Annoyances are inevitable.
I mean, unless you reside on a deserted island in the big fat belly of the Pacific Ocean with a soccer ball, you deal with annoyances on a daily basis. Because most of these annoyances involve people. Some involve technology or inanimate objects . . . which, come to think of it, were invented by people. Soooo, let’s just say that all annoyances involve people. Coo?
My day began with a text involving a motivated buyer, whose timing couldn’t have been shittier seeing as how he texted me a few minutes before six in the AM. On my day off. I rarely get to sleep in so I was plenty pissed when my notification tone woke me from a semi-pleasant swim whose dreams to REM ratio had blended itself into a tasty noodle salad (brain speak). Problem is, people don’t give a fuck about sleep . . unless it’s theirs.
Do you still have that cigar store indian?
I stared at the query for several bleary moments whilst the four lettered possibilities of a reply basted in their juices. It would’ve been a slam dunk Fuck you! if not for the fact he happens to be a new money thrill ride whose wallet live streams platinum propositions. The dude possesses the financial discipline of a mall girl on payday. I’m a retail hustler, so people skills are tantamount to getting paid. You could say it’s the default in my stars. So I hit him back with a simple No.
Other ideas? Shit if I didn’t have ’em, I wouldn’t be human. Here’s the short list.
5- Hey douche, why don’t you break a rib so you can blow yourself!
4- Umm . . . if by cigar store indian, you mean amazing sleep? No. You murdered it.
3- Unless you’re Amish, a farmer or a morning show host, shop is still closed, dickhead.
2- What? You can’t sleep after your impromptu colonoscopy in the men’s room at Waffle House?
1- Your wife says Chello
The simple No was better for business, as you might imagine. But the alternatives effectively sated my homicidal rage, so there’s that.
Things got better from there, only because I turned my phone off so’s it could charge and I could Zen out. Chowing down on a tasty egg, ham and cheese tucked between buttered waffles whilst watching baseball highlights served to re-set the tone of my day.
And then I ventured outside, because I’ve become too hopeful these days. Hey . . a positive outlook may be chicken soup for the soul, but it’s complete fluffernutter as far as common sense goes.
After dropping my son at the train station, I decided to stop by Barnes and Noble in search of a book about scrapple. Yup, my reading pile is sophisticated as shit. I perused the cookbook section with no luck. I attempted a search from the “You Are Here!” computer, which yielded 2 results. One which told me the book was out of stock . . the other told me it was in stock and could be found in the US History section. It ended up being a big, fat lie. Rather than inform the guest service chica that their computer was a bi-polar piece of shit with commitment issues, I left the store, but not before finding a twenty dollar bill.
As I sat in my car, I took a moment to consider the big picture ramifications of the morning’s events. It seemed that the universe was trying to tell me something with these social entanglements: For every pain in the ass texting me at an ungodly hour, there was a waffle sammy. For every clusterfucked computer search, there was a twenty dollar bill.
So I decided to push my luck. Which is how Vegas was born.
A trip to Lowes proved more extravagant than I had bargained for. It seems that the eave on the side of my house is being occupied by a terrorist cell of yellow jackets. I hardly saw a bee all fucking summer, but now they’re going all new normal and forcing me into a MOAB-like resolution. Yanno what? . . .global warming can kiss my ass, Next up was a trip to the post office, because I’m still living like it’s 1999 simply because I dig Prince that much. If Dante Alighieri were alive today, he no doubt would’ve written about the eleven circles of hell- which would’ve included post office and DMV lines. My beard grew from stubble into ponytail length as I waited my turn. I was able to re-work my fantasy league roster, I posted to Facebook, texted a friend to check on her sick lab, pondered dinner possibilities and invented toilet paper light squares (Future Post Alert!). In the time I had waited, the USPS hiked its prices three times and Donald Trump declared war on them for being a rogue state. How fucking annoying . .
With the universe no longer intent on supplying me with cosmic rain checks, I decided to stick close to home. I bagged my regularly scheduled plans and decided on a nice, long run instead. Sure I was risking human interaction by venturing outside, but when a fall day is behaving like a fall day, Imma grab my Superman cape and be a hero anyways.
I was about three quarters of the way through what was turning into a sensational run when a hybrid slow rolled to my side. I tried to ignore this turn of events, until I caught a glimpse of the driver: A thirty something brunette with pouty lips done up in a honey brown smile. Her locks were thrown back into a ponytail and contained by a Michigan Wolverines cap. How could I ignore a woman who was obviously in need of assistance? It would’ve been rude . . .
Do you live in this development?
I answered in the affirmative, after which she proceeded to ask me about the area. I gave her a mostly factual summary with some charming banter tossed into the mix and she rewarded me with a fantastic laugh before we parted ways. I finished my run buoyed by the positive social interaction and promised myself that I would stay in for the rest of the day since there was no need to push my luck.
You gotta know when to fold those cards.