Days Late, Dollars Short

by pjmcbride

I woke up thinking, What’s on the agenda for today? Then I realized, Going to work! Aaiiee!! I’ve been on vacation so long, I almost forgot. Then I fell asleep again and dreamed I forgot to go to work until, like, 9 hours after the start of my shift, and I thought I’d be in Big Trouble. But no one seemed to notice that I was grotesquely late. I woke up again and already felt worn out, which is quite the accomplishment when one has yet to get out of bed.


Someone was asking a clerk at Walgreen’s what they felt about the imminent arrival of CVS across the street. (Well, he didn’t use the phrase “imminent arrival,” but you get the idea.) She said she was sure they’d pick up all the smokers, now that CVS has stopped selling tobacco. There’s a slogan for you–“Walgreen’s–your unhealthy choice!” (The previous statement does not reflect the views of Walgreen’s.)

Speaking of which, the Bad Customer of the Week award goes to the woman at $ General, who found out her preferred brand of cigarettes was not available there except in the mentholated version, and said, “I’m not paying for that $hit! I don’t do menthol! What do I do now?” I’m guessing the clerk was thinking, “How the hell am I supposed to know? Consider it an opportunity to give up smoking?


–brought to you by Redd’s Apple Ale, which is probably the reason why I forgot to report them.

“Crush With Eyeliner” by R.E.M. came on Rom’s IPod, and I said, “I love this song!” Nick encouraged me to sing it for him, which actually wouldn’t have been hard, because the verses are more-or-less spoken, and only the chorus involves any actual singing. But I refused, because apparently 2 bottles of R.A.A. isn’t enough to make me feel comfortable singing. I felt on the verge of singing, though, which means that 3 bottles is (are?) the magic number, if consumed in rapid succession. Interestingly (or maybe not–I wouldn’t want to assume), although Nick and I have encouraged each other to sing on various occasions, neither of us has yet done so.

“Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup,” as the old saying goes. During his guided tour of my bedroom, Nick spied my service cat, Esmerelda, lurking in the corner. “Can I pet her?” I assured him she wouldn’t bite or scratch. But as soon as she saw that beast lumbering toward her, she thought, “Aaieee! He knows I’m crunchy and good with ketchup!” and fled in terror. I was sorry he didn’t get to pet her, as her fur is very soft. After they left, she devoted an unseemly amount of time to sniffing where they’d been sitting. “Obviously you don’t get many visitors,” said Nick. Of course, he also called me “wretched and rather crazy,” so maybe that’s the problem.