--The reasons are fairly uninteresting, but I tried to squeeze
a full lunch hour into fifteen minutes last night at work.I needed to be elsewhere, you see, but wasn’t willing to
completely forfeit my break.
So I put a bowl of soup in the microwave, and while radioactivity
caused bean with bacon molecules to dance, I practically
deep-throated a submarine sandwich.And
I’m here to tell you… it’s not as easy as it looks on the
internet.My hat’s off to
those ladies.
I ate most of that so-called hoagie in the three minutes my soup was
warming, then rifled down 75% or so of the Campbell’s.I could feel my gut objecting to the avalanche of food I was
sending it, but had no real options.
Eventually I lost interest in the soup, and decided to dump what was
left into the plumbing.They
have a big industrial, restaurant-grade sink in the break room
there, complete with garbage disposal.So I walked over and dumped what remained in my bowl, down
the drain.
Or that was the plan, anyway.I
ran water over it, and even doused it with that handheld sprayer
thing.But the soup just sat
in the sink, and didn’t seem to have any interest in moving.I took a plastic spoon, and tried to coax it into the
hole.But the stuff just laid
there, beans a-floatin’.
The hell, man?!I didn’t
have time to be screwing around with boolshit like this…I considered leaving it, but everybody would know I was the
culprit; there were far too many witnesses.So I opened the cabinet underneath, looking for the disposal
switch.
I found it, turned the water on high, then flipped the switch.And a freakin’ geyser of grossness exploded
from the drain in the other sink, shooting two full feet in the air.And it wasn’t my soup that came rocketing out, it was other
stuff.Including shredded carrots and possibly cottage cheese.
A big splash of the nastiness landed on my right arm, painting it
from elbow to wrist.I felt
some of it on my face, and later found a clump in my hair.It was also way up the wall behind the sink, and lots and
lots of it was on the floor.Sweet
sainted mother of Vernon Dozier!
I braced myself for the funk, since the crap so closely resembled
vomit, but it never came.Then
I expected a tsunami of laughter from the “colleagues” seated
behind me, but was surprised to learn nobody had even noticed.
I guess you’ve got to count your blessings, even in the
most disgusting of situations?
But ho-ly shit…This was
going to require a whole lotta clean-up.And here’s the order in which I took care of things:my face (only a little there), my right arm (fukkin blecch),
the wall (probably visible to my “colleagues,”
since it was, you know, higher than my head), the countertops, the
sink, and the floor.I
didn’t find the wad in my hair until later in the evening.
Yeah, so much for hurrying.If
I’d just taken my time and eaten the stupid soup, none of this
would’ve happened.And
here’s the kicker: I almost certainly would’ve gotten back to
work sooner.
It’s like one of those Grimm’s Fairytales, or something.
--My lips are so chapped
today, they feel like they’re made of hard candy. I can almost clack them
together, and make a sound like billiard balls.Toney keeps telling me to use Chapstick or lip balm, or
somesuch.But that ain’t
gonna happen.
I’ve made it 45 years without slathering stanky goop on my lips,
and have no intentions of starting now.In fact, I can’t even imagine such a thing.It must feel like you just downed a big greasy pork chop
samlich, and didn’t even bother to wipe your mouth afterwards.Am I wrong?
No, I’m not a big fan of bodily salves -- or condiments.And for some reason I link the two together in my mind.I believe people who use an enormous amount of salad
dressing, for instance, are also the types just looking for
an excuse to start coating a limb or two in some kind of lotion.
--I was listening to George
Noory on my way home from work a few nights ago, and he had one of
those so-called numerologists on.
The dude was droning on and on with his crackpot theories, the
standard stuff about the anti-Christ and the end of the world.It seems like every guest on that show, if they’re allowed
to talk long enough, ends up at the anti-Christ and the end of the
world...
Anyway, mixed in amongst all the crazy, I heard something I can’t
get out of my head.The guy
said if you add the two numbers in your current age (for instance,
44 would be 8), and subtract that number from your current age (44
minus 8), the final number will always add up to 9 (44 – 8 = 36, 3
+ 6 = 9).
And I can’t stop testing it.I’m
doing it with every number I encounter: gas prices, speed limit signs,
radio frequencies…And it
ALWAYS ends up at 9.
I have no idea what this means, but it’s starting to take over my
life.
--I’m running a little
late today, so I’m going to stop right here.I have a Question for ya, but don’t really expect it to
match yesterday’s tour de force.Man,
was that great, or what?If
you missed the comments yesterday, do yourself a favor and go back.Seriously.
When my parents were here, my mother kept making comments about the
fact we all drink water with lunch and dinner.She apparently found this to be curious, if not disturbing.She and my Dad drink gigantic beakers of “Coke” (as in
“Dr. Pepper is my favorite kind of Coke”) with their meals, and
don’t understand the Other Ways.
The only time I drink soda, or pop, or whatever, is when I need a
shot of caffeine.We never
have it around the house, and I probably don’t drink more than one
bottle a week.All four of us
drink water, from the two Brita pitchers we have sitting around,
and don’t even think about it.
So I was wondering…What do
you drink at mealtime?I'm
talking about everyday lunches and dinners, not some fancy-pants special
occasion...Is my mother
correct?Are we strange for
preferring water?Set me
straight, my friends.Not
that I’m going to change anything, but I’d like to know.
