Memoirs Of J

Last Friday evening I had to make a trip to CVS to buy a personal…eh…feminine item.  Since I am an immature tard, I felt compelled to buy other items to go along with the personal item so it wouldn’t be so obvious to the cashier (that I will never see again) that I was at CVS for a very specific reason.

Mistake.

Being cheap and not really needing to buy anything per se, I decided that I should just grab a couple of snacks and call it good.  So I’m in the snack aisle perusing the cookies when I was interrupted by a very rotund, greasy man.  I’d say 40ish and very obese sporting a dirty too-small gray shirt with grease stains, ragged jeans, and disgusting oily unkempt hair.

“Must be movie night, huh?” he inquired.

“Uh, yep.  Sure,” I replied as I awkwardly looked around.

“I do the same thing. I could eat a whole box in a night.  That kind is really good,” referring to the Chips Ahoy I was about to grab.

I laughed uncomfortably and thought to myself, ‘yeah no shit – it’s pretty clear you eat continuously.’

“My name’s Chris, by the way.”

“Oh hi, yeah nice to meet you,” I said without even looking at him.  I started playing with my wedding ring thinking it would make this creeper disappear.

Nope.  He kept on jabbering about who knows what.  I wasn’t really listening at all at this point. I grabbed a pack of cookies and and since he was still blabbing I muttered something like “well, have a good one,” and simply walked out of the aisle into the next aisle.  We were out of milk so I wanted to grab a gallon on the way out.

Well of course this creep intercepts me in front of the refrigerators and says some dorky thing like “fancy meeting you again.”  I said nothing at this point and simply got my milk and started walking away.  He then goes, “Well nice chatting with you.  Hopefully I’ll see you here again – maybe I can treat you to a movie or something.”

Holy shit, mother f*&*(#!!   I hightailed it up to the register and basically threw my debit card at the person so I could get the hell out of there, car out of the parking lot before this guy could see my car or anything.

I had the pleasure of sitting in two waiting rooms today.  As fellow misanthropes will agree, it’s one of the worst situations you have to endure.  I’d personally rather have to undergo a day of having explosive diarrhea (as long as I was near a toilet) than a day of sitting in waiting rooms.

The first was at the oh so horrendous sparrow labs in south Lansing.  My god, that place never has less than a 45 minute wait.  I was hoping that going late in the morning before lunch time would be better (avoiding the morning rush) but nope.  There were 15 people in there.  Mostly old ladies who seemed to be making a day out of it by socializing with each other.  I didn’t mind them, but what I did mind was the haggard woman sighing loudly and rolling her eyes  (as if ANYONE likes waiting – shut up or leave) in between very loud gum smacks and pops.  For fucks sake, stop smacking and popping your gum.   You look and sound like a heifer.   I put my earbuds in but could still hear it.

Eventually she actually walked out, which made me rejoice.  I finally got called back and got out of there, then went back to work.  Later in the afternoon, I had an appointment to get my oil changed.  This is another task I always dread because the dealership is notoriously slow, but since I was about 4 months overdue for the oil change I finally made the appointment.

The snails-pace service isn’t really the thing I hate most about this dealership though.  It’s the popcorn in the lobby.  You may be wondering, “what the fuck is wrong with popcorn?  It’s awesome!”  True, it is.  But the problem is people turn into handicapped monkeys when eating it, awkwardly mashing entire fistfuls of kernels in the general vicinity of that ‘eating hole’ in their faces.

I heard the crunch-smacking noise before I even turned the corner to enter the waiting area where the seats are.  Aaand there sits a scraggly  hippie guy with flip flops and long curly hair, elbow contorted up in the air, wrist bent  back towards his mouth with popcorn spilling forth onto his holey blue shirt.  He looked kind of like an elephant eating, only not as cute.  Strange thing is, he was there with a girl who I felt was way out of his league and I spent the next 20 minutes wondering what she saw in that guy.  Not to mention, how could she stand the sound and the fact that there were now popcorn bits stuck in his tangly hair and greasy goatee?

They left though, much to my relief, and the popcorn machine was pretty empty so I was pleased.  Of course an employee noticed and started popping more, which – hey- popcorn smells good, and it drew many more animals forth.  For instance, the fat broad sitting next to me who ran over to the machine before the popping cycle was even complete.  She happily trotted (as much as a lardass can trot) back to the seats and plopped down two seats from me, proceeding to crunch and smack and basically shower in popcorn.  It was all over her clothes, the chair, and the floor by the time I was called to retrieve my car.

I doubt I will be taking my car back to this place.