Your End of Week Topic Dump, vol. 211

watermelon1I was in Wendy’s a little while ago (#1 with cheese, no pickles, and a Coke), and the woman in front of me wasn’t prepared when it was her turn.  This is an infraction, as detailed here, and I was sighing to beat the band.

Then, to add insult to fast food injury, she started using a phrase that bothers me.  Oh, it bothers me a great deal.  Here’s approximately how it went…

Her:  Does the 99 cent bacon burger come with onions?
Cashier:  No, only lettuce and mayonnaise.
Her:  Then I’ll do one of those.  And do you sell chocolate milk?
Cashier:  Yes.
Her:  OK, I’ll do two of those.

Do??  How does a person do milk?  And then she started phrasing everything as a question…

Her:  And can I do a fish sandwich?  And maybe an order of fries?  And can I get a small root beer to go with that?

What the hell?  Was she asking the cashier for permission?  I have a feeling ol’ Snaggles couldn’t have given a shit, one way or the other.

This went on for upwards of five minutes.  She eventually DID about twenty dollars worth of food, and each item was agonized over.  By the time she was finished a huge line had piled up, and everyone was staring at her with agitated expressions.

A little longer and all that negative mental energy would’ve likely compounded, and the woman would’ve burst into flames.  But, unfortunately, we came up a bit short of our goal.  Dammit!

A few days ago I asked for your funniest funeral stories, and, as usual, you guys didn’t disappoint.  Lots of hilarious tales.  But I forgot to tell you mine…  How’s that for scattered?

Back in the late 1980s or early 1990s one of my grandmother’s sisters died.  The service was held outside, under a giant tent, of sorts.

The family was sitting in the front row — mostly other sisters and assorted spouses.  And when one of the sisters (the biggest of the litter) flopped-down, an entire row of people went over backwards!

The chairs were hooked together in some way, and shared armrests.  And the next thing you know there’s a loud gasp, and nothing but a row of dress shoes sticking straight up in the air…

God, I’m about to soil myself just thinking about it.

On Monday they were going to bring in a ton of ice cream at work, and have a “social” for the employees.  They do that sort of thing from time to time, which is nice.  I’ve worked for companies that didn’t do anything extra, whatsoever.

Anyway, I’ve been bitching about the traffic on I-81 South for the last couple of weeks, and think some of my co-workers believed I was exaggerating.  Most of ’em live within five miles of the place, and don’t know anything about the interstate nightmare in their own backyard.  Which, of course, doesn’t stop them from having an opinion, anyway.

But guess what happened?  That’s right, the truck with all the ice cream inside got stuck in one of those big cluster-fucks, and everything melted.  Completely and absolutely, we heard.

“Told ya,” I said, and walked away in smug triumph.

Is the Surf Report a blog?  What do you think?  For years I’ve resisted believing so, because that word is stupid and I didn’t really want to be associated with it.  But I think I’m softening on the position, and might allow the phrase to be spoken without retribution.

Any opinions on this most pressing of issues?

And while we were having our deck feast over the weekend, Toney brought out a gigantic bowl of watermelon cut into chunks.  Yum.

I dropped my booger-hooks in there, and grabbed holt of one.  Then I snagged the salt shaker with my left hand, and started putting salt on the watermelon.

And Toney hollered, “What in the name of the Holy Savior on a hand truck are you doing?!”  Or something along those lines.

But I was baffled by her question.  What did she mean?  I was merely salting my melon (not a sexual euphemism).  What was the problem?

Apparently this isn’t a common practice outside the motherland of West Virginia?  I don’t know.  And it seems a little strange that it’s never been discussed, during sixteen years of marriage.  But it’s never come up, that I can remember.

We started talking about it, and she wanted to know what other “weird stuff” I put salt on.  It’s a difficult question to answer, ’cause none of it’s weird to me.  The best I could do was pepper on cantaloupe.  That also blew Toney’s mind.

What do you think about that?  Are those things weird?  I mean, seriously.  I’m mildly offended.

Also, have you had any similar conversations, about salt or pepper on “weird” foods?  A regional thing, or just a personal preference…?  Tell us about it in the comments.

And I’ll leave you now with a few requests:

Please consider writing a Friday Guest Mock for  Metten and I would like to turn it into a weekly feature.  Taiwan On has written three so far, and I posted one of his today — a day early.  Why not join him?  Just email it to mockable[at]gmail dotcom.

Also I’ve got plenty of t-shirts remaining, so get your orders in.  I’m fixin’ to make a post office run, so now’s the time for a lightning fast turnaround.

And finally, if you’re on Twitter, I’d be much obliged if you could start following my tweets (and I used to have a problem with “blog”??).  Here’s my page.  Follow me, and I’ll follow you…

That does it.  You guys have yourselves a fine weekend.

And I’ll see you on Monday.

Now playing in the bunker.

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So, who is this guy?

Thanks for stopping by! My name is Jeff Kay, I was born while JFK was president, and it's all very embarrassing and corny. Today I'm a suburban husband and father, who is sometimes accused of being a bit tightly-wound. The West Virginia Surf Report! is my creative outlet, and insurance policy against completely losing my shit. I hope you'll stick around and participate in the lively community of geniuses and curmudgeons who hang out here every day. I love a full 87% of them! And while you're at it, please follow me at Twitter and Facebook.

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