I was at work a few nights ago, and walked through a room where three or four people were talking. As I passed by, one of them said, “Why don’t you ask Jeff? I bet he’d know.” Then they all busted out laughing.
I executed one of those military heel-turns, and went over to them. “What are you guys talking about?” I demanded.
“Oh, we were just joking,” one of them said, which made it clear I wasn’t going to like what was to follow. Turns out, they were discussing the price of Viagra. And since I’m, you know, a broken-down old man in their eyes… I’d surely have voluminous dick-pill information at the ready.
Yes, I’m buckled-over with laughter. That’s some quality “joking,” right there. Bastards.
People are always busting balls, and that’s fine. I’m not the thenthitive type. But I believe it was the first time anyone had come at me for being old. I guess I’ve officially crossed over into some new category now? Is that what’s happened? Fantastic.
I guess I should now brace for adult diaper comedy, right? Yes, every day is a treat.
Yesterday, for instance. I had to go to Wegmans, to buy stuff for dinner. Toney was at work, and she put me in charge. And that usually means one thing: taco salad. It’s easy, everybody likes it, and it requires very little cooking.
The younger boy went along, and we stopped at Wendy’s beforehand, to fortify ourselves with grease. And check out the way some assholes left the trays:
I did about ten minutes on those things, while driving to the grocery store. It annoyed me for several reasons. For one, there’s a pronounced lack of consideration for the next guy. Ya know? Like George Costanza says, “We live in a society!” Also, how is such disorganization acceptable? What kind of degenerate would leave stackable trays unstacked like that? I’m not kidding, it would be physically impossible for me to walk away from such a situation. It’s still bugging me.
We made it to Wegmans, and I gave my son a break by complaining about some new things. I temporarily set aside TrayGate.
There were a couple of yuppies sauntering through the parking lot, with their mandatory coffee cups, acting like they were out for a stroll in Central Park. We couldn’t get around them, because two zitsters were monkeying with one of those motorized cart-pushers. So we were trapped, forced to saunter, as well. Grrr…
I had to urinate like Man o’ War, and when we FINALLY got inside the store, I made a beeline for the men’s room. It was a full-house. Every stall and urinal was occupied. One guy had his pants and underwear pulled down to his knees, so his entire ass crack was out in the open, for all to see. Jesus J. McChrist.
I turned to leave in a huff, and nearly bumped into some dipshit who was grooming himself in the mirror. He was putting handfuls of water into his hair, and slicking it back with a comb. This is a grocery store, asshole. Not Studio 54.
I maneuvered around that douche, exited the bathroom, and bumped into a shopping cart that was left DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE DOOR. More lack of consideration. I gave it a shove, and it finally came to rest deep inside the produce section, against a display of tomatoes.
For the next five minutes I ranted about the kind of person who would leave a cart in front of a bathroom door, and how I wished people like that would be rounded up and shipped off to an internment camp. My son just sighed and rolled his eyes, and some sauntering coffee-sipper shot me a dirty look. Oh, I see. I’m the problem.
I bought all the stuff it takes to build a proper taco salad, and it came to $18. My inner-sensors told me it was roughly 20% too much, but what are you gonna do? I then bought a six-pack of Sam Adams Rebel IPA. In Pennsylvania beer sales are separate, and have to happen at a different cash register. It’s completely ludicrous, but I’ve been beaten down by The Man and conditioned to accept it.
As we walked back to the car, I voiced my displeasure at those motorized cart-pushers again. It’s a common theme. You see, when I was gathering carts at grocery stores, during the early 1980s, we shoved long lines of the things – with our legs and back. We didn’t have an apparatus, with an idiotic neon flag on it, to supplement our efforts. Hell, I could thread the needle on a run, with 40 connected carts, straight through the front door of the store. But these kids today… they need a remote-controlled robot with a flashing light on it. Pathetic.
As soon as we left the parking lot, and I stopped complaining for a minute or two, I realized I still had to pee, with a fiery fury. So, I started complaining about that.
When we got home my son disappeared into his room, and I didn’t see him again for hours. It’s funny how that happens, following most of our father/son outings. Oh well.
I finally went to the bathroom, and it sounded like Niagara Falls in there. Ahhhh… Then I swabbed my nose wart with apple cider vinegar, and the thing came off. Did I tell you guys I’ve been trying to kill my nose wart with vinegar? Well, it freaking worked. It’s totally gone, and there’s no sign it was ever there.
I got the idea from an article I read online. It said to put apple cider vinegar on a cotton ball, and hold it to the wart for about five minutes, three times per day. It took about a week, and the thing is completely gone. Halfway through the process it started to burn real bad, then scabbed over. Yesterday the scab came off, and there’s nothing but smoove skin where the wart used to be. Crazy, huh? The whole treatment cost $1.19. And there’s plenty of “wart medicine” left over, for salads or whatever.
I bet those smartass Viagra boys couldn’t help but be impressed by that story, right? …Hello?
I’ll see you guys again soon. I had fun writing this one. It felt like old times.
Have yourselves a great day.