Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Food

Moody and Inconclusive

…is how Rom categorized my fiction writing. Such as it is.

THEATER OF CRUELTY 2.0

This was my first day of dispatching the traveling road show of Nick and his new partner Sam-I-Am. (The latter’s feelings about green eggs and ham have not been determined as of this writing, but she seems to feel positively about green food in general, since she doesn’t realize that peas are gross. And Nick puts PEAS AND CARROTS IN RICE, which is just unspeakable.) The last run I gave them: Numerous pickup trucks on the lot of Sonic with alcohol in the vehicles. This is how you Sonic! (“It isn’t how I Sonic,” Nick said primly. He has never even been drunk, so afraid of losing control is he.)

THE SILLIEST INJURY I ALMOST CALLED IN ABOUT

The other night I woke up with heartburn, as I all-too-often do, and fumbled the new bottle of Tums out of the hall closet. This was the brand-name bottle, not the Walgreen’s generic bottle I’d had previously. Well, the lid was not only child-proof in its tightness, but the tab you had to push to open it was razor-sharp (which also discourages children, I understand). Which I proceeded to prove–there’s nothing like standing there with heartburn, half-asleep, wrestling with recalcitrant packaging. I finally wrenched it open and wormed a tablet out of it, snapped it shut, and realized my fingers were slippery with blood. Yes, I had sliced my thumb on the razor-sharp thingy. Good thing it was my left thumb–the right one would have been in just the right spot to hit the space bar on the keyboard, and I would have had to call in sick with an outlandish story (and not for the first time, as Sam knows, and Sam, do me a favor and don’t tell Nick about that one). Although my colleague L.L. raised the bar on that one by CUTTING OFF THE TIP OF HER FINGER and coming in to work anyway. And then there’s my other colleague’s deodorant-related injury…

THE SCRATCHY GLITTER COMMERCIAL GAZETTE, ST JOE EDITION

A new CVS is going to be built catty-corner (NOT “caddy-corner,” OK?) from Walgreen’s. And no one will be able to pass through safely, because they will be shooting arrows at each other across the street.

Why haven’t these posts been illustrated lately? Because the illustration function hasn’t been working. Why don’t I fix it? Because I don’t know how. Next question?

P.S. Nick, the point I was trying to make in our last conversation begins with “R.” You’re mighty slow on the uptake for someone who wasn’t drunk.

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5 Minutes of Fame on the Bus

For some reason, my co-workers always think it’s cute when I cuss. Well, if you think that’s cute, picture this:

I was getting on the bus, and 2 people getting on ahead of me were greeted effusively by a black woman a little younger than myself. I figured, obviously, that they knew each other and hadn’t seen each other for a long time. Well, once I got into my seat, this same woman turned to me and yelled, “I LOVE THIS WOMAN!! SHE RIDES THE BUS ALL THE TIME! SHE ANSWERS THE PHONE WHEN YOU NEED THE POLICE!!  SHE SAVES LIVES!!!” Now, for someone I don’t recognize to recognize me is no big deal, since I tend to avoid eye contact, and can’t remember faces very well anyway. (“I don’t often make eye contact, but when I do, I still can’t remember who you are.”) (I still remember the first time I saw Nick in uniform. He’d come in to bring us food, and I turned to him and asked politely, “And you would be…?” “The guy you’ve just been exchanging messages with?” he answered, bewildered. I hadn’t recognized him with his police hat on, obscuring his distinctive hairline.) But she then THROWS HER ARMS AROUND ME. Now, that is something many people have taken years to work up the nerve to do. She’s hugging me madly, while I’m clinging to the pole next to my seat with both hands. I’ve never been so glad to get off a bus in my life. Well, maybe the time near Central High School when a bunch of teenagers in the back of the bus kept telling me I was ugly. At least this lady was nice.

COURTESY OF A.J.: IF ORDERING FAST FOOD WAS LIKE ANSWERING 911

“McDonald’s, may I take your order, please?”

“FOOD! I NEED FOOD!”

“What would you like to order?”

“FOOD! I NEED IT NOW!”

“But what kind of food?”

“I NEED FOOD OR I’LL DIE! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? WHY HAVEN’T YOU GIVEN ME ANY FOOD YET?”

“Because you haven’t ordered any.”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR ATTITUDE! YOU’RE HERE TO GIVE ME FOOD! I’LL TELL THE MEDIA!”

“But what would you like to eat?”

“CAN’T YOU FIGURE IT OUT? I CAME IN HERE LAST WEEK, YOU SHOULD HAVE IT ON RECORD!”

Etc.

It’s Becoming Painfully Clear….

Ride My See-Saw

Ride My See-Saw (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How did I find out that I had previously trained Nick, apparently without noticing it? I’d grumpily said, “If I have to ride along with you, you should have to sit along with me.” “I did when I trained out there, don’t you remember?” he responded plaintively. But it wasn’t until today that I realized–OF COURSE! Why else would he have such evil glee at the prospect of our ride-along, if not FOR REVENGE? Let’s test this theory by paying him a visit….Ah, here he is, lazing in the sun….

(He quickly sits up and whips his tail tightly around himself so I can’t step on it.) “Ah, my ancient enemy! So good of you to stop by–I always enjoy our visits–but a little advance notice  would have been appreciated…”

“About this ride-along business–”

(quivering with eagerness) “Yes? Any news on that front?”

“No. I was just wondering–”

“Ah, too bad.” (becomes dreamy-eyed) “What adventures we’ll have!” (delicately scratches his eyelid with a single claw)

“But I don’t like adventures.”

“Ah. Funny how that works. I, for instance, don’t like being abused and then forgotten. But sometimes things happen…that are beyond our control.” (preens a membranous wing) “Would you prefer a motivational–flight, perhaps? Would that be more to your liking?” (watches carefully for my reaction) “Ah, it’s so hard to tell.”

“Beast, I don’t remember training you. At all.”

“You will remember. I’ll tell you everything. It will all come back, don’t worry.”

I change the subject, staying out of reach of sudden lunges. “Do you ever curl up behind the dumpster at the zoo during your shift to take a nap?”

“Are you implying that I sleep? Who needs to know?”

“It was just brought up at a meeting–as an example of a reason why officers might not want GPS-based dispatching. They didn’t mention any names, but the zoo is in your beat, and maybe you’d be visiting your friends there, and–do I hear growling?”

“Possibly. I hate to be disrespectful–you are, technically, my commanding officer, after all–but it could be.”

I take my leave of him, being careful not to turn my back.

NON NICK-RELATED NEWS

My McDonald’s place mat (or trayliner, as they prefer to call them, lest we think we’re getting too fancy) said, “Get real. It’s hot out there.” No, now you’re getting unreal. It also said, “Take a picture of your drink and upload it to our website!” Why? I don’t often care about pictures of food on the Internet {insert picture of The Most Interesting Man in the World here}, but when I do, they’re pictures of actual food, cooked by people I actually know.

Maycation Day 4: The Concert

Tom Petty performing at Nissan Pavilion in Bri...

Tom Petty performing at Nissan Pavilion in Bristow, VA – June 10, 2006. Photo taken by Marion S. Rights have been specifically given by the photographer for the images’ use on Wikipedia. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Working title #1: Oh My My, Oh Hell Yes

Working title #2: Sitcher Drunk @ss Down!

I could write a music review (and have, in fact, done so in the past), but what I want to do instead is review everything about this event but the music. And since this blog is my personal stroke-fest, I’m going to do just that.

I haven’t been to a concert for awhile, because most of the acts I want to see are A.) broken up (R.E.M.), B.) past their prime (too many to count), or C.) dead. So let me just say that Tom Petty puts on a great show, go see him if you get the chance.

I was snazzily attired in striped pants and purple shirt, and Rom was even snazzier in a multicolored shirt he got for $2 at a yard sale. (Trust me, it looks better than it sounds.)

I agree with Rom that the Ford Center looks like an upside-down aluminum saucepan, but I thought the inside has a cool aircraft-hangar sort of look. And, most importantly, the restrooms are near the door. This was important because I’ve never seen so much beer in one place in my life. There were wandering beer vendors everywhere. I resisted the temptation, because drinking beer would guarantee I’d need to find the bathroom at some point during the show. Many people lacked this awareness of cause and effect, so there was a constant roiling of people between the beer and the bathrooms. If I wanted to do that, I could just go to Hagedorn’s. I could sing “Free Fallin'” there, too. And have.

I would be willing to pay extra not to have a tall guy sit in front of me, but one  did.  And I’d pay even more not to have the guy next to him, who was a size 3X guy, wearing a t-shirt that was a size 2X extra-short. And tight low-slung pants. And every time he got up, we would see, as they said in olden times, more than was convenient. And have to turn our faces away, lest we turn to stone. And he got up a lot. (Refer to beer/bathroom link, above.)

(Insert concert here.)

I prudently sought out said restroom before the bus ride home. Ladies, the floor was awash in spilled beer. At least I think that’s what it was. The alternative explanation would be even worse. And the sinks are a major design fail–the automatic faucets give you a dribble of water for a second and a half. Everyone was giving up on actually washing their hands, because they had to get on with their lives.

The bus went past Dispatch at one point–I waved at 3rd shift, toiling away in obscurity. And this was appropriate, because–what is with me overhearing 911 customers on the bus? It’s like a curse (especially since in this case I’m not being paid to listen to it.) This time it was a woman carrying a tote bag that had Bella and Edward (or whatever those Twilight people’s names are) on one side, and Kiss on the other. Where do you even get a bag like that? Her cell phone rings and–

…transcript of conversation follows:

“I’m not going to answer that.” {Answers it anyway, like we couldn’t see that coming.} “I’m upset with you! You got my daughter upset. My daughter isn’t speaking to me. You got my daughter upset, and now she’ll never speak to me again. And you got my mother upset. You got my daughter upset. She won’t even talk to me. I’m going to hit you over the head with a pizza when I get home! {She was carrying a pizza box.} Because you got my daughter upset!” {Hangs up.} “Men are pigs.” {Realizes there’s a man, namely my husband, sitting right next to her.} “Well, not all men. Just the one I live with.” I thought, let me guess. You bought a car with him, but you don’t trust him with the keys?

Well, I’m up too late, considering I have an appointment with the vet tomorrow. Well, I don’t have it, the cat does. I just go along to lend moral support.

Rom said, “When I first get up in the morning, I can’t read your post, because my eyes aren’t used to the light yet.” Because it’s so brilliant!

P.S. I chose this picture of Tom Petty because I wore the same outfit for my wedding!

P.P.S. I do have to live like a refugee.

 

 

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