Last week I had an outing to eat at my one of my favourite digs down the road, Panino’s. It was, uh, interesting to say the least. Mrs. Chulo and myself went in and were eventually seated. I ordered diet coke, and being the gentleman I am, sized up my wife’s PMS demeanor and immediately decided that she needed a double Tom Collins, which the waiter promptly produced. While we were waiting, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation to my right. There was a group of four people seated at the table. Two couples. The kind of slimy, disgusting couples that scream ‘wife swap’ for some strange reason. Anyway, they hadn’t even gotten their salads yet when I noticed that they were asking for a second bottle of wine. The tubby guy was bragging about having to work in New Orleans for a time, and about the hurricane and God knows what all else. His voice became sloppier and higher in volume with every sip of pre-food wine.

At the outset, he was the only one talking, with everyone else nodding in that fake ‘OH I LOVE YOU’ type of feigned interest in his slurred absurdity. Then after the second bottle was being finished, the woman to his left started up like a gassed up Weedeater. Then the man in front of him. Then his alkie wife who had finished her fourth glass of wine. They got their salads and asked for a third bottle, and then I got my bread and asked for another diet coke. After bottle number three was gone, they were talking about sewer lines, and then Weedeater blurted out something that has accompanied me in all my travels these 7 days since the incident:

SIZE DOESHHH MATTER, AND DON’T LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISHE.

She thought she was being astoundingly witty, but I stared at her for a minute in disbelief, then proceeded to translate the conversation to Mrs. Chulo, who as a current English learner still has a hard time understanding what I term ‘fringe English’, e.g. drunks, thugz, and inner-county rednecks. She had a completely empty stomach when we got there, so she was getting rather giggly as well. At least she didn’t start up with the ‘size’ comments too.

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A good friend of mine recently quit his job at a store I frequent quite often for want of choice in my little crap town. I used to see him quite frequently, as he was the electronics god. The people that replaced him are sub-par, to say the least. I asked one a question regarding the possible arrival of game consoles, and I got a “We get a truck every day.” I asked a second drone, and she gave me the same answer. How do you explain to someone their uselessness? I eventually looked at the second drone and muttered “mmumblemubmle tits on a boar hog.” She heard it but didn’t say anything. My God, I’d prefer to deal with the other woman that worked with my friend. The woman in question had tattoos on her arm so I dubbed her ‘jail momma’ in my mind. She wasn’t even there. Just these new, unfamiliar people. I went last night to get a hard drive for my 360 (note my subtlety here in proclaiming my purchase. HAHAHAHAHA), and I had a hand put in my face. No explanation, NOTHING. It turned out to be due to a moronic kid wandering off and triggering the OMG FIRE ALARM CODE ADAM DEAR GOD MAN FIND THE KID alarm. I saw the back of a Walmart badge once, and saw the color coded alarm scheme. Was ‘Code Brown’ for like a monster turd attacking the store? I don’t recall. ‘Code Pink’ a gay dude stealing something? Or maybe an assasin ballerina?

Oh well. I’ll miss him. By the way, he reads this blog.

Mind if I link to your own so people can read of your plight? Msg me.