The ticket window is one of the most boring places to work at the
Cradle. Your world is confined to a three by four cube and you are
supposed to live like that for several hours. After a while you feel
sympathetic to the plight of veal. David Blaine attempted such a feat
but within an hour was pounding on the walls screaming bloody terror.
To keep some semblance of sanity you find ways to occupy your mind.
You pass the hours doodling or reading or looking on with contempt as
the video store parking lot guy marks cars for towing. "Son of a
bitch... he gets to be outside." Sometimes you graffiti up the walls.
It is here that a true art emerges. It is a thoughtful process as you
have nothing else to do but think of clever things, and above all (and
most interestingly) it is collaborative. No graffiti is impervious to
the defacement and alteration of future ticket window
shifters. "Brian + Ann" so very easily transforms to "Brian + Ann are
gay". Nothing is too sacred to touch. The philosophical "reality is a myth" now has a line pointing at it
declaring "I am a douche". A simple "Fresh" is, by way of several
updates, "Funky Fresh Fish Feet". Even the relatively anthemic "rock
hard" is not spared - becoming "I love rock hard penis".
One particular bit of graffiti has grown impressively over the years.
It started simply as "I hate metalheads, deadheads, lemonheads". Then
it began to grow. Today the list runs down the wall. It makes one
notice the prevalence of the relatively new suffix "head." For
posterity, here are the rest: potheads, parrotheads, buttheads,
jarheads, crackheads, not to eggheads giving head, knuckleheads,
motorheads, dickheads, shitheads, fuckheads, screwheads, blackheads,
whiteheads, duckheads, meatheads, parkinglotsecurityheads,
sleepyheads, portisheads, machineheads, bedheads, boneheads,
spearheads, baseheads, fatheads, airheads, talkingheads, pinheads,
cheeseheads, hammerheads, onionheads, carrotheads, chickenheads,
In other news, Kemps car was given "the yellow racing stripe" by some