Productivity, or How to Unwaste a Perfectly Good Summer Day
Ah, the Wake 'n' Bake™ -- killer of mornings, brain cells and ambitions. Not that I mind, just that I seem to care more now than before. Afterward, I'd usually eat a heavy breakfast involving a less-than-healthy amount of bacon and fall back to sleep. But not today. Today was for shopping.
I am not a shopper. I do not enjoy the process. It is tedious. It is exhausting and self-indulgent. It is mind-numbing, and not it in the same relaxing, near-fulfilling way as the Wake 'n' Bake™. I have a special hatred for clothes shopping. With the amount of time I spend inside my head, it becomes an odd process; put on a piece of clothing I have never seen before, adjust it to hang as comfortably as possible, try to determine if there's a way for anyone I know to think it looks stupid, recheck price tag to see if this non-stupid-looking garment is worth the markup, disrobe. When I leave a clothing store, I always feel like they've pulled one over on me. I imagine the salespeople, regardless of commission, snickering to themselves. They are experienced shoppers, and they buy with a purpose; I buy out of necessity, or to impress women. They clearly have an edge, insights beyond my clutches. I save receipts, just in case I missed one of the ways and someone female thinks it looks stupid.
I liked shopping today; it was more efficient than ever. I had four birthday gift cards of varying balances to plow through and a bright, sunny day in which to do it. My skill set as the World's Greatest Trunk Space Engineer carries over into other fields, including squeezing every cent out of a free lunch; I spent around $165, and only had to hand over five bucks in cash. Observe:
I am not a shopper. I do not enjoy the process. It is tedious. It is exhausting and self-indulgent. It is mind-numbing, and not it in the same relaxing, near-fulfilling way as the Wake 'n' Bake™. I have a special hatred for clothes shopping. With the amount of time I spend inside my head, it becomes an odd process; put on a piece of clothing I have never seen before, adjust it to hang as comfortably as possible, try to determine if there's a way for anyone I know to think it looks stupid, recheck price tag to see if this non-stupid-looking garment is worth the markup, disrobe. When I leave a clothing store, I always feel like they've pulled one over on me. I imagine the salespeople, regardless of commission, snickering to themselves. They are experienced shoppers, and they buy with a purpose; I buy out of necessity, or to impress women. They clearly have an edge, insights beyond my clutches. I save receipts, just in case I missed one of the ways and someone female thinks it looks stupid.
I liked shopping today; it was more efficient than ever. I had four birthday gift cards of varying balances to plow through and a bright, sunny day in which to do it. My skill set as the World's Greatest Trunk Space Engineer carries over into other fields, including squeezing every cent out of a free lunch; I spent around $165, and only had to hand over five bucks in cash. Observe:
- Short-sleeved, collared shirt
- Cargo shorts
- Tan belt
- Songbook, Nick Hornby
- Siddhartha, Herman Hesse
- The Stranger, Albert Camus
- London Calling, The Clash
- Guero, Beck
- The Joshua Tree, U2
- Lean On Me, Bill Withers (the steal of the lot at $5.99, leaving 13 cents on the Virgin card; thank you, Black Music Month)
- Turkey & cheddar wrap and small coffee (Starbucks Inside Barnes & Noble + B&N Gift Card = Good Times)