It was a day off where I played guitar early enough that I was climbing the walls with anxious energy by the early afternoon. I took a walk to the park and tried to sit peacefully on a bench but there were children playing, which made relaxation unobtainable. Finally, I broke down and decided to buy beer. I grabbed a 12-pack and wandered the store aimlessly waiting for some type of food to beckon me. I saw a pretty good looking girl with a very unimpressive looking male, which is a phenomenon I've been noticing more and more of all the time. He mumbled something I couldn't hear and she responded in some accent she must have thought was cute: "Oh yah, you're a thinker, eh?"
and he went "Yaaah..."
I noticed but barely thought anything of it. I weaved through a few more aisles and so did they, they were within earshot again and I heard: "Oh yah, you're a thinker, eh?"
And it suddenly clicked. I got it. She had an obnoxious personality. She used the same abrasive phrase twice in one shopping trip, probably even more times that I didn't catch, and that poor guy that was with her knew she was technically above his standards, being that she was about a 7.8, so he just had to fucking deal with it. The bewilderment must have spread from my frontal lobe to my facial features and made itself evident because a stalky, middle aged woman working in the meat section asked if she could help me with anything. I held up the 12 pack.
"I'm trying to remember if there are other ingredients to dinner."
"No, you're good."
When I get to know people, one of the first things I consider is how I would feel if I had to go on a long car ride with them. Would I get bored? If so, would the boredome turn to anger? So on. If I was on a long car ride with her she would probably say that same phrase six times within forty minutes and I would punch through my window as I drove, shattering the glass. I would then grab the largest shard of glass from the spidered remains of the window and look her in her vacant eyes as I slit my own throat. Her vacancy would evolve into concern and then panic as I rapidly lost blood and my ability to control the car. And then I guess we would crash.
I walked home and drank myself to sleep and woke up and typed this and now I'm gonna try to drink myself to sleep again before the sun comes up.
A lot of orders go wrong at the sandwich shop. When this is the case, the sandwich is wrapped and put in the cold table. Homeless people, tweekers, and teenagers with nothing better to do than bum change and cigarettes at the bus station come in and ask for "mess ups" or "mistakes," and, if we have any, they are granted a cold, undiserable order.
One of the usual bums came in and mumbled something in his hobo-speak. I scanned for keywords and came up with "mistake" so I gave him a cold sandwich. He was about to leave and then he looked at me.
"I got married, ya know."
"Good for you."
"Yeah, that tall girl that used to be with that guy who was always bent over, putting his ass out, like, 'fuck me in the ass, fuck me in the ass.'"
I knew the hobo he was talking about, and while he doesn't actually say that, he is constantly bent over with his ass protruding invasively.
"He hit her in the eye, so she left him. Used to be, she wouldn't sing or dance or hug me or kiss me or none of that stuff, but now that she's not with him, I've got her to do almost all that stuff!"
"'Course, if she mouthes off at me I might take one of her teeth out."
really old months: