of people, and then the roller coaster went indoors somewhere, and there were all these…spirits…lining the walls.  These were really creepy-looking things, kind of see through, but they looked like they wanted to attack every one of us.  So I stood up and was shouting behind me to The Mormon that he had to come up there with me, because they wanted him, and he would only be safe if he was with me.  “Lukealike did not sacrifice himself just so they could take you again!” I shouted.

The Mormon, unfortunately, was either not listening or didn’t hear me…or he simply didn’t believe me…because he didn’t do anything.

The roller coaster thing let us all out, and he and everybody from his car went into one room, and I went into my own, and shut the door.

I was in an over-sized shower stall, for some reason.  And I just stood there, assuming that The Mormon was going to die again and there was nothing I could do about it.  The ghosts were now surrounding the entire building.

I had my back to the door when The Mormon stepped inside, put his hands on my shoulders, and started kissing my neck.  I, assuming he was one of the many others who had been pursuing me since I’d fallen asleep, brushed him off and said, “Oh, would you just cut it out, please?”

Then I turned and saw that it was him; I threw my arms around him and told him not to move, because he was safe as long as he was with me; they couldn’t get him.

Then we heard what sounded like a tornado in the room next to us as the spirits…attacked, I guess.  And then after a few minutes, it moved to our room, and the walls were shaking and rattling, but they couldn’t get in, because I was there.  (This is truly mystifying to me—I have no idea what powers I had, but…they rocked, that’s for sure.)

And finally they were gone.  And all was well.

I made The Mormon turn around then, because I suddenly decided I needed to take a shower.

A few minutes later, Dennis started banging on the door shouting, “Hurry up, Ginny!  God, you take forever in the shower!”

I stepped outside with The Mormon behind me, and Dennis said, “Oh…I see.”

“Shut up, Dennis,” I said.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” he said.

Michelle said, “You’d better not; you know what’ll happen if you do.”  (I don’t know exactly what was meant by this, but apparently Dennis has become quite vulgar in his inquiries into just what exactly is going on between The Mormon and me.  Michelle told me he shouldn’t say anything anymore, because she hit him.  So…okay, then.  Thanks, Michelle!)

And then I realized that I’d forgotten to brush my teeth, and I was griping to Dennis that this was all his fault for rushing me along.  Dennis told me to shut my mouth because my breath was awful.  Good old Dennis–well, Dream Dennis.

Random Superman Dream

I dreamed about Superman last night.  That was exciting.  It was a bit confusing, though, because I’m not sure if I was Superman—like, a couple of things he experienced, I experienced, too…but it was like I was watching him, like a movie.  I don’t know.  You’ll see what I mean.

First of all, the Daily Planet, for some reason, looked like a grocery store.  And over in the cold section, there was all this fruit just sitting out that anybody could go and snack on whenever they wished.  It was weird, though—there were these strange blueberries that were like grapes.  They were blue and tasted like blueberries, and they were called blueberries, but they had the same size, shape, and texture of very large grapes.  Anyway.

Perry comes over (and let me just say, if you want a visual, that all of the main characters look just like the ones from Lois and Clark:  The New Adventures of Superman) and says that there is a phone call from someone who will only speak to Clark—so Clark gets up and heads over to where all the fruit is sitting and takes the phone.  All of this I am seeing like I’m watching a movie set in Clark’s perspective.

Clark is talking on the phone to his parents, but for some reason, the rest of the store/Planet is under the impression he’s talking to a suicide bomber.  The Kents are discussing something really urgent, but I can’t remember what it was…but it was something he couldn’t talk about in front of everybody else.  So, a Superman thing.  I wish I could remember the conversation.  There was this girl working behind the counter who kept putting out more fruit, and he kept eating it, and every time he ate it, I could taste it.  So in those moments, I was him.  (Eventually, he ate so much damned fruit that I woke up with a slight stomachache from it all.)  The girl kept giving him strange glances because of odd things he was saying, and he kept noticing this, turning his back on her, and dropping his voice.  She finally caught on and disappeared so it wouldn’t seem like she was eavesdropping.  And then he started saying things that didn’t match with what the Kents were saying, so as not to let on what they were really discussing.

Clark got off the phone and headed back to his desk, informing Perry that everything had been taken care of.  Perry lauded his ability to talk down a suicide bomber. T hings quieted down.  Clark got up a couple more times for fruit.

Then the feds came in—two guys in dark suits.  They announced that they needed to speak to “Mr. White and Mr. Kent”.  Once alone, Perry said, “Now, what’s this all about, fellas?” and they said, “It’s about that—suicide bomber [with a swift glance at Clark] who called this morning.”  Then they pulled out a cassette tape and said, “We think you need to hear the other half of this transmission,” apparently assuming that everyone had already heard Clark’s half of the conversation with his parents from that morning.

At that moment, Clark said awkwardly, “I think I hear my phone ringing…let me just get that, this is a very important call I’ve been waiting for all day….”  And the feds were all, “No, Mr. Kent—” but he was already gone.  They raced out the door after him, but then the front doors to the grocery store, which for some reason were hinged and not automatic, were both swinging, as though somebody had rushed out them very quickly.  They scanned the office, but Clark, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

The very next thing I saw was the clouds as I flew away, because now I was Clark again.  And it ended there with me soaring through the sky.