1. I live in fear of the Snickers woman. I fully believe that it’s not just me—everyone has to be scared of her. It is not enough that we must be visually assaulted by our favorite childhood characters—slutted up and worn 12-sizes-too-small by girls that have just drunkenly stumbled off the bus from Playboyville (yes, I believe that in a few years, Hugh Hefner will have a town); Now we, like so many diabetics, live in fear of caramel and nougat.
2. I also might be arrested in the near future. And this brings me to my next point in the line of this week’s winners. So I will tell you a tale, part horror, part fall-of-humanity—all the makings of a good story. Before I begin though, let me just say that I plan on having this face until I’m 67 and 3 months, and that means expressions should be made at a minimum. . . but I digress. Anyway. It begins on the bus going home. It was crowded, so a man sat down next to me. I began apologizing for my portfolio, a large black canvas case, which was in his way. To be nice (and because I was bored), I asked him about what his major was and whatnot. After we talked about that he said, “Let me guess. . . You’re an artist?”
This is where things went a big awry. I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “No, I’m not an artist. I’m a freelance assassin.” I realize upon looking back that I maybe should have smiled, indicating that this was, in fact, a joke. However, that is not my MO, so I just looked at him. He got a bit uncomfortable and asked, “So. . . What’s in the bag?” I replied, “Long distance rifle, scopes, hand guns. . . You know, the basics.” Again, this was a time a smile might have been appropriate, but instead I held his gaze and stared him down. Let’s just say things got really uncomfortable. Long silence. And then the bus pulled away from the stop. Twenty-three minutes of awkward
I live in fear of the Snickers woman, adult Tinker Bells, and law enforcement. I sit with the shades drawn. . .
This is on a par with the incident which occurred between myself and a Bank of America drive-through teller in Corvallis. I pulled into the d-t-t, got the pneumatic tube, inserted check to deposit, pushed button.. Crackle crackle - BofA teller says, "this is a large check and your account has only been open a few weeks." Since I was in NO mood, I said, "is the problem that you only take small checks or is the problem that you only want deposits from people who have had small amounts of money for years in your bank before you accept more or is it some combination of those two." She said, "crackle, crackle...ma'am, you need to come inside to speak with the manager." I replied, "I am in the drive up teller, I am attempting a single transaction - to deposit a check, I do NOT need to see a manager." She insisted...I said, "Okay, if you insist, but you will have to wait a minute for me to park and find my ski mask before I come inside." Things went downhill from there. May the Force be with you, Sid!
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