It was cutting in and out, you see, multiple times per hour. It would only go down for a few seconds at a time, but it was aggravating. Exceedingly aggravating. If I happened to be listening to a radio show, or watching a video, everything would suddenly shit the bed and I’d feel like going down to Miami and eating a face. It was also playing havoc with our Netflix streaming. And I can’t have that.
So, we called our cable TV overlords and they ran some diagnostic tests or whatever. Finally, the guy said they’d need to send someone out to take a look. “Is Sunday morning between 8 and 9 OK?” he asked.
And how weird is that? Early Sunday morning? The cable guy?? But it worked for us, and he arrived promptly at 10:45. A surly man, not interested in chitchat…
But he got the problem solved, and everything seems to be stable now. However, at the end, when I had to sign off on the repairs, he started calling me “boss.” “Initial right here, boss…” “Any questions, boss?” “Alright, have a good day, boss.” Just over and over.
I still don’t know what to think of it. It was a bit too much. And he was a black guy, which only complicated matters. I feel a little uneasy being called boss by a black man. Ya know? And it seemed like he was doing it on purpose. If he’d only said it once, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But when he said it for the fourth and fifth times within one minute, I began to wonder.
It’s all very confusing, still.
Late last week I was out running some errands, taking care o’ business, and that sort of thing. And my gut told me it was feeding time… So, I decided to go to a Subway located in a strip of stores near Target. It’s not my usual Subway, but it was convenient.
I pulled into the parking lot, and saw a whole group of people emerging from a van a few spaces down. Oh no! I’d better get in front of that herd or I’ll be screwed, I thought. So I leaped from behind the wheel, and made an attempt to reach the front door first. But it was no good… A couple of kids were with them, and they sprinted across the parking lot. The little bastards.
Great! All I could do at this point was stand there and hold the door while the whole gang sauntered in. My only hope: one of them would take pity on me, and tell me to go ahead of them.
Ha! There was no pity. They didn’t even thank me for holding the door. And every one of them made their way to the ordering spot, at the other end of the glass. Including an ancient woman who looked like a fetus, or maybe a prawn, with lipstick and wig. She was being dragged/carried through the restaurant by a couple of women, her feet occasionally bouncing this way and that off the floor.
“She’s 94 years old!” one of the women announced to the room, apparently expecting applause. “She was born in 1917, and graduated high school in 1934!”
What the hell is this, a sideshow? Just place your orders, and get the hell out of my way.
When the ESL sandwich engineer didn’t engage, the two women went ahead and launched into a giant production, anyway. “Mother, what kind of sandwich would you like?!”
“Pardon?” she answered.
“Sandwich! What kind of sandwich?”
One of the women turned to the engineer and said, “Do you sell roast beef here?” I thought my brain was going to explode. Then it was time to enter the bread confusion stage. I wanted to shout: Her taste buds probably cut out during the Johnson Administration! Just slap something together!! It doesn’t matter.
But they went back and forth about the bread. And while this important discussion commenced, I noticed the old lady had nodded off or something, and her forehead was now pressed against the glass. One of her handlers jerked her back into position, and for a couple of seconds she acted like she’d been transported to a strange and magical world.
“What would she like on the sandwich?” the engineer asked.
“Mother, you like lettuce, right?”
And that’s all I could handle. The lipstick prawn was only the first person that needed to order, within a group of about ten. So, I sighed loudly and walked out. I have no doubt one of the handlers said, “Some people!” as I walked toward my car.
I went to Wal-Mart and bought an ink cartridge for my printer, and a pack of padded envelopes. It was pandemonium in there, and I was struggling greatly. I think I could’ve run the board if I’d been playing the Wal-Mart Game. Some angry fat woman in a wheelchair seemed to charge at me, brandishing her below-the-knee amputation stump as a battering ram.
After that hell, I decided to go BACK to Subway. I was still hungry, and didn’t feel like eating a greasy burger. So, I returned and the gang was still there, taking up three tables and buzzsawing through their lunches.
There was nobody at the counter, so I walked right up. I felt like turning and announcing to the place: “I was born in 1962, and graduated high school in 1981. And today I’m going with the footlong turkey on white!!”
But I behaved myself, and took my hyper-extended meal to a table by the window – as far away from the group as possible.
And I sat there and marveled at the endless parade of walking, talking stereotypes entering and leaving the Game Stop store next door. What a grand gang of nerds. I love that look where they shave their faces, but maintain an unkempt beard underneath their chins. Know what I’m talking about? And the fedoras! Good stuff.
When I was beginning to eat the second half of my tubular lunch, I noticed the herd was on the move. They were finally finished, and making their way toward the door. And as they passed, a couple of them shot me a dirty look. Apparently they remembered I was the same guy who’d stormed off in a huff.
And I told them all to blow me, with my eyes, and continued eating my sandwich. I was prepared to fight all ten of them, if it became necessary.
I have more, much more, but I’m going to stop right here. I believe that’s enough for one day. How many people did I offend with this one?
I’ll be back tomorrow or Saturday. I still have to tell you about Andy’s dingleberry problem, and an embarrassing, borderline homoerotic dream I had a few nights ago. Good god! I think I might be having a series of mini-strokes.
Have a great day.