The entire day was spent in the shop, waiting for that delivery from Wallace. I finally left five minutes before closing to make the shop deposit. Fred was a little late getting away and who comes pulling up? Fedex, or actually, one of those grinning knobby-kneed types their hiring department is just entirely too fond of. It goes to show you the way Florida is run. The documents were due at 10:00 A.M., not five minutes after closing. Isn’t that how wars get started?
This was also one of those days made for telling off minorities. Ah, careful, nobody said racial prejudice. Cubans, retards and checkout clerks, although they often coincide, are not races and except for West Miami, they are a minority. I’m not the only one who notices that you have to go stand back in line to get cream and sugar, by which time your food is cold and soggy. If you don’t ask, the staff is trained to pretend you wanted black coffee. Right. Only 3% of Americans drink black coffee but they act as if they are doing you a special personal favor, always making you repeat it twice, “That’s two cream and no sugar?”
The next development in this game is already known. That’s when instead of getting the condiments, they inform you they will call the manager to “see what we can do for you.” Where does it end? It doesn’t, but eventually they will have a department that will handle your “complaint” and offer “anger management” as an alternative to sweetener. Anything except just handing you your Mini-Moo in the first place.
For those thrilled by medicinal side-effects, my beta-blockers are a form of forced retirement. They put me to sleep faster than a hair club infomercial. Can one really sleep 16 hours per day? Yes, says Pudding-Tat, and still get as much done as a city contractor. Other men’s pills carry warnings to call 911 if their erection lasts longer than four hours. My prescription makes me dozy. There is no justice.
Back to the lady who makes cell phone cases for teens, the one looking for a partner. She wants to treat me to a home-cooked dinner for helping out, and I declined. I’m just not the dinner companion type, often preferring to read while I’m eating. This has nothing to do with sociability, if you think it through, reading has it all over trying to talk during mealtimes, you are even less likely to choke. Reading is certainly more polite than people who watch TV [while eating] and after a few short years, you get educated.
However, I believe I have a compromise. She was a chef. I notice food tastes better when somebody else does the cooking and want to find out if that is an illusion. It takes me all day to prepare big things, like Thanksgiving turkey. The deal would be that instead of feeding me, she teaches me how to cook a full course meal in less time. Preferably large birds, the only meat I consume in any quantity. Sounds fair. I’ll get back to you on that.
A chapter on aircraft sales, the military kind, caught my interest. Who remembers the Northrop Tiger? It was a retrograde design, a smaller, easier-to-operate $1,000,000 fighter for “developing nations”. They built 1,502 of them (of which 73 disappeared, brand new, still in the shipping crates, or as it were, fell off a truck). The book went on about how the airplane was sold by bribery, corruption, pay-offs, graft and wild parties at the Pentagon’s expense. Is the Pentagon corrupt? Does the pope shit in the woods?
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