Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
View From Down Here A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--Today hasn’t been very satisfying.So far, anyway.I got up
and attempted to write an update, and felt like a man sitting atop a
toilet at a cheese festival; nothing was coming out, regardless of how
loud I grunted.
I was starving too, and don’t usually eat breakfast.Morning is for coffee, and I’ve written previously about my
problem with food and hot beverages.So, nine times out of ten, I don’t eat anything until lunch.
But that wasn’t gonna cut it today.Not a chance.I
rifled through the fridge and kitchen cabinets, hoping for the best, and
finally settled on a bowl of Rice Krispies, with slices of a
mushy banana on top.It
tasted OK, but didn’t do much for the white-hot hunger in my belly.
The prop dude from The Office was
scheduled to be at the mall today, collecting local items to be included
in future episodes of the show.I
wanted to give him a few Surf Report shirts, and since the writing
wasn’t happening…I
decided to take a ride.
While I was driving I started feeling kinda yuck.It was almost like a hangover, and I had to think:did I drink last night?No,
I didn’t.So, who the hell
knows?I was sweating and
queasy and wanted to just park my car, ease the seat back, and go to
sleep.
In downtown Scranton I got stuck behind some woman in a blue Honda Accord, who was acting
like she’d somehow been transported to a strange, exotic world.She was driving so slow dogs were passing us, and whipping her
head from side to side, apparently amazed by her surroundings.
I had a strong urge to just mash down on the gas pedal, and let the
chips fall where they may.But
I quickly snapped out of it.
The line inside the mall was outrageous.That’s the best word for it:outrageous.They had
a table set-up in the middle, and from there snaked a full-on Space
Mountain queue. It reached all the way to an anchor store at the end, a place
called Bon Ton or some such shit.
As so often happens in these types of situations, I growled like a dog.I stood and watched for a few minutes, to see how fast they were
moving folks through there, and didn’t care for what I saw.It appeared that every super-excited person wanted to hang around
and chat with the guy, and there were hundreds
of them.
To see the man in charge of props on a TV show!
Screw it, I’m not waiting; this is insanity.I started walking toward the escalator, then got an unlikely
mental vision of Dwight Schrute wearing a Smoking Fish shirt. And that made me
reconsider. Perhaps it would
be in my best interest not to storm off in a huff this time?So I returned to the line, which was now even
longer, and sighed theatrically.
While waiting I started checking out the stuff other people had brought
with them.The woman in
front of me was clutching a Yuengling box containing what appeared to be
a salad spinner.The hell?!And I’m almost certain a well-dressed Indian man was holding a
rotisserie chicken. Perhaps he was in the wrong line? I just don't know.
But
most people just had coffee mugs and calendars and notepads, and that
sort of thing.And every one of
them needed to get the hell out of my way.
After about fifteen minutes a woman with an air of authority (AKA a
clipboard) appeared and asked us to sign release forms.No problem.Then she told
us no items could be accepted unless we could also provide two
business cards.
Wha’?I told her I don’t have
any business cards, I just wanted to give the guy a few shirts.“Can’t do it!” she spat.“You’ve
gotta have the business cards!”So
I can’t give him the shirts? I asked.Nope,
she answered.
Grrr…Who’s running this
crap, the U.S. Government??
While I was driving home there was a brief pause in the profanity, and
that’s when I realized I was still really hungry.I wanted something that included mashed potatoes and vegetables,
and that kind of stuff.I decided
to hit the Old Country Buffet.
As evidence of my weakened state, I overshot the runway with the
Thousand Island dressing on my salad.I’m
usually very careful about such things, but this time it looked like
something Sunshine would eat.And
Sunshine views lettuce as nothing more than a transport vehicle for
cream-based sauces.
So that wasn’t any good.And
there was a breathtakingly ugly teenage girl at a table nearby, who
always had shit smeared all over her lips.Every time I looked in her direction I’d see gravy oozing and
gyrating, and that did nothing for my queasiness.
I got chicken and dumplings and all manner of vegetables on my next trip
to the buffet, and that turned out to be the highlight of the meal.Once that was gone I made a grave tactical error, you see. I visited the taco bar.
The meat was really greasy, and didn’t smell quite right.It looked like beef, but I’m not a hundred percent sure about
it.But whatever; I was certain
everything would be fine.I built two aesthetically pleasing tacos, and returned to my
table.
And I made it halfway through the first one, then nearly vomited.The meat not only
smelled odd, but it also tasted
odd.I’m serious, I think it
was roadkill of some sort.Possibly
coon.It was fucking disgusting,
and my lower jaw was retracting like a rookie cop at his first murder
scene.
When I got home I tried to write again, but it was interrupted by the
most urgent of bathroom matters.I
almost had a situation on my
hands, friends. Afterwards I had to lie down for a few minutes, and now
I’m feeling much better.
--