I still don’t have a shirt for my new weird side job. I decided I like Santa Charlie. I mostly feel good when I’m there. Met another tour guide who I really liked, and a painfully shy assistant. I did half of the actual assistant duties today, for a lady tour guide, and it was interesting. Easy really, though the guy I’m training with still managed to fuck it up and shine his flashlight in the guide’s eyes a bunch of times. It’s just waiting and paying attention and (tbh) serving. I dash ahead of the group, alone in the dark. I pull a breeze block from around the corner and set up a DVD player on top of it. Sound cord plugged in, correct video selected, remote in place. And then out of the way as they round the corner, because I’m not supposed to draw attention to myself. She finishes her story and plays the video and then leads the tour on. She grabs the DVD player because she needs it right away to show a picture. She leaves the remote and sound cord, letting them fall to the ground next to her lantern. I’m caught off guard but I gather everything and follow. And because I’m myself, her indolent disregard and assumption that I would take care of it makes me feel some type of way. I follow, putting the bits of tech in the bag slung over my shoulder, holding the lantern. I wait and watch as she speaks, half hidden behind a tree (behind The Murder Tree actually) and for a weird little second I feel like the 18th century servant from the story she’s telling. How odd and parallel. But I’m not gut shot by a spurned ex lover. I don’t collapse against the tree and die. I don’t fill the air with my restless spirit. I wait, and watch, and when her body language tells me she’s ready I step out from behind the tree, taking the player from her and placing the lantern at her feet. “Thank you dear” she says, and because I’m myself I feel some type of way.