Monday, July 08, 2002

SMASH THAT HAND-CRANK TRANSMITTER
You cannot pay me enough to go to Kennywood again.
Ever.
I said this before, but I didn't think that a trip to Kennywood might be a mandatory work activity. And I'm sure that somebody will convince me to go again sometime. (Ram, for example, could easily convince me to do anything if he looked at me the right way.) But, if only for the sake of my mood right now, I'm going to make that vow again.
There are things that I like about the park: the Thunderbolt and all the crazy yahoos walking around. Yeah, that's about it. I saw plenty of yahoos (probably more than usual because it was Greene County Day, after all), I rode the Thunderbolt, and the rest of the time was a haze. More or less, I was hanging out with my supervisor's daughter, who wanted me to talk in a British accent all day. Ah. Hah. Right.
I'm going to spare you the rest of the bitching, because I've been bitching nonstop since I got home. And the bitching will cease momentarily. I think.