I’m now having trouble with jars, my friends. Yes, this is what it’s come to.
A few weeks ago I asked Toney to buy sauerkraut during one of her Wegmans runs. You know… for grilled hotdogs. And I couldn’t get the lid off. I’m not kidding, that shit had a vacuum-seal on it that would be the envy of every Boeing engineer the world ‘round. My son, who is twenty and in tip-top shape, couldn’t get it off either. It was amazing. By the time I finally broke it loose, in the depths of a full, panting sweat, it felt like I might have to undergo Tommy John surgery on my shoulder (as soon as I finished off my delicious lunch).
And now it’s happened a second time… A few nights ago Toney asked me to open a jar of Harry & David peach salsa. I looked at her with an unspoken “is this going to turn me into a blubbering mangina again?” and she silently answered “there’s a very good possibility.”
Yeah, I think I broke several bones in my wrist and hand. Not any of the main bones, mind you, just a couple of the tiny back-up bones. It’s been days now, and I’m still in pain. But I was determined not to be defeated by a condiment, if you know what I mean. And I finally “won,” but could probably go for a week inside a rehabilitation center: crying and squeezing foam, etc.
What’s the story? Is there some new high-caliber jar sealer that’s become all the rage inside manufacturing plants? I mean these things are insane; the tension is clearly running a tad hot. You need some sort of gasoline-powered device to get the lids off now. Seriously. We’re going to have people getting frustrated, busting open jars with hammers, and trying to dip their chips around the glass shards. Sweet sainted mother of Biff Pocoroba!
On a more positive note… the peach salsa was fantastic.
I’m carrying a wallet now. Well, as soon as I leave for work today I’ll be carrying one — for the first time in my life. Call me crazy, if you’d like, but I’ve always taken a dim view of the things. Even the word “wallet” bothers me. It’s a stupid word, humiliating to say. Billfold is better, I guess. But only slightly.
I always carried my various cards and what little cash I had on-hand inside my front left pants pocket. It’s still my preferred way of doing things, but the cards keep getting destroyed. While walking, they rub up against each other, and the magnetic strips start to disappear. Then the guy at Subway has to swipe… frown… swipe… frown… and swipe again (this time from the bottom up). It only takes two months inside my upper-thigh pressure cooker to render a debit/credit card worthless.
So, I bought a wallet through Amazon, and got it all loaded up yesterday. We’ll see how it goes. I’m not sure I’ll be able to embrace wallet culture, but I’m going to give it a shot. I pray that this isn’t a slippery slope to other questionable behavior. Like cologne. Or sandals. …Shit! I just had a full-body shiver.
What words bug you, like “wallet” does me? I also don’t like “supper” or “commode.” There are probably a dozen more, but that’s all my brain is pulling up right now. Also, how do you carry your cards and money? Am I the weird one for just having everything loose in my pocket? Is that unusual? I don’t know.
And I have to go to work now. It’s painfully Monday.
I’ll be back on Thursday, if not before.
Have a great day, my friends.