Monday, October 22, 2012


Okay it was a very long and very stressful day because a month ago I told someone, ‘We need to send these reports in” and that person said, “No, I was told we didn’t” so I emailed someone and asked, “Do we need these reports sent in?” and I never got an answer so no reports were sent in. Now, a month later, someone calls me and says, “Where are those reports you were supposed to send in?” And now I have to track down a month’s worth of information to get the reports in.
In the meantime, since last week there has been someone hounding me for some paperwork. It’s vital. It’s doomsday stuff. The fabric of the Universe will be rent asunder if this paperwork isn’t rushed through, please, for the love of dog, the lives of my grandchildren and heaven itself hangs in the balance, please, please, please, can you do this for me by Monday. So I do. It takes some doing but yes, I can help someone in need.  First thing Monday morning, I will be there, waiting for you, yes, please oh please. 

I do not hear from this guy at all. Then I call him. I call him. Oh, we won’t need that until Wednesday.

Okay. So after work I go to the Y. I need a good work out. There is a woman in street clothes standing on an elliptical talking on a cell phone. I ask, “Are you going to use that machine?” and she says, “No, I’m saving it for someone.”  Now that pisses me off but there is no real need for some sort of conflict so I get on a treadmill and crank it up. About thirty minutes deep into the workout the woman on the phone simply leaves. Two minutes later someone gets on it and just stands there looking out into space, the final frontier.

So now, after putting some miles down, I feel better. But there is a young man talking to a young woman and she is leaning on my truck. He’s throwing down here. This is a young man bent on talking this woman into something and she’s lapping it up. Dude, you’ve never been that funny in your life and she’s giggling at every word, ask her out, be done with it! But he doesn’t close the deal. I listen to a song on my MP3 player and then approach them.
“Hi!” I say.
“Uh, hello” the young woman says and the guy hesitates.
“Oh, are you Dez’s father?” And he sticks out his hand.
“No, this is my truck.” I tell him and he looks befuddled. (Dez has broken down in laughter, presumably over the look on my face)
The guy looks around and sure enough, he has a red truck. But his is a Ford and looks nothing like mine. Speaking of red, he turns that color while trying to look cool getting the girl away from my truck. You’ve blown that one, son.

So off to the grocery store. I’ve just worked out. I will buy healthy food and I will have a healthy supper. I need some kale. Kale is good stuff in a salad, especially for those of us who have been mistaken for fathers today. Her father? Where in the hell did that come from? Do I look that fatherly? But there parked in front of the kale was a  woman with a shopping cart and a three year old. She has a cart full of stuff but apparently she was thinking of getting the three year old her own credit card because the three year old had one of those plastic basket, neatly as large as the child, and the woman was trying to talk the child into putting produce in the basket. But instead, the child takes some hand lotion out of the basket it and puts it on the shelf with the spinach.
“No, no, baby put the lotion back in the basket baby.” But the child refuses to listen. The woman is bent, intent, driven, and obessessed with that little girl putting the hand lotion into the plastic basket.  This went on for nearly as long as Anna Nalick’s  “Catalyst”. After nearly four minutes of baby baby put the lotion back in the basket my mouth opened. The words formed. The breath was given to the words.

I walked away.

Hence my facebook status update, “IT PUTS THE LOTION IN THE BASKET!”

I really couldn’t quote a fictitious serial killer to a three year old. But I had to say it, I just had to say it.

Take Care,


  1. Why not? The three year old won't get it but hopefully mom would shit.

    1. I've been scolded for saying things like that to kids. Never again!