April 25, 2006

Blogging Note.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 11:19 pm

See the post below this one?  And, the post below that one?

See the big, empty space at the bottom?

See the little bit of a vertical line in the big, empty space at the bottom?

What you can’t see is the three times that WordPress zapped my paragraph breaks and printed the final paragraph twice.

 Damned if I know what is going on, and I’m too tired to give much of a damn.

Just thought you might like to know.

A 7-11 Morning.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Jim @ 10:52 pm

Seven eleven cup.jpgAs is my custom, I stopped this morning at my local 7-11 to grab a cup of coffee and a pack of smokes. There was only one car in the lot when I pulled in. ”Sweet,” I thought. ”I’ll be outta there in about three minutes!” When I walked into the store, it was even better. The one car in the lot turned out to have been occupied by only one person, and that person was being waited on.

I walked briskly directly to the coffee counter and poured myself a 20 oz. black coffee. I snapped on the lid and was good to go. Money already in hand, I turned to walk to the counter. This was going to be an “in-and-out” record! This is going to be a great day.

No such luck.

It seems that the woman who was driving the one car in the lot and who was the only other person in the store, was in the process of buying an 8×11 sheet of paper full of lottery numbers. As if that wasn’t bad enough, English was not her first language.

It got worse. English was also not the first language of the guy behind the counter punching in the dizzying array of numbers, and his first language was not the same as herr first language.

It got worse yet. The lady buying seemingly every permutation of three-digit numbers (and whose first language was not English) was talking on a cell phone (in a language other than English) throughout the entire gut-wrenching process.

“Tree bippty tree, straight and box. Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

“What?”

“Tree bippty tree, straight and box! Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone).

“Meed-day or eeeebening?”

“What? Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

“Meed-day or eeebening?”

“Oh, meed-day and eeebening. Blah, blah, blah, blah” (in a foreign language into the phone).

I stood there during a dozen or so exchanges, watching my morning slip away and wishing I had brought a razor into the store with me so that I could open a vein. Finally, a young woman emerged from the back room and took her place behind the counter, and offered to wait on me.

Before I could even point to my coffee on the counter, her cell phone rang, and, of course, she answered it. You guessed it. Her first language was also something other than English.

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Can I help you?”

“Yes, I would like the coffee and a pack of Merit, Lights in a box, please.”

““Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)”. This was followed by a puzzled look in my direction.

“Merit Lights in a box, please. They are the ones with yellow and brown on the pack, on the bottom shelf.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Dees one?” (pointing)

“No, those are Kools in a green pack on the first shelf. I would like the Merit Lights in a box on the bottom shelf, please.”

““Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone). Dees one?” (pointing)

“No, the BOTTOM SHELF, please.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO, down two shelves.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO. Over to the right!”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah (in a foreign language into the phone)” (points again).

“NO. Over one more.”

“YES! That’s it.”

She rang up my purchases while still blah, blah, blah, blahing.”

If I am ever elected King, there will be a new rule. Anyone who purports to wait on a customer while talking on a cell phone will be sentenced to thirty days of solitary confinement with Yoko Ono “music” pumped into their cell twenty-fours a day.

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