It's Midnight, And You Talk Too Much

About an hour ago, Nancy and I realized that the supply of Diet Coke was simply too low to be accepted. We have standards here. Not high standards, but standards. So I donned my pantaloons and went to Walgreen's, which was a mistake, for several reasons.

The first manifested itself even before I walked in the door. Hovering in front of the entrance like a fat moth drawn to fluorescent lighting was a large man in a, "wife-beater" t-shirt. I ambled and gave the man a wide berth, because he didn't look happy to be at a Walgreen's at 11 o'clock at night. He kept staring at me, which made me angry, but I negotiated the space he occupied and arrived safely in the little room they put before the actual store. At least 400 round, yellow stickers informed me that I could get a flu shot at the pharmacy. Good to know, good to know.

Having passed the wife-beating moth, I bolted to the back of the store, grabbed three 2 liter bottles of sweet, sweet Diet Coke. And just between us, I also bought a Mounds. Those things are fucking awesome.

The second problem was the raging argument between the cashier and a woman (with her quiet, frightened husband in tow) about a discrepancy with the bill. That took 10 tense minutes, and the cashier was right. The irate customer apologized and got the Hell out of there. That pleased me, but I was a bit rattled. I kept thinking about the Mounds bar in my hot little hand. That luscious Mounds bar.

The final problem (to be revealed later) with my trip to the Walgreen's was more of an existential crisis (beyond the angst that occurs every time I'm in a store of any kind). As I finished my purchase, I noticed a slip of paper on the floor that was clearly a fortune cookie dispatch. A rectangular slip of paper with something written on it. I grabbed it and put it in my shirt pocked, went out to the car, ate my Mounds bar, and drove home.

Just now I took my shirt off, but not before taking a look at the cookie-less fortune. It reads, "A person is not wise simply because on talks a lot." Not something a blogger wants to read.