I am America’s Coffee Bitch. Every office I work in, I’m the guy who has to make coffee because it’s down to the dregs when I get there. Aliso Viejo, CA; San Antonio, TX; Dallas, TX; Utica, NY; Syracuse, NY; West Palm Beach, FL; Memphis, TN; Las Vegas, NV; Wheeling, WV; Providence, RI; Salt Lake City, UT; and now Akron, OH — NObody knows how to make coffee anywhere, it’s always me. So I always make coffee, just so I can have some.

No, no, don’t thank me.

My station gave us free tickets to a Hootie and the Blowfish concert tonight, but I decided not to go. I’m still not sure why; I guess I just didn’t give a Hootie.

Lance said it was because I was afraid. I told you I’d never live that roller coaster thing down…

It’s a good thing I trim my nails, because I’d scratch my bald head bloody trying to pull my hair out today if I didn’t.

It’s a good thing I shave my head, because I’d be pulling my hair out today if I didn’t.

Stuck in Akron still, I spent most of yesterday afternoon in the dark. First I pulled the drapes and unplugged the phone and slept until 11:00 a.m., then I went to the movies and saw 28 Days Later and Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle. That’s what I call a productive day.

28 Days Later was pretty damned good. I mean, sure, we’ve seen it before — they called it Night of the Living Dead and The Omega Man the first two times — but it was still pretty good. Sprinting, pissed-off, blood-puking zombies — what’s not to love?

Charlie’s Angels wasn’t too bad either, at least those parts I managed to stay awake for. That’s a recurring problem I have; “narcolepting out” in movies. It’s rare that I manage to stay awake from start to finish (which can be interpreted as another vote for 28 Days). Whatever, I was awake for parts of Charlie’s Angels and parts of it were okay. Parts of Cameron Diaz, Lucy Liu and (occasionally) Drew Barrymore clad in revealing, often wet, skimpy attire — what’s not to love?

Zombies, partial nudity, and a nap, all for only $4.50. Such a deal!

We have the weekend off and the station hooked us up with free tickets to the local Six Flags “Worlds of Adventure” park, so we spent the day there yesterday. This may not have been the best move I could have made, rep-wise.

I ride a motorcycle to work and have a bad attitude about my job, and that has somehow translated to me having an image as being something of a bad-ass. In fact, that’s what my co-worker Joe calls me: “Billy-Joe Bad-Ass.” Now, deep down inside I’m just a cuddly ol’ teddy bear with a heart of marshmallows and a lunchbox with rainbow pony stickers, but who am I to argue? So I let them think I’m a half step removed from being a Hells Angel and people pretty much stay out of my face. It works for me. But this weekend blew my cover.

You see, I have a thing about heights: I don’t like them. I also have a thing about getting dizzy, also about being strapped into immobilizing cages, also about being flipped upside down. These are all things that tend to happen at amusement parks, especially when you’re riding roller coasters. Which is what we were doing.

When we got to the park, my co-workers Kara, Lance and Joe all made a beeline for the nearest coaster and we all got in line. As the line inched forward, I spent the time checking out the insanity that was this roller coaster: 37 loops, 18 negative G switchbacks, a 500-foot section of missing track where the train leapt the chasm over a firepit filled with crocodiles, tunnels filled with pygmies armed with poisonous blowdarts… This rollercoaster was suicide, I’m telling you. So when we got to the front of the line and it was our turn to board, I did the only sensible thing possible: I took the Chicken Exit.

And thus did my rep die a shameful death.

I spent the rest of the day trying to live it down. I did ride three of the tamer coasters that day, but I took a pass on riding any of the more death-defying choices, and so Joe, Kara and Lance frequently helpfully suggested I visit the children’s section of the park or pointed out the occasional carousel that might not be going too fast for me. It was a sad day for my rep, and I’m sure I’m only compounding the damage by admitting it here where other co-workers will read it.

But I’m man enough to admit I’m a Nancy-boy. Mainly because there were too many witnesses to deny it…

Speaking of witnesses, here are some pictures from the day. As usual, click the thumbnails for full-size images:

Joe, Kara, and Lance thinking “Oh great, the Nancy-boy is taking our picture”

Joe mocking me by pretending he has to puke on a ride I wouldn’t go on, while Kara laughs at both his mockery and my cowardice.

Joe waving at me from yet another ride I wouldn’t go on.

And finally, me on one of the few rides I wasn’t afraid of.

Sign on back of men’s room door of the radio station offices where I’m working this week:

Please clean up after yourself when you’re finished in here.
“Clean up” includes making sure everything goes down when you flush.

Nice.

I’m here in one of the fabulous Hilton hotels in the Akron area, and it’s so fabulous here that I just had to share. So here’s the fabulous view from my fabulous window:

(Click on the thumbnail for the full-size fabulousness.)

This is mine, all mine, for the next 8 nights. It’s like a dream come true… only not so much.

Coworker, holding up a set of keys someone left by the printer: “Hey, did someone leave their keys by the printer?”

Me: “Yes, obviously.”

…and the room erupts in laughter.

Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!

Scene: A quiet office, worker bees quietly working away at their cubicles, the only sound heard is the clicking of keyboards.

Until I read this, about buying the sleeping mask, and burst out laughing.

Who? Me? Surfing on company time? Nooooo.