by "Buck"

December 27, 2004

Perhaps I'm totally anal here, but I have several things that just drive me out of my freaking mind.  One of them is waiting in traffic.  I come to work at the hour most people are crawling home from bars-so I never have to worry about traffic.  Going home, it's early afternoon and again, not much traffic unless there's a wreck.  This week I had to take a detour and my whole good vibe was shot to Hell.    

The interstate was shut down after a tractor-trailer guy hyped up on goof-balls decided to take his half out of the middle and scuttled about a dozen cars.  Seeing this was going to take a while, I whipped the rental (truck still in the shop) into the median and made an illegal u-turn to find an alternate route.  In reality this way takes longer-even with  the waiting in stalled wreck traffic jams-but at least I'm moving.  I get to the St. Albans bridge and hit traffic.  SHIT.  I finally get across that and onto Route 60.  Oh baby, I'm beating the system.  I'm taking the express lane home.  Nope sorry, traffic at the Coal River Bridge is down to one lane.  SHIT!  THIS STATE IS FUCKING FILLED WITH BRIDGES AND NONE OF THEM ARE GOOD-THEY'RE ALL BEING FIXED.  I had to stop at Krogers to pick up hoagie buns and a pack of mozzarella cheese.  More on that delay in a moment.  I finally got the hell out of town and arrived home pissed off and grumpy.  

My visit to Kroger was a fucked up ordeal as well.  I go in and quickly walk to the dairy case.  I spend 30-second assessing whether I should pay the marketing costs of Kraft and enjoy "the good stuff" or be miserly and pick the Kroger brand artificial shit.  I go cheap since it ain't payday and get the imitation Kroger cheese.  I damn near sprint to the bread aisle (other side of the store-story of my life).  No question about those-it's Heiners all the way because they're the only ones.  Heading to the front, I strip a Mountain Dew from the cooler and lift three Skor bars from the candy rack. (three for a dollar, and I love them).  I go to the "Express" lane.  The woman running the thing has to be a disgruntled employee.  I'm amazed that expiration dates on perishable goods were surviving the check-out.  She was ringing up groceries like old people fuck.  I was about eighth in line.   Therefore I had some time to ponder my purchase.  It was at this point I realized I had a Honey-Bun in the glovebox of the rental.   Why buy Skor bars when I have a main course ready and waiting in the cab?  I move back to the candy aisle and return them to their resting place in the brown box.  I return to reassume my spot in line. where now 11 people are waiting.  An old man with a Tom Landry hat and a trench coat wearing George Burns style glasses is shuffling along behind a buggy filled with milk, bread, coffee and bacon.  (Guess he must have heard we were going to get a fourth of an inch of snow and needed a grubstake).  He starts raising all kinds of hell at me for cutting line.  I'm 6'5", he's 5'5" with the hat and giving me a lecture in the voice identical to the Grumpy Old Man segment on Saturday Night Live.  My blood pressure is racing at this point.  I'm already pissed and now I'm getting attitude from Grandpa Jones.  What the Fuck?  My holiday fun-o-meter is running on fumes.   What's more everybody else in the line is highly amused at my being dressed-down by a guy who'll be paying with Social Security funds (providing he lives long enough to make it through this check out line).  I fight off the urge to tell him to get geriatrically bent and go back to the 12th place in line.  I'm never getting out of here.  Suddenly, another express lane opens and there's a mad dash for it.  Wouldn't you know Wilford Brimly is leading the charge.  He cruises in, pays and is out the door.  I'm now sixth in line.  Eventually I stumble out of the place shotgunning a Mountain Dew and inhaling my stale Honey Bun.  I saw the dipshit staring through the steering wheel of his 98 Oldsmobile with a straight 8 engine, trying to pull into traffic.    I could have let him out, but damn near rear-ended the car in front of me to make sure I didn't.

Another thing that just drives me up the fucking wall is to see a Christmas tree with the lights OFF.  Why is that?  What's the point?   I understand turning it off before bed, since nobody will be out there to enjoy it, but if you're in the house-even during the day-the tree should be ON.  My other half and I have a major battle over this.  I'm a miser about my choice of faux cheese, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sacrifice for a darkened faux evergreen in my living room.

We finally took the plunge a few years ago and battled a Black Friday crowd for our plastic tree.  It took me a while to warm up to the notion-I'd never lived in a home with such an abomination.  In fact I used to buy the trees with the big, dirty root balls and transplant them after Christmas in the yard.  However, they're bulky, heavy, shed needles like a dog sheds hair, and a general nuisance.  Not only is the plastic tree a nicer shape, but it comes in three pieces that are easy to assemble-AND has the lights already built in.  Therefore I never have to deal with that tangled mess any more.  Anything to reduce my stress around the holidays is a welcomed change that I can learn to live with.

I've been pining for somebody to buy me the Women in Waders calendar this year.  Hopefully I've been good enough.

I hate shopping-as you can probably deduce-so I'll make my one annual trip to the mall Friday after I get off work and spend about an hour paying for overpriced shit that people probably won't like.  A trip to Candle-O-Rama at the mall seems to suffice for any females on the list. or that Bath and Body place that smells like a fruit basket always has something.  For guys, you can't go wrong in the tool section at Sears.  My work here is done. 

Have a Merry Christmas everybody.

Buck Out

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