Wednesday, April 25, 2007

C'est La Vie

This morning proved to be a test of patience that I think I scored about a C+ on. It’s a little hard to tell really, because I did curse two people out, yelled at one guy in Spanish to get the hell out of the way, and nodded disapprovingly to three others who were way too bothered with driving while they dialed phone numbers. (Because calling your spouse about how many tomatoes to pick up is so much more important than merging onto highway traffic going 75 mph.) I did refrain from introducing two jay walkers to Jesus and from flashing the finger to an elderly woman who thought it would be cute to ride along side a cement truck for 15 miles and make 800 people late for work.

Since I was already late, I figured I would make a quick deposit at the bank, thinking I wouldn’t have a chance later in the day. Going against my initial impulse to hit the drive through, which everyone knows is slower than just going in, I parked and strolled in for my “quick” transaction. I handed the head teller, (it said so on her name plate) my deposit slip and checks, and patiently waited for my receipt followed by a prompt thank you. The girl was really cute, but I couldn’t help noticing she had a layer of dark peach fuzz that covered all of her arms and her entire chest, (for a moment I wondered what it would be like to pet her and if her boobs were hairy too).

After the first check meandered through her little machine, the printer yelled out as if being stabbed, and then went into cardiac arrest. The really cute Ewok teller apologized profusely while obviously not having a clue on how to fix the issue. I told her not to worry that it had been one of “those” mornings, and that I expected a meteor to take us all out in the next few minutes anyway. I watched the "View" on a nearby TV while I continued to wait and noticed all the other tellers huddling around the defunct machine as if it were an ER patient that had just popped an artery on the operating table and everyone had been struck with a sudden case of amnesia. As I waited for the meteor, I thought how pathetic it would be to have Rosie O’Donnell’s face be the last thing I see before I die.

Eventually, someone besides the “head teller” fixed the printer, and I was on my merry way. Two minutes turned into to twenty, and I began to wonder why I switched banks to begin with and what head teller really meant. Now I was almost an hour late no thanks to the cosmos, but hey, at least I wasn’t in a bad mood (until I arrived at work anyway). “Hey Brown, would you mind putting together these three shelving units we just bought?” I was asked. Sure, because after my hour and a half commute through Hades and the pits of lost souls, there is nothing else I would rather do than assemble a bunch of shelves with a trillion pieces and a screwdriver the size of a votive candle. I’m all over it.

6 comments:

Angela Z said...

I am liking this blog.....great sense of humor.

Mr. Poopie said...

Glad you like miss Z. So happy you stopped by, I'll try not to disappoint.

Pssst. . . . between you and me, I love Smokey too. [starts singing] "Just to see her . . . ."

La Cubana Gringa said...

I'd argue that, had the meteor actually come, you should have quickly abandoned Rosie, and gone in to pet those boobies.

Could'a gone out while coppin' a feel. Not too shabby...

Mr. Poopie said...

I'd have to agree whole-breastedly.

I'm sure in my last few moments of existence I would have had to satisfy my curiosity. Good looking out babe.

The Muse said...

Thanks for stopping by my blogdom... and you've just inspired me to cash in my gift certificate for a massage... now I just have to pick where I'm going to go.

Mr. Poopie said...

Backatcha my beautiful Muse.

Feel free to stop by for a shoulder rub from time to time.