Things...
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Today, at approximately 1:48 PM, and elderly man entered my place of business, and bent a steamy deuce in the aisle.
I can only surmise that the man in question entered the store with every intent of using our once-monthly senior discount to it’s fullest, and basking in the meager 10% that discount provides. One would assume he enjoyed a complimentary donut and quite possibly a cup of coffee or orange juice. The wiser reader would note that both caffeine, and in large amounts, vitamin C, have been known to cause diarrhea.
The man made his way up aisle 9, to the back of the store completely oblivious of the pain he was to cause me. Upon reaching the dairy case, he retrieved a half gallon of 2%, and let slip a fresh loaf from his trousers. The wet, dripping trail told us the actual contents fell from his bowels a few feet earlier, but it was only when his spindly, venerable muscles strained to open the case door, that the motion shook the loose his rancid contents from their hammock-like cradle in his soaking tightie whities.
What’s astounding about this particular act of public incontinence, is that he didn’t seem to notice, despite the sharp, chocking odor that seemed to soak into the very tile of the entire store. Quite the contrary in fact, he waddled his way calmly past the bathroom, up to the register, and proceeded to make incoherent attempts at conversation with the clerk, all the while a sickly brown stain showing in his slacks, a clear point of first contact below his wallet, and a serious of varied-thickness-trails running down his leg.
He left with a smile on his face, and half a loaf in his trousers.
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Chances are, I won’t live to see Sunday.
After months of promising, I’ve finally agreed to take Killian to the gun range. For whatever reason, the very poster-child from every defunct female stereotype, has been grasping to expanding her otherwise narrow horizons.
Killian is in no way an enigma. She is very much a realization of any valley girl fantasy, complete with two shoes and the complete inability to go five minutes without primping, brushing, touching-up, or reapplying. Anything spoken with a hint of negativity is met with comments of how mean you are, despite her penchant for declaring people jerks and whores without ever actually having talked to them.
Everything scares her. Animals, bugs, messes, Mexicans. Hearing her scream at the inconsequential is an everyday event. But despite this, she pleads with her fellow employees to let her ride thier motorcycles, go to the fair with her, and most recently, has prodded me into letting her shoot a gun.
I fear for my life.
Add to the mounting danger, that she... simply isn’t a bright apple. This was quite amply proven when she begged to see my blank fire pistol.
“Is it loaded?”
“No, there’s nothing in the clip, and the breech is clear, see?”
“Oh. Can I shoot it?”
“Uh... There’s no ammo.”
“What’s it shoot?”
“Nothing... it’s a blank fire. It fires blanks. You know, just a lot of noise and no bullet.”
“I bet Nelson put one in it just to mess with you.”
“No, I just showed you, it’s empty, remember?”
“Eee! ::Click:: Aww... it didn’t work.”
“What? No, I just told you, it’s not loaded. It won’t do anything if you squeeze the trigger.”
“So can it kill someone?”
“No. It doesn’t shoot anything.”
“Can I shoot it?”
“Ahh!”
So now I’m expected to escort his prim little ass to the range, and put up with her screeches until she either plants a bullet in me because she didn’t listen to my fifth attempt to explain the basics rules of operation, or until we’re ejected because she’s unable to shut it.
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Today, at approximately 1:48 PM, and elderly man entered my place of business, and bent a steamy deuce in the aisle.
I can only surmise that the man in question entered the store with every intent of using our once-monthly senior discount to it’s fullest, and basking in the meager 10% that discount provides. One would assume he enjoyed a complimentary donut and quite possibly a cup of coffee or orange juice. The wiser reader would note that both caffeine, and in large amounts, vitamin C, have been known to cause diarrhea.
The man made his way up aisle 9, to the back of the store completely oblivious of the pain he was to cause me. Upon reaching the dairy case, he retrieved a half gallon of 2%, and let slip a fresh loaf from his trousers. The wet, dripping trail told us the actual contents fell from his bowels a few feet earlier, but it was only when his spindly, venerable muscles strained to open the case door, that the motion shook the loose his rancid contents from their hammock-like cradle in his soaking tightie whities.
What’s astounding about this particular act of public incontinence, is that he didn’t seem to notice, despite the sharp, chocking odor that seemed to soak into the very tile of the entire store. Quite the contrary in fact, he waddled his way calmly past the bathroom, up to the register, and proceeded to make incoherent attempts at conversation with the clerk, all the while a sickly brown stain showing in his slacks, a clear point of first contact below his wallet, and a serious of varied-thickness-trails running down his leg.
He left with a smile on his face, and half a loaf in his trousers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chances are, I won’t live to see Sunday.
After months of promising, I’ve finally agreed to take Killian to the gun range. For whatever reason, the very poster-child from every defunct female stereotype, has been grasping to expanding her otherwise narrow horizons.
Killian is in no way an enigma. She is very much a realization of any valley girl fantasy, complete with two shoes and the complete inability to go five minutes without primping, brushing, touching-up, or reapplying. Anything spoken with a hint of negativity is met with comments of how mean you are, despite her penchant for declaring people jerks and whores without ever actually having talked to them.
Everything scares her. Animals, bugs, messes, Mexicans. Hearing her scream at the inconsequential is an everyday event. But despite this, she pleads with her fellow employees to let her ride thier motorcycles, go to the fair with her, and most recently, has prodded me into letting her shoot a gun.
I fear for my life.
Add to the mounting danger, that she... simply isn’t a bright apple. This was quite amply proven when she begged to see my blank fire pistol.
“Is it loaded?”
“No, there’s nothing in the clip, and the breech is clear, see?”
“Oh. Can I shoot it?”
“Uh... There’s no ammo.”
“What’s it shoot?”
“Nothing... it’s a blank fire. It fires blanks. You know, just a lot of noise and no bullet.”
“I bet Nelson put one in it just to mess with you.”
“No, I just showed you, it’s empty, remember?”
“Eee! ::Click:: Aww... it didn’t work.”
“What? No, I just told you, it’s not loaded. It won’t do anything if you squeeze the trigger.”
“So can it kill someone?”
“No. It doesn’t shoot anything.”
“Can I shoot it?”
“Ahh!”
So now I’m expected to escort his prim little ass to the range, and put up with her screeches until she either plants a bullet in me because she didn’t listen to my fifth attempt to explain the basics rules of operation, or until we’re ejected because she’s unable to shut it.
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