Yesterday I was in a Sheetz not-so-convenient store, buying a tankard of swee’ tea, and their cash registers were misfiring or something. There was some sort of problem, and the amount of change due to the customer wasn’t being displayed.
And you should’ve seen the look of panic on the face of the cashier…
My purchase was $2.11, I gave her a ten dollar bill, and she had absolutely no idea where to take it from there. I could almost see a cartoon cloud above her head, showing a collapsing cake inside an oven.
I’d been in similar situations before, and made the mistake of providing the answer to the counterperson. But they don’t like that very well; they take offense. So I just stood there and let her figure it out on her own. And she eventually did.
But, of course, the next person in line was yet another pop quiz in math, as was the person behind her. The cashier was having her worst day ever.
I used to work at a grocery store, back before fancy-ass electronics, and had to do everything inside my head. Can you imagine such a thing? I’d have to count back change to the customers, without any help from a machine, and it’s something I’ve never forgotten how to do.
Instantly, without even thinking about it, I know how much money is due me. When the woman at Sheetz said $2.11, my brain flashed: $7.89. It’s a skill I picked-up at Fas-Chek, in Dunbar — along with how to use a pallet jack, and how to tie a necktie.
Yes, I learned more at that dump, than during my entire stay at West Virginia State College…
Have you ever heard of a man spending time in the woods, and coming home with a tick in his peehole? I hadn’t either, until Wednesday.
He reportedly called his father in a panic, and his Dad told him to touch the exposed part of the parasite with a lit cigarette. But he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t muster enough courage to bring fire so close to his junk.
So, the guy’s father came over to his house and extracted the tick with tweezers. His wife wanted him to go to the emergency room, but he wouldn’t do it. He said it was too embarrassing.
Heh. More embarrassing than your Dad holding your penis like a microphone, and digging a bug out of it?
Sweet sainted mother of Disco Tex!
Remember how I told you that finding a hair in my food doesn’t bother me all that much? Well, conversely… There’s something that grosses me out, to completion, that doesn’t seem to bother most people.
Yes, I’m talking about the sharing of iPod earbuds. I see people at work switching off with those things, borrowing each others’ mp3 players, etc., and it gives me a full-body shiver.
No way in hell I’m sticking somebody’s nasty-ass waxed-up grossness in my ears. No forkin’ way. Give me a long blond hair in my cheeseburger, any day of the week! You know, if I’m forced to choose…
What do you think about that? Am I right, or wrong? Shit!
I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately. It clears my head, and relaxes me. I don’t write about work here anymore, so I’m not going to tell you why I need relaxin’, but walking works wonders.
There’s a house in the new development that popped up without our knowledge, that I’ve decided will be ours someday. It might not be this year, and it might not be next, but someday it will be ours… Pass the beer nuts.
Want to see something sad? This is our former favorite watering hole, Jim Dandy’s. They recently tore the siding off, and exposed some hidden artwork underneath. It’s all very depressing.
When I first moved here, before Toney and the boys joined me, I had dinner at Jim Dandy’s most nights. They had a fish sandwich that was excellent, and Yuengling lager on tap. I sat at the bar, kinda sad and freaked-out about the radical upheaval in our lives, and missed my family.
And look at it! Jim Dandy’s is an important emotional landmark, and now it’s all dilapidated and abandoned. Man, I hate stuff like that…
Site suggestion: Nurse the Hate, by Greg Miller. Check it out, the dude is hilarious and right up our alley. Music suggestion: The Kinks, anything released between 1966 through 1971. One of the greatest, least-appreciated runs in rock history. TV suggestion: Homicide: Life on the Street. Toney and I just started watching it again, from the beginning. And it’s still fantastic.
I’m going to call it a day, my friends. I’ll leave you with a lukewarm Question: do you know anyone who was named after a famous person? My old boss in Atlanta named his first son Eric, after Eric Clapton (TS?), but that’s the only one I can come up with. What about you? Tell us about it in the comments.
Also, feel free to weigh in on any of the other stuff I wrote about today. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stare at our future home for a while, then log a few hours at the Newbomb Turk memorial li-bary.
Have a great weekend. I’ll see ya on Monday.