Weak coffee and memories of love lost

As I sip my weak coffee I am filled with memories of love lost. I am also reminded that I need to stop at the pharmacy tonight to get some shaving supplies. But now my mind slips back into the state of intense fear of being watched. Paranoid? Of course.

I think as I grow older I engage in less and less eye contact with strangers as I mill about on a daily basis. To make matters worse I grow more and more aware of what I am doing, which increases my level of paranoia and overall anxiety. Are there pills for this?

Boy, have I veered off topic. I apologize.

Bargain Hunting, and other crap

In this new age of economic distress I have decided to cut costs. First thing to go is my nightly bath. I figure that each night I waste $35 in water and energy costs. Next on my list is to cut down on the exotic food I normally eat. I am going to devise a new "recession" diet that consists entirely of baklava from gift baskets left over from various holidays. These can be purchased at a discount from any gift basket supplier.

Shifting gears I would like to discuss my recent experience in a taxi cab. I arrived in Chicago at 7:45 PM and hastily made my way to the airport restroom and then to the ground transportation area (in that order). I asked the cabdriver if he took credit cards and in a confident foreign tone he assured me that he did indeed. I cheerfully leaped into his cab and bounced my bottom on the seat cushion a few times before finally settling down for the long drive to downtown Chicago. I smiled at everyone I saw out the window as we sped away from the airport. I was happy to be alive.

After an eternity we arrived at my hotel. My bladder had already re-filled and I was anxious to empty it. I was also anxious to order room service and raid the mini-bar. The cab-driver took my credit card and whipped out his credit card processing kit (carbon copy receipt and a slider mechanism). After he made a carbon copy of the receipt I filled in the tip and signed and all that good stuff. He then told me "just a second sir, I have to call and get clearance on the card."

He slowly dialed up his dispatch agent and asked her to run the card and check its validity. He had her on speakerphone so I was able to hear the entire conversation. "...Please run the numbers."

"OK confirmation code 9...3...7...2...0"

"Wait repeat that please?"

"9...3......7.....2.......0"

"I can't hear you!" He screamed, noticeably annoyed.

"I already told you the numbers, quit yellin' at me"

"Why are you always so mean to me Goddamnit?!!"

"You know what? I'm not gonna give you the numbers." Click.

"Wait- I'm sorry. Just give my the numbers please!!! ........ Hello? HELLO??!!!"

Just then he set down the phone and slunk down into a seated fetal position. His spirit had been crushed." After a few moments of silence he handed me my card and my receipt and said in an almost heart-breaking voice, "have a good night sir."

"Thanks." I said and I jumped out of the cab with slightly lesser glee than I started with. Later that night I pigged out on room service and ordered an adult movie.

Quizmasters

Behold the new coven of secrecy and wit. We, the quizmasters scour the Earth for knowledge and truth and paltry prize money. We hold the secrets of the universe deep within our hearts and we test each other for merit on a daily basis.

To become a quizmaster write to:

quizmasters
P.O. Box 332
Mesa, Arizona 83321-1348

For a mere $5 entry fee you will learn our secret handshake, learn our sacred oath, and receive a vhs tape of rodeo bloopers. If your letter is received within 30 days you will be entered in a drawing to win cruise tickets.

Join us or else.

Lightning Rod

The other day I rode the bus to work like I usually do. With my current routine, my path crosses that of a crippled Asian college student who rides the same bus. I think his legs are missing or something. This kid is probably 20 years old or so- and has a funny mop haircut and a slightly neglected upper lip mustache (is that redundant?)

Given this kid's handicapped nature, he always gets on the bus first because he has to situate his wheelchair in the front where the row of seats lifts up to accommodate wheelchairs and the like. Also necessary is the ordeal of lowering the wheelchair lift to get him on the bus, which seems to take an eternity. The ordeal is repeated, of course, when he gets off the bus- not too far before my stop downtown.

I generally respond negatively to any disruption of my schedule, so you can imagine how my mood changes when I get to the bus stop and I see this kid waiting for the bus with a smug look on his face.

This week marked a new twist to my rivalry with the handicapped kid. After the wheelchair lift gently lowered the kid to the street and began to raise back up into the bus, it got stuck. Five minutes passed as the bus driver repeatedly raised and lowered the lift to try and unstick it and get us on our way. It wasn't until a passer-by helped secure the lift by pushing on it as the driver raised it that we were able to get going. I thought to myself... "a minor inconvenience, surely this is a one-time thing..."

Yesterday I drove to work, bypassing this process, and keeping my sanity. Today, however, there I was again, riding the bus with my handicapped nemesis. As soon as he was lowered off the bus I heard the grinding of the lift mechanism. "Here we go again..." I thought to myself. And during the 5 minutes that followed I decided that I was a lightning rod for inconvenience.

Always and forever...