I’m halfway through NaBloPoMo and I’ll tell you what, I’ll be glad when it’s over. I almost felt like protesting today and just saying screw it. You can’t make me blog when I don’t want to! But then a promise is a promise and something else Dr. Seuss probably said and decided to hang in there.
For lack of anything else to write about at the moment, I’ll tell you about what happened to me this morning. I went to Circle K to buy some milk at about 6:00 a.m. The place was swarming with Sheriffs. Apparently cops go to the doughnut shop and sheriffs like to hang out at Circle K. Anyway, I grabbed the milk and got in line behind some schmo wearing one of those blue tooth things on his ear. (Why do people walk around with those things on? They look ridiculous.)
The schmo was in the process of purchasing a plethora of lottery tickets and quick picks. Evidently the desire to throw his money away was SO overwhelming it drove him from the comfort of his own bed to Circle K at 6:00 a.m. Unfortunately the man working the register was, how should I put this…. a complete idiot? Painfully inept? He was incapable of understanding what was happening or how to handle it. “Fifty seven dollars” the clerk said to the schmo. “No,” he replied, “It should be sixty.” The clerk looked back him with a slack-jawed blank stare. “It should be sixty dollars,” the man repeated. The clerk then looked back at the register and began punching buttons. Keep in mind, myself and about fifty Sheriffs are standing in line watching the whole exchange creep slowly along. My hand began to go numb from holding the cold milk.
After dicking around on the register for a few more minutes, the clerk looked up again and repeated, “Fifty seven dollars.” That was about the time I slapped myself on the forehead and said, “Doh!” The schmo insisted again that the total should be sixty dollars. He was not going to take the money and run, so to speak, with all those Sheriffs breathing down his neck. I almost told him, just give him the sixty bucks and let him figure it out later you tard, but I didn’t. I just continued to stand around in my PJ’s and fuzzy slippers surrounded by Sheriffs hopped up on bad coffee. By the time I got out of there I had lost forever twenty precious minutes of my life.
The moral of this story is don’t go to Circle K at 6:00 a.m. unless you have no plans to do anything else that day.
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