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Under Construction

A 1970's San Francisco strip club press conference

January 9th, 2003

We All Get Snippy
Wednesday. We went to a different restaurant after work, the same crew, some talk of what was coming at the company and then news I hadn't heard: The husband of one of our coworkers had died of a blood clot over the weekend after a knee operation. Just like that. They operate on the knee, he comes home, he throws a clot and dies. One of the risks. I wore compression stockings while I was in the hospital and did all the walking they wanted, knowing why. I walked from the first day I returned from the hospital. Still, it could as easily have been me. One of life's surprises. One day her husband is alive, another day he's dead and life goes on without a stumble. But not forever. Not forever.

Thursday. More than rumors now, you can hear the drums beating in the distance. There will be a major layoff in the next week, maybe tomorrow, maybe during the week following, but the senior managers have their marching orders. I'm not going to like this, but then again, if I'm on the list, it will probably be one of the better things that could have happened. Get me out the door and breathing real air again. (With a camera.) Weird.

Otherwise, a long day ending after six, raining fairly hard when I left the building. Caught a bus first thing and got home without particular damage. This makes the first full week back on the job and I'm tired, but not all that tired. I can tell things are going downhill when I get snippy. Old fart snippy. Depressing to watch snippy. There's a part of me, as I think there's a part of everyone, who watches from a distance, compares our attitude with the people around us. Snippy means you lose. You lose one day, they lose another, a trade. We all get tired, we all get snippy.

The photograph was taken at a press conference given by a San Francisco strip club during the 70's. My one on the cheap attempt at the nude (not a thought in my head of art or, unfortunately, exposure).