Telus speed test.
2025.01.18 03:51 Potential-Mix8398 Telus speed test.
 | So 153MBPS was on 5G NSA Band 4 145MBPS LTE band 2 5G SA was 124 Panorama Ridge Surrey BC Area but I saw alot of TELUS small cell sites that that 2100mhz to 1900Mhz with not much power. submitted by Potential-Mix8398 to cellmapper [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 Jahmilwatkins1 Jahmil Watkins Linktree
https://linktr.ee/Jahmilwatkins.
submitted by Jahmilwatkins1 to jahmilwatkinslife [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Inside-Event-2732 Nickname Richie
What are some ideas, other than Richard, that Richie would work for a nickname?
submitted by Inside-Event-2732 to namenerds [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 evewow Higher ride and/or seating height
I have a 21 CE turbo that I am absolutely in love with. The only thing I wish I could change is to raise the ride or seating height of it some (okay, and a bigger gas tank). For example, my wife's murano just "feels" like you're sitting higher and/or the whole vehicle is higher up, even though they look basically the same total height from the outside. I already have the seat up as high as it will go, and wish it would move up another inch or even more.
Wondering if anybody has any ideas as to increase the feel of the height? I'd rather not mess with the suspension -- have been considering getting larger circumference tires, but can't think of anything else to possibly do. Any thoughts?
submitted by evewow to CX5 [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Environmental-Cat503 How to avoid attachments?
Vibe milne bitikai attach bhai halchu kina? One year aghi sama khasai kei thiyena yesto aile chai bhairako huncha. Emotionally unstable bhayera ho jasto ni lagcha. What should i do?
submitted by Environmental-Cat503 to NepalSocial [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Old_Ad5906 Evaluacion personal de salud . Escaneo de cuerpo
 | Altura 1.67 . Peso 68kg. Según esto. Me mantengo en valores normales, me falta tomar mas agua. Teniendo este índice de grasa normal 17,5% no estoy nada marcado, solo un poco los brazos. Porque? En que porcentaje de grasa tengo que estar para verme marcado? Aclaro igualmente que estoy en volumen, pero igual... Que se yo submitted by Old_Ad5906 to FitnessArgentina [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 RexRecruiting Created from n8n
This post was created using the Reddit node in n8n
submitted by RexRecruiting to n8n [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Extension_Context295 GUESS
 | submitted by Extension_Context295 to Ethnicity [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 geekyplug Working CartFlows Coupon Code 2025
Are you searching for a sales funnel builder for your WordPress website?
If yes then CartFlows is for you and using our SPECIAL LINK (CartFlows coupon code attached), you will get up to 41% discount for a LIMITED TIME ONLY.
submitted by geekyplug to wpdealsanddiscount [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 PickleweedAbutilon PuzzleMania Super Mega Winners?
I thought the winners of the PuzzleMania Super Mega were to have been announced by now but I can’t find any mention of it. Usually there is a list and a wrap-up article.
submitted by PickleweedAbutilon to NYTCrossword [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 DoseOfSunshine Lied To By Customer Service
I was on the phone with a customer service representative for 40 minutes, on hold for 30 minutes of that, promised that two return authorizations would be sent to me but it's 3 hours later and nothing has hit my email.
Not pleased.
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2025.01.18 03:51 susbrother Short Story: Talk to God
Every morning I took the trolley to work in downtown San Diego. The ride was nice, albeit a bit long, necessitating me to wake up much earlier than if I had driven. But I was able to listen to music, read a book, or people-watch in the 45 minutes it took to get to the building where I worked as a security guard. I was apprehensive about taking the trolley at first, but in time I really began to appreciate the odd charm of public transportation, and I started looking forward to the trips. I definitely did not miss sitting in traffic, and the trolley fare was cheaper than gas.
Regardless, driving was not really a choice for me even if I wanted to. In a delirious state, I had totalled my mother’s old soccer mom van about six months prior. I learned many valuable lessons that day, primarily that two hours was not enough sleep to get over your blubbering drunkenness from the night before. I had been late for work that morning; I threw my clothes on, hopped in the car, and drove not 20 feet before I absolutely smashed into my elderly neighbor’s SUV. I will never forget the sheer terror I felt in the moment that I hit the rear of that vehicle. In a stupor, I began to cry, like a newborn. The neighbors took pity on me and did not involve the police, even though the previous night’s alcohol was likely still present in my unwashed musk. My insurance took care of it, but I was without a car. It seemed like a fair deal to me.
It’s true, I have been known to be a bit of a drunkard at times. It’s probably best that I didn’t drive anymore. In recent months, I had begun growing very chubby as a result of drinking exactly six IPA’s nightly before bed, sometimes more on the weekends. I would wake up sick and nauseous almost every morning. I had feigned to my friends and family that I was merely a craft beer enthusiast, when in reality I was very clearly plunging slowly into alcoholism.
But it didn’t really matter. I was a college drop-out with no plans and a lot of regrets that I had to drink to forget. My job was extremely low-pressure; I was just a lowly security guard that sat in the lobby of a large office building and simply greeted employees as they walked in. There was never any trouble besides a random homeless lunatic every now and then, so it didn’t matter if I came in hungover and half-asleep. My boss was just glad that I showed up at all.
I checked my watch. It was 6:00am exactly, and I could see the trolley’s lights slowly work its way through the dense fog of the early morning. The trolley gave out a cute little “PTOOOOO” in a pathetic attempt to mimic a train whistle.
The trolley rolled up, came to a full stop, shuddered, and plopped its doors open. I strolled in and took my usual seat near the back. There was always ample seating in the early morning. I decided to listen to the oddly soothing sound of the rumbling trolley instead of my music, which I did not normally do. I looked around my compartment as the trolley started moving again. Some people were fast asleep, hunched over the backpacks in their lap as if they were preparing for an airplane crash. Others listened to music, some read the newspaper, and a few sipped on their coffees. The sun was just starting to ride, but it was still mostly dark, creating a comfy, nostalgic atmosphere in the trolley car; it was almost as if we were existing outside of time. This was my favorite part of the day.
Ah, my fellow working stiffs, I thought with amusement. On our way to sell our souls for breadcrumbs. I loved everyone on the trolley, as I felt a certain kinship with them; no one wanted to be up this early. Yet here we all were, each for our own reasons. It was a weirdly beautiful thing. On the highway, everyone was my potential enemy. In the trolley, everyone was my friend.
I looked to my left, and to my surprise, someone was staring straight at me. I initially assumed it was an unwell homeless person, but I stole another glance and it appeared to be an attractive woman with light blue hair. My heart fluttered. Why was a woman like that looking at a schlub like me? I knew for a fact that I did not look good that day, as I had stopped caring about my looks once my face took upon a round appearance, much like Charlie Brown. I had stopped looking in the mirror, and I had shaved my head so I didn’t have to bother with my hair. My hair annoyed me. Needless to say, I looked like shit.
“You work at 501 West Broadway, don’t you, Noah Sebastion Silas Grady Brady?”
I sat there flabbergasted. The woman had a wise tone, and spoke in what seemed to be a vaguely Icelandic accent.
“I’m sorry, but how in the world do you know my full name?” Her knowing my place of work was not the weirdest thing, as my uniform was peculiar and only worn by the security guards at my building. But my name was embarrassing and I did everything to keep it secret so as to not make it a source of mockery back in high school. I escaped high school with my dignity, but adulthood was clearly not being so kind. “That’s not even on my driver’s license!”
“The things I know change day by day… But I do somehow know your name. I know you’re 22, almost 23. Isn’t that weird?”
I gulped. This was taking a sinister turn. This was definitely abnormal for the morning trolley. Due to her dreamy manner of speaking, I began to suspect that she was on some kind of drug, but she did not physically appear to be under the influence of anything.
“...Who are you?”
“I’m Claire… I suppose.”
“You know my name, but you’re unsure of yours…?”
“It’s complicated. Anyway. I feel there is something you should know.”
I gulped again, audibly, like a cartoon character.
“Remember: go to the roof. Talk to God.”
I shuddered, and tears inexplicably sprung to my eyes. I had no idea what she was talking about, but her words seemed to puncture something deep within my soul.
“What… what do you mean?”
Claire stared at me, smiling, until a loud, dainty jingle emitted from the phone she held in her hand. Still staring at me, she put the phone up to her ear, and the ringtone ceased. She did not offer any kind of greeting, she merely appeared to listen to whoever was on the other end.
“Yes, I told him,” she finally said.
“Next stop, 5th and Imperial,” the trolley’s intercom chimed.
“This is my stop,” Claire said, then she gently placed her hand on mine. It felt as light as air. “Remember: go to the roof.”
“Arriving. 5th and Imperial.” The trolley doors plopped open. Claire took one last concerned look at me, then skipped off the trolley, happily humming some poppy tune. I sat there, at a complete loss for words.
“Doors closing,” said the chipper loudspeaker.
The doors closed, and I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. I looked out the window to see if I could see where she was going, but she seemed to only be standing awkwardly next to a pillar at the station, still on her phone.
My heart was beating fast. I felt more awake than I had ever been at this time.
“Remember, go to the roof.” she had said. I wonder what it meant. And who was she talking to on the phone? “Talk to God.”
My mind reeled, trying to search for a rational reason this may have occurred. She was probably on drugs. Or in some kind of religious cult. But the way she spoke and moved seemed very… unnatural. I had the nauseating feeling of uncanny valley come over me. I also couldn’t deny that her words, although cryptic, had strangely affected me in a way I still couldn’t explain.
“Hey man, what was she saying to you?” some curious guy a few seats ahead of swung around to ask.
“Just some nonsense,” I shyly chuckled, avoiding eye contact. I was not good at eye contact. “Something about talking to God.”
The dude smirked. “Makes sense. A new hippie cult showed up somewhere in the outskirts of National City recently. Heard the cops popped off their leader, so maybe they’re goin’ nuts now.” He laughed, as did I, even though I did not find the words funny. He continued, “But I don’t know. Some people are more powerful in death than they ever could have been in life.”
The rest of the ride was uneventful. I decided not to get coffee as I already felt wired.
Remember: go to the roof. Talk to God.
/ / /
As soon as I walked into my building, I saw my short boss standing at the security console in the lobby, looking around. His stature and the way he walked always reminded me of a penguin for some reason; and the suit he wore only contributed to that notion.
“Mr. Cottingham,” I said as I approached the console. “Good morning.”
“Morning, Mr. Brady. Have you seen Neal around?” Neal was the nightshift officer who I was supposed to be relieving. He was a strange guy who always wore a dingey cap to work despite that being against the rules for guards.
“I have not. He’s usually at the desk when I arrive. Was he not here?”
Mr. Cottingham shook his head. “I can’t find him. He knows he’s only allowed to leave the console if he’s going to the bathroom.”
I decided to stick up for him. “He could be confronting a transient, I know they’re more of an issue during the night shift.”
“I supposed. But I didn’t see him around the perimeter of the building. Any idea where he might be?”
Go to the roof.
I shuddered and shook off the thought. We were never allowed to go to the roof of the building.
“No idea.”
“Well, can you check around the building again? Maybe I missed him. I’ll man the console while you’re away.”
I nodded, grabbed my walkie-talkie and my keyset, and set off for a patrol around the building.
Trying to guide my thoughts away from my peculiar encounter this morning, I surveyed the city streets as they were beginning to come alive. People sipped hot coffee while on their way to their respective offices, bicyclists raced by, and joggers occasionally ran by in packs. I felt the cold morning wind bite my face as I stuck my hands in my suit pockets to stay warm. So far, no sign of Neal.
Go to the roof.
There was simply no way Neal was on the roof. We were strictly prohibited from going to the top floor; there was a nice pair of conference rooms that were always set up for an imminent fundraiser, work event, or the like, and other security guards from times gone past have stolen things from these conference rooms, leading them to be off-limits for all staff except janitorial. On the rare occasion that we needed to go to the roof, janitorial’s manager would have to escort us and allow us in with a key only he had access to.
Go to the roof.
I sighed and decided to radio my boss, defeated. “Come in, Mr. Cottingham.”
“Cottingham here,” the radio chirped in response. “You find him?”
“Negative. Have you asked Yvan if he let Neal up to the top floor?”
“You think he’s on the roof?” Mr. Cottingham seemed to find it unlikely. “I’ll ask him. Keep looking though.”
Unable to keep the thought from my brain, I chose to jog across the street to see if I could catch a glimpse of the top floor. As I squinted up at the roof, my heart seized. There was indeed a figure standing on the ledge of the roof. I could barely see who it was, but it appeared the person was wearing a cap.
Neal.
Suddenly, the figure on the ledge crossed his arms and calmly fell backwards off the roof, beginning a rapid plummet towards the Earth.
I instinctively closed my eyes and turned away, only to hear a thunderous splat, a pathetic death grunt, and the shattering of 270 bones, all in one horrific, simultaneous moment. It was quite possibly the worst sound I had ever heard. I could hear people around scream in horror and surprise.
A loud bell began clanging in the nearby clocktower, indicating it was precisely 7am. With my heart beating rapidly, I steeled myself, slowly crossed the street, and looked at the body. I grimaced; it could hardly be referred to as a body at this point. The height of the building didn’t seem to be quite enough to annihilate the corpse into an unctuous puddle of bones and blood, but it certainly killed him instantly; blood was pooling out of every orifice in his head, each of his limbs were askew, and it seemed his torso had attempted to fold in upon itself. Despite the constant stream of blood obscuring the man’s features, I could still see the man had been wearing our building’s uniform. This was definitely Neal.
Panting wildly, I looked around to see a crowd of people had formed, each processing the horror of the moment in their own way. Some screamed, some cried, some held their hands over their mouths in abject terror. I watched as Mr. Cottingham raced out of the front door to see what was happening. First he saw the body, then he looked up at me in confusion.
“I found him,” I said.
/ / /
I was sent home for the day, since the building was closed so the cleaning crews could scrub the sidewalk and erase any evidence that a suicide had just occurred there. Mr. Cottingham also wanted to make sure that I didn’t go insane due to the trauma of what I had witnessed; after all, he was already down one employee, he couldn’t afford to lose another.
The entire trolley ride home, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. If I had just went to the roof, like I had been told by Claire, then perhaps I could have prevented what happened. I felt that my inaction inadvertently caused the death of my co-worker.
Additionally, I wondered how Claire knew what would happen. How did she, or the person on that phone with her, know that something was going to happen involving the roof? Was she psychic? Did she play a part in Neal’s death? Neal was always an odd one, but he didn’t seem suicidal. But truthfully, I didn’t know him well enough to say for sure.
I recalled having a strange conversation with Neal about a week ago, the last time I saw him alive, that I hadn’t found too significant until now.
“Do you believe in free will?” Neal had asked me while I was busy clocking in. He was still gathering his things to go.
“Me? Uh, I guess,” I had replied. “Why, do you?”
“I used to,” Neal said, avoiding eye contact. “I’d like to believe I have control over my actions. But I’m starting to think something else, whether religious in nature or not, is pulling the strings.”
I remember considering this before trying to change the subject; the conversation was getting a bit too esoteric for 7am.
That night, as I tried to sleep, Neal’s death and our last conversation kept replaying in my head. I had never witnessed anything that horrible in my life, and the guilt inside of me kept growing and growing by the second. I settled on one thing before I managed to finally fall asleep: if I saw Claire again, I would take more of an effort to follow whichever directive she may give.
/ / /
I woke up the next morning, just as tired as if I hadn’t slept at all. I showered, donned my suit, and walked myself to the trolley station. I was so tired I could barely think, but when I did, my thoughts drifted towards Claire. I was apprehensive at the thought of seeing her again, but still wanted her to appear again just the same.
Lo and behold, I walked into the trolley car when it arrived and saw Claire sitting in the back, directly next to the seat I had been sitting in yesterday. She noticed me, smiled, and patted on the seat next to her, beckoning me to sit down. I obeyed wordlessly; I didn’t even know what to say.
As the trolley lurched forwards, Claire turned to me. “You didn’t go to the roof,” she said, but didn’t sound disappointed, more like she was just stating a fact. “Why not?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, looking down. “I should have.”
Suddenly, her phone began ringing again, breaking the silence of the trolley. A man who had been trying to sleep looked over, annoyed. Once again, Claire put the phone up to her ear, still maintaining her enigmatic gaze at me. The ringing stopped.
“The door will open; do not go through.” she said. Like yesterday, I felt a strange surge of emotion run through me, despite having no idea what she was referring to. Suddenly, I felt the need to get answers from her before her stop.
“H-how did you know what was going to happen yesterday?” I asked incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me more?!”
She shrugged. “The things I know change day by day,” she replied, as if it were obvious. She stood up and spoke into the phone: “Yes, I told him.”
“Wait,” I said desperately as she started walking towards the trolley doors. “Who are you on the phone with?”
The trolley rolled to a stop, and the doors opened with a ding. She looked back at me.
“God.” she replied, then skipped out, humming the same infectious tune as yesterday.
“God.” I repeated to myself, at a loss.
The door will open. Do not go through.
I was determined to follow her advice this time. The trolley soon reached my stop and I headed towards my building. I wondered if I had already failed the prophecy by going through the open trolley doors. Was I supposed to stay on the trolley forever?
/ / /
My work day started off slowly; I did my typical duties. People looked at me with sympathy, but never asked me about Neal; I supposed they didn’t want to stir up any latent trauma within me. As I did my patrol around the building, I checked the sidewalk where Neal fell, and there wasn’t a trace of anything; the cleaning crews had done an excellent job. People walked by, trampling over the exact spot Neal had died, none the wiser. It was always shocking to be reminded that no matter how or when I died, the world would just keep turning. People would still go to work, the trolleys would keep running, the Sun would still rise.
Despite that existential thought, I was still filled with trepidation about what Claire had told me, and kept vigilant. However, no doors were opening for me, or at least ones I hadn’t opened myself. I wished she was less cryptic with her directions.
However, later on in the day, I was tasked with assisting a lawyer up to the 9th floor. She had a few heavy boxes that she needed to deliver to her boss right away, so I offered to help her carry the boxes up. We walked down the long hallway on the 9th floor, engaging in idle chatter. After delivering the boxes, we walked back to the elevator lobby. Just as I moved my hand to press the ‘down’ button, the elevator door swung open, with nobody inside.
I froze.
The door will open. Do not go through.
“Would you look at that, we didn’t even need to press the button,” the lawyer said, chuckling. “I think that’s what they call kismet.”
“Stop.” I said abruptly.
The lawyer laughed awkwardly, thinking I was joking, until I held my arms up to bar her from entering.
“Uh, Noah, what’s wrong? You alright?”
“Don’t go in.” I said with as much authority as I could muster.
“Is there something wrong with the elevator?” asked the lawyer, growing nervous with my behavior.
Just as the doors started to close, the lights inside the elevator began to blink erratically, and within a second, we watched as the elevator cab plummeted down the shaft, creating a grating, metallic roar. Within another second, we heard an apocalyptic crash just nine floors down.
“Holy fucking shit,” said the lawyer, hyperventilating. “Noah, you just saved my fucking life. What the fuck?”
We looked at each other, both visibly shaking, our eyes wide.
The door will open. Do not go through.
It was true. It was all true. Claire was some kind of psychic. She had just saved my life. I started laughing nervously, which turned into crying.
Just what is going on here?
Once again, the building was closed down so the engineering staff could inspect the elevators for issues. The last inspection was only a few weeks prior, so everyone seemed to be confused as to how this could have happened. There were no obvious defects.
“The elevators aren’t even that old. There’s no reason this should have happened,” one exasperated engineer explained to me. “At this point, I think we’re gonna have to chalk it up to an act of God.”
The words sent shivers down my spine.
/ / /
“I see you did not go through the open door,” Claire said to me the next morning. “Or else you would not be here today.”
“Claire… I don’t know how to thank you. You saved my life,” I replied. “I do wish you had told me more information, but I’m grateful all the same.”
“You do not need to thank me,” she said, smiling. “I must thank you. You are not meant to die.”
I considered this. “Well… what am I meant for? What is my purpose?”
“To talk to God.”
“To talk to God?”
“When the time is right.”
“When will it be the right time?”
She shrugged. “The things I know change–”
“Day by day, I get it,” I fiddled with my hands nervously. “What am I to do today?”
Claire stopped smiling, and looked out the window of the trolley. “Today will be a little bit harder. For you.”
“Harder? How so?”
Once again, her phone rang, and she placed it up to her ear. She seemed to listen for a moment, then said, “Are you sure he can?”
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” I said with determination. “I know now how important your directions are. I’ll do anything.”
She looked back at me with empathetic eyes.
“You will face a choice. Do not choose.”
I paused. “Uh… is that the most specific you can be?”
“Yes, I told him,” she said to her phone.
We rolled up to Claire’s usual stop, and she stood up, still frowning uncharacteristically. “I’m sorry, Noah Sebastian Silas Grady Brady.”
I cringed at the sound of my full name. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll do what you say.”
Claire flashed me a sympathetic smirk, then walked off the trolley silently; no skipping, no humming. This worried me. It seemed this request was even more dire than the last two, which was scary considering what those requests ended up being for. Plus, this was even more cryptic than before; I hoped whichever choice I was presented with would be obvious.
Today was a Saturday, which meant work would be much slower than usual. The only people at the office were the true workaholics, and I typically didn’t see more than 10 people the entire day.
Just before my lunch break, a business manager from the 11th floor stopped by the console. All of the security guards knew him as the single biggest prick in the entire building. He would often make demands of us despite him not being our boss, which only managed to piss off every single guard on every single shift.
“Brady,” said Orson, the aforementioned asshole. This was his way of greeting me. “I’m going to be working all day up on 11, and I don’t want to be disturbed. This means no calls, no visitors, no nothing. If I get a single call, Mr. Cottingham will be notified immediately. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied pleasantly. He rarely had visitors on weekends anyways, so this was not a huge deal. He walked away without even saying thank you.
I realized as I went about my day that life was all about choices. Choosing to go to one bathroom stall over another. Choosing to clock out for lunch at 11 or 11:15. Choosing to eat my sandwich first or my chips first. How could I be sure which choice was the one I was not supposed to choose? It seemed like an impossible task, and I started to understand why Claire had said this directive would be more difficult than the others.
About an hour later, after my break, a man wearing casual clothes showed up at the front door of the building, which was locked on weekends. I allowed him in. He appeared frantic and shaky.
“I’m here to see Orson, up on 11. He’s having a medical episode,” the man explained. “I need to get these meds to him right away. There’s no time.”
I paused. This was it.
You will face a choice. Do not choose.
I had never seen this man before. I had no idea if he was telling the truth. If I send him up, I could lose my job. If I don’t, Orson could potentially die.
Do not choose.
“I… don’t care,” I finally said, my heart pounding. The man looked at me quizzically, but ran off towards the elevators without another word. I watched him up on the cameras as he went up and got off at the 11th floor.
I thought about it. I technically made a choice, but it was more so the choice to not make a choice. It seemed oxymoronic, but I hoped I had done the right thing.
What worried me most was the fact that this seemed to be the easiest direction I had received so far, which was in stark contrast to how Claire was acting about the choice earlier. She implied it was going to be hard. Was this really the matter she was referring to?
Unfortunately, my questions were answered less than an hour later.
The man from earlier returned to the lobby, his clothes drenched in blood. He was laughing maniacally, and breathing hard. I stood there, in a daze. He then collapsed to the floor, wheezing.
“That stupid motherfucker… Motherfucker…”
He just kept repeating curse words while wheezing like a detuned accordion. My hands shaking, I called the police.
/ / /
The police showed up quickly, arrested the crazed man who was still muttering on the floor, and went on to investigate the 11th floor, where they found Orson with 42 stab wounds: dead. The police explained that they found evidence that showed the killer was a disgruntled ex-employee of Orson’s.
“So, you allowed the suspect, a certain Mark Kobelchek, into the building?” a detective asked me after the police had left with the killer. “I did. Doors are locked during the weekend, so we always have to manually let people in, unless they have a keycard.”
“I see. So he didn’t have a keycard. How was he able to access the 11th floor without a keycard? Don’t you need one for the elevators as well?”
I paused. There was no way out of this except to lie.
“Mr. Orson said to allow any visitors that arrived up to the 11th floor. Apparently he was expecting a lot of people today.”
“I see. That’s unfortunate,” the detective scribbled a few notes onto his pad. “We may have more questions for you in the future, but this seems to be an open-and-shut case. We’ll reach out if we need anything.”
After the police left, I called Mr. Cottingham and explained everything that occurred.
“I swear to God, our building is going to shit. Everyday there’s a new goddamn problem,” Mr. Cottingham said, frustrated. “What the hell did we do to deserve all this?”
After my shift, I took the trolley home and thought about my actions. This one did seem really bad. My inaction, or my lack of choosing, caused a man to be murdered. Why would Claire want to ensure this man’s death? He was an asshole, sure, but he didn’t deserve to be stabbed 42 times by a crazed madman. I felt very conflicted. On one hand, Claire had saved my life. On the other, Claire had ensured a man’s death. What was her goal here?
I thought some more, and I had a sudden realization. Perhaps this was another way of saving my life. If I hadn’t allowed the man to go up to the 11th floor, maybe he would’ve killed me. Maybe my lack of action was exactly what saved my life. Perhaps this was Claire’s intention.
Still, I had another near-sleepless night. Visions of Neal’s death, the elevator plummeting, and the blood-drenched man filled my mind. I realized I was thankful for Claire saving my life, but I still had to know the real, ultimate purpose behind her strange directives. I decided I would confront her tomorrow and finally demand answers.
///
I marched into the trolley, determined to have my many questions answered. However, I was shocked to find the trolley car was empty. No Claire, no anybody.
Maybe she takes the day off on Sunday, I thought, and decided I would try again tomorrow, on my day off.
///
Once again, no Claire to be found. Since I had no work, I got off on her usual stop and waited at the station nearly all day. No strange blue-haired women appeared. I started feeling discouraged.
///
A month passed. My days were uneventful. I went back to drinking nightly. Everyday I got on the trolley, I hoped I’d see Claire again, sitting there smiling, waiting to deliver a prophecy just for me. But she never appeared.
My confusion turned to depression, which turned to anger. What gave her the right to come into my life, make me believe I had a purpose in this world, just to disappear? How could I be so stupid to actually believe I’d ever mean anything to this fucked up world? I was just a depressed, anxious, drunken mess of a person. I felt more useless than ever.
I don’t know who the hell Claire was, but I had decided I hated her. Or perhaps I just hated the feeling of being purposeless. That was probably more likely.
However, one random Saturday, a thought crossed my mind. One of Claire’s objectives. Her first one.
Go to the roof. Talk to God.
I remembered that when I had asked her my purpose, she had plainly said it.
To talk to God. When the time is right.
I stood up from the console, my knees quivering. I knew what I had to do. The time was right.
I radioed the janitor, Yvan, to allow me up to the top floor with his special key. He was behind schedule, so he begrudgingly gave me his key to the roof. “Don’t go killin’ yerself like the last guy that asked me for that, alright?”
I walked up the steps leading to the roof, each step heavier than the last. I knew my fate, my purpose, was awaiting me. I felt terrified, but also strangely tranquil. My heart pounded in my chest, and my stomach was filled with butterflies.
I finally reached the door, inserted the key, and walked out onto the patio, the wind immediately pummeling me. I looked over to the ledge where Neal had jumped, and there she was.
Claire.
She turned around, smiling. Her phone was up to her ear.
“Yes, he’s finally here,” she said to her phone. Her hair seemed to dance in the wild wind. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I slowly walked up to her, breathing shallow. She looked right at me.
“You’ve proven yourself,” she said to me. “Are you ready to talk to God?”
I nodded. “Y-yes. I am.”
She handed me her phone. I slowly put the phone up to my ear.
Tears began uncontrollably streaming down my face. A blissful feeling ran through my entire body, and I soon became enraptured in pure, unbridled ecstasy. I began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
I knew, even as I fell, that I had fulfilled my purpose. And it was beautiful.
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2025.01.18 03:51 Coplen Workers Federation of Russia (Fictional Emblem)
 | submitted by Coplen to Emblems [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 pizzaredditor toma
 | submitted by pizzaredditor to perfectlycutBONK [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 airnomadoftheeast Side effects
Hello friends and fellow enthusiasts! It took a while because I got sick and had to take a break, but I have been micrososing muscimol for a full month now! I have been taking 1mg every night before bed.
The effects are great and the side effects have been mixed, here is what I found:
The good: Fantastic sleep! Fantastic dreams! Feel absolutely great the next day! After 2 weeks I started noticing my mind sharpening up, thought processes going faster and feeling cleaner.
The bad: I notice now that I am off of it, I started having very minor, but noticable negative states of mind. I also started developing a benign twitch in my left arm.
Conclusión: All in all I rate it highly. I don't believe this is something you want to be on continuously for extended periods of time, and is certainly not a replacement for any daily medication, but I do believe that it is a very useful substance with a plethora of benefits when taken in moderate and spaced out dosages.
submitted by airnomadoftheeast to AmanitaMuscaria [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Shadow00009 How would you rate my Jing Yuan
Wanted to know your thoughts if there are ways to improve it and what you think currently overall
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2025.01.18 03:51 Willing-Salamander73 You're coping if you think this is getting any better
The devs, may not like any of this one bit, but that isn't our problem. This sort of crap is coming for everyone's daily lives all over the world. Ads and memberships, special deals and act fast or lose out shenanigans are becoming widespread and it's becoming normalized because of these sorts of tactics. Overshoot l, dial back, and drip feed it in. You'll say things like, "it's not as bad as..." or "at least it isn't like this..." and before you know it, the thing or things you used to love and enjoy have been sucked dry of everything that made them special and repurposed entirely to funnel as much money from you to them.
submitted by Willing-Salamander73 to 2007scape [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 Confident_Aioli_3991 Early fight against the crones?
 | I REALLYYYY need to know if this can happen in the quest were you escape the swamp as Ciri (Ciri's Story: Fleeing the Bog). Couldn't find a video where this happens, so I might give it a try in my current playthrough. Ciri's Story: Fleeing the Bog https://preview.redd.it/uutuxybwcode1.png?width=848&format=png&auto=webp&s=cc050de1d455239e8d0efdadc63a4c9c74e8fbc0 submitted by Confident_Aioli_3991 to Witcher3 [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 DWolfoBoi546 Toa Kopaka
 | Since I've seen some people posting bionicle characters, figured I'd take a crack at my favorite Toa Kopaka in a sort of Mata/nuva hybrid design. submitted by DWolfoBoi546 to HeroForgeMinis [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 BraveNKobold Photograph and skin quality
Which graphic setting is just for those 2? Or would I have to raise my whole graphics just to up them
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2025.01.18 03:51 odenofwano Help me get karma! Up 4 up
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2025.01.18 03:51 LowesAssociate One Chance, God Pack
I ran around like crazy today trying to find any prismatic. Went to 7 stores, even some niche ones and a few local shops. Nothing. Finally call this place just down the street that normally just does comics. They had one single pack, a Sticker Pack. I got there just in time and the pack was bent along the cardboard (cards came out perfect tho).
I pulled it. Didn't even realize what was going on at first. I can't believe it. It's like Charlie and the Chocolate factory, and I pulled the golden ticket from my own chocolate bar.
I actually just stood there shaking for a good 15 minutes.
I'd love to keep but unfortunately I think I may have to look into selling it to LGS, at least maybe then it could go to someone else who just loves pokemon cards for the hobby, and not some resellers online.
submitted by LowesAssociate to PokemonTCG [link] [comments]
2025.01.18 03:51 slimgayguy 25 Aussie guy! Any chubby bros wanna chat?
I’m an open book! Would love to get to know you. I’m into video games and photography to name a couple of things. Love exploring.
I want to have a good chat. i will show face too :)
Love bigger chubby dudes so if you are one definitely message me.
I’m a slim guy :)
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2025.01.18 03:51 WubbaLubba15 Fluvial Parade in Cebu City, Philippines
 | 📷 Island Nomad submitted by WubbaLubba15 to CityPorn [link] [comments] |
2025.01.18 03:51 WenisCaster Second time tonight
 | submitted by WenisCaster to doordash_drivers [link] [comments] |