Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 08, 2010
No, no, not at all. Many artists have powerful observational skills. I don't seem to have those. Sometimes, if I concentrate on it, I can maintain it for awhile, but most of the time it's like my eyes are just there for decoration, or simply to fill what would otherwise be really off-putting holes in my face.
I was on my way to work this morning when, in the side mirror, I noticed that I had left the little door to the gas tank-- the fuel door, I guess-- open 21 hours earlier when I last filled up. I didn't notice it at the gas station. I didn't notice it on the the drive home. I didn't notice it when I went outside to walk the dogs. I didn't notice it when I took out the trash. I didn't notice it when I got in the car this, bright, sunny morn. No. I was on the freeway, about 15 minutes in to my morning commute when I saw it.
I won't call it a miracle, but somehow the gas cap was still there... you see, it isn't attached to the car. When you take it off to fill up, you have to slide it into this sort of slot in the back of the door where it barely hangs on by it's threads. And, that's where it was when I finally got off the freeway and pulled over-- though it had slipped a bit and could have lost its grip entirely if not for my quick action.
Ye gods, what a boring story!!! You've been duped again. There's nothing of value here, is there? Hmmm, what can I do to fix it? Let's see... nothing I guess. The damage is done. Time to just move on. Sorry.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
So, there I was, at the supermarket late on Easter eve, searching for chocolate bunnies so Cooper wouldn't be disappointed in the morning (because as he was going to bed, he mentioned how much he liked the one he had gotten one last year. And, among the ton of candy that we had bought this year, there were no chocolate bunnies). I was perusing the Easter display at the front of the store when out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple of what appeared to be humans walking in, and as they approached, I looked up and nodded a friendly, yet cool hello to the most advanced creature. (I use the term advanced in the positional sense, not in the evolutionary development, or sophistication sense). These were gang-members, heavily tattooed and menacing. Hard-core. As they passed by, the guy said to me, "Oh, hey Cop. What's up Cop? All right Cop..." obviously thinking I was a member of the law enforcement community. They wandered off toward the liquor aisle, and I was left wondering whether being mistaken for a cop might work to my advantage in this situation, or whether I was going to be shot in the back of the head.
I wanted to finish my business and get the hell out of there so I wouldn't have to find out the answer to my question. So, I got into one of the two open checkout lines, and hoped for the best. I chose the one most distant from the booze aisle, but either way, I would have my back turned towards it. I didn't want to make myself obvious by turning around to look, so I tried to find reflections so I could anticipate any attack that might be coming, but I couldn't find any. I held my knife in my pocket, ready to flip it open and slash at throats if it came to that, while hoping that the line would just move quickly. And of course, OF COURSE, the lady in front of me had a coupon for Cheerios, but the size of the boxes she had selected did not meet the strict requirements of the damned coupon. So, the helpful checkout person offered to go retrieve some boxes of the correct size. She trotted off, and I was left a sitting duck.
Meanwhile, the gang-creatures had (thankfully) chosen the other line, and I overheard the checkout lady there saying that she couldn't sell them alcohol because they already appeared to be drunk. (Oh good, poke the monster with a stick, why don't you.) So, the dude starts getting belligerent, and accusing the checkout lady of discrimination and loudly proclaiming his pride at being a "Gangster." As he and his companion walked over to the line I was stranded in, he was saying what a "dumb bitch" the checkout lady was, and how they should just walk out with the case of beer, and angry, threatening stuff like that. By that time, I think I was paying for the bunnies, so I expected SOMETHING to happen since my interaction with the cashier was really the only activity in the store at that moment.
But, luckily, SOMETHING didn't happen, and I walked out of there pitying the Cheerios-retriever that I had just paid, and wondering how she was going to handle the menace. Maybe being mistaken for a cop doesn't hurt in situations like that. I wondered if I should call the real cops as I left, but I didn't.
Sorry there was no payoff to the story, but at the same time, I'm really glad that it didn't get any more interesting than it already was.