(no subject)
I been sick!
I caught the 36-hour plague that my one roommate brought home, apparently at exactly the same time all my other roommates got it so let me tell you, our apartment has been a FUN PLACE these past few days and that was my sarcasm quotient.
How it started was I threw up three times in the sink in the back room at work during my last half-hour before closing, and then threw up about four more times on the walk between my store and my car. The streets were pretty bare, so I could puke in more or less private, but at one point while I was horking up a lump of half-digested banana bread, I looked up to see a woman walking across the street. I caught her eye and after a moment of slightly awkward staring . . . she smiled at me.
"What the hell, woman?" I thought, as I could not say much, being mid-puke. "You just watched me throw up no less than three times in the middle of the street, and your response to that is to smile at me? Really? I mean really?
See, here is where I and this woman differ - if I saw somebody throwing up in the middle of the street at 6 PM when they clearly weren't drunk, my response wouldn't be a vague, slightly awkward smile. My response would be to jump in my car, get home as fast as I could, bar the door and sit in front of it with a shotgun, waiting for the zombie apocalypse to begin.
"I just got over that," she said. "It takes a few days."
I would have responded, but I was too busy barfing.
So that was Monday, and I finally woke up this morning NOT feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, which is nice because now I can start lysol-ing the place and making it visitor-friendly again. Also, I am not a zombie. Positives!
I caught the 36-hour plague that my one roommate brought home, apparently at exactly the same time all my other roommates got it so let me tell you, our apartment has been a FUN PLACE these past few days and that was my sarcasm quotient.
How it started was I threw up three times in the sink in the back room at work during my last half-hour before closing, and then threw up about four more times on the walk between my store and my car. The streets were pretty bare, so I could puke in more or less private, but at one point while I was horking up a lump of half-digested banana bread, I looked up to see a woman walking across the street. I caught her eye and after a moment of slightly awkward staring . . . she smiled at me.
"What the hell, woman?" I thought, as I could not say much, being mid-puke. "You just watched me throw up no less than three times in the middle of the street, and your response to that is to smile at me? Really? I mean really?
See, here is where I and this woman differ - if I saw somebody throwing up in the middle of the street at 6 PM when they clearly weren't drunk, my response wouldn't be a vague, slightly awkward smile. My response would be to jump in my car, get home as fast as I could, bar the door and sit in front of it with a shotgun, waiting for the zombie apocalypse to begin.
"I just got over that," she said. "It takes a few days."
I would have responded, but I was too busy barfing.
So that was Monday, and I finally woke up this morning NOT feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, which is nice because now I can start lysol-ing the place and making it visitor-friendly again. Also, I am not a zombie. Positives!