Finally had to tear myself away from this computer and get going. The dump run was non-eventful even though I was sporting my brand new yellow dump sticker that NOBODY NOTICED. Nothing at the "Good Stuff" table worth looking at 'cept for an interesting old beer sign that might look good on the wall someplace in the livingroom . . . .then again it might not. I'll check in again next week.
The Neanderthal's at Cricenti's are back at it again. First, I get this teenybopper-prepubescent checkout girl who looks as though she has never been so bored in all of her sixteen years. She mouths the words "Hello" by rote as I read the voice bubble above her head that says, "I hate this job."
Once again, Mr. Anderson of Alexandria has selected an item from the store which is not price marked and which will not scan correctly.... "PRICE CHECK!" The teenpube says, as she curls her mouth downward whilst chewing bubblegum in such a manner to project her hatred of me for holding up the line that is no doubt the only excitement she has seen all day.
Cricenti's hires from two age groups: 1) THE VERY, VERY YOUNG AND IMMATURE. 2) THE VERY, VERY OLD AND SENILE. The price check "boy" who obviously forgot his walker and seeing eye dog, took my item and vanished for the next . . . . . five? ten? minutes. Meanwhile, the teenpube snapped and popped her gum while looking into the empty void of space (obviously a very familiar place for her).
As a customer in this predicament you have several choices: 1) Act totally embarrassed and try to focus on anything in the store that isn't staring back at you like you are an imbecile. 2) Act the goody, goody and laugh nervously and apologize to everyone around including the teenpube. 3) Act annoyed and downright pissed because AFTERALL this is NOT your damn fault anyway. 4) Make smartassed, passive-aggressive little remarks to the teenpube like, "Hey! You've got quite the zit going on there on your chin! Wow! I never seen one that big before!" or start in on the lady behind you with, "My mom used to have a dress like that before she went to Diet Workshop." Just keep your mouth shut if it's a guy cause they've been through all this before and most have cursed under their breath, "Why the hell didn't my wife do this." (single males like myself are exempt from this statement of blame).
I picked #3 today.
Washed my truck at Ferguson's. I'm a regular now and the guys nod at me acknowledging my presence like I'm cool or something. One of the guys scrubbing the hood said, "Nice color, I like this," and I could feel my face flush a bit as my chest expanded. Trucks are cool. Four-wheel drive trucks are the ultimate in machocool. I own a four-wheel drive machocool truck with a nice color. Three more punches and I get a free wash.
Did the library thing. God I love that place. The furniture is better than mine and it just feels so homey there. The girls in the tight pants are a nice bonus too. I checked out a total of six books. Damn. Some kinda record. The guy says to me, "May I help you?" (like I needed help) . . . so, I take my brand new Lamson library card out and toss it at him with that knowing grin (this guy doesn't know I'm a member) and suddenly his face changes . . . . recognition washes over him as he stands straighter and he smiles once he realizes that I AM A LAMSON LIBRARY CARD HOLDER. The bastard will never be the same.
Stopped by to visit Louie. Louie is our resident neighborhood Italian. He tried to give me a bottle of coke and a bottle of olive oil when I left. I had to wave him off. He's a good guy. We talked about a grave mistake I had recently made regarding a sweet girl from Keene. He asks about her often. So I left to go home and call her . . . . -Jeeem-
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