Monday, February 28, 2011

A Frozen Foods Rumble

The other day I went to the grocery store to use the bank machine. There seemed to be a rush on cash with a line of people waiting patiently to slide their bank cards into the machine and punch in their secret passwords for the monetary reward. I stood amongst them grasping my bank card anticipating pulling five twenty dollar bills from the tight slit of the machine.

I glanced to my right and noticed an older man (mid 60s), athletic and muscular, come in and reach for a shopping basket. As he leaned towards the basket a younger man (30s) came into the store walking quite fast (he wasn’t breaking any speed limit, but he appeared to be in a hurry) and he bumped into the older man. The older man wasn’t knocked to the floor. He was tapped, and certainly not hard enough to bruise his precious body.

The younger man instinctively reached out to hold the man to make sure he wasn’t gonna fall and apologized. The older man stood upright, erect, puffed up his chest, and yelled at the top of his lungs DON’T TOUCH ME and NO he wouldn’t accept the apology.

The young man flinched. Confused and not knowing what to do he apologized again and continued towards the frozen foods aisle. The older man dropped his basket and started to chase after the young man challenging him to a fight.

A fist fight amongst frozen vegetables was about to happen... and I was gonna have a bird’s eye view...

The young man sensed danger and quickly ran down another aisle leaving the older man with his fists up in the air with no one to punch. With all eyes on him the older man slowly dropped his fists but continued yelling profanities until no one cared to listen anymore.


I was hoping too see a frozen foods rumble. Instead I entered my password into the bank machine, grabbed the cash, and left.

The next movies in my netflix queue are now Rocky, Rocky II, Rocky III, and Rocky IV.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Hello Hello Is Josie There?

Over the past couple of days my serene world has been interrupted by wrong number calls to my cell phone. Each time the woman on the other end of the wireless connect is saying hello hello is Josie there? When I tell her she has the wrong number she apologizes and hangs up. But then she calls again hours later and we have the exact same conversation.

So who is this Josie gal and why does that Woman-caller want to talk to her?

All kinds of scenarios have invaded my imagination and have kept me thoroughly entertained.

I imagine Josie could be a drug dealer and the Woman-caller is looking to score some Acapulco gold, 4:20, purple haze, meth, vicodin, or some waffle dust. In a drugged daze the Woman-caller copied Josie’s number incorrectly from the bathroom stall wall.

I imagine this Josie gal could be a madam. The Woman-caller has fallen on economic hard times after losing her job at the local Walmart and has decided to join the world’s oldest profession. Men have always admired her double jointed hips, so why let the hips get old and rusty when they can earn some cash and help pay the mortgage. Unfortunately the Woman-caller lost Josie’s ad from the back of the porn magazine and is trying desperately to remember the number.

I imagine the Woman caller could be a potential stalker. Josie gave her a fake phone number after a one-night-stand of lesbian experimentation that wasn’t all that good. Luckily for Josie the tryst was at the Woman-caller’s apartment and not at Josie’s rent controlled apartment overlooking the ocean.

Could Josie be a dog owner whose ill mannered German Shepherd dog bit the Woman-caller when the Woman-caller was hiking in Griffith Park? The dog was illegally off the leash. There were wounds. There was blood. Aaah but Josie’s a selfish naughty dog owner and doesn’t want to take responsibility; hence, the wrong contact number.

As I travel through my day I find myself staring at the faces of woman who pass me by wondering if she’s Josie or she’s the Woman-caller. Sometimes I snarl at them all caught up in one of my scenarios. They look at me puzzled, and a couple times have flashed me the finger spewing a few choice words. I don’t care.

Imagination is fun.

Friday, February 04, 2011

I Went To The Post Office...

This week I had a customer service experience that didn’t rile me enough to get my anger pumping and my voice a hollering, but it did reinforce the belief that customer service is dying and in desperate need of oxygen for its shriveled brain cells. So sad.

The other afternoon I went to the Post Office to mail two oversized envelopes. The total cost for both was a whopping $2.10. I handed the Postal Clerk $20.10 anticipating $18.00 in return. Simple transaction.

I foolishly expected a quick customer service experience, and bidding a fond farewell to my two oversized letters as they begin their journey to their final destination.

But there was a glitch. The Postal Clerk frowned when I handed him the money and asked me if I had anything smaller than a twenty dollar bill. I didn’t. He then told me to put it on a credit card. I told him no. He then repeated himself. Again I said no. He then huffed and puffed and once again said to put it on a credit card. I simply shook my head. He then whined about having to go in the back area to get change for the twenty. He stood on the other side of the bullet proof glass window not moving. I wasn’t going to change my mind, and he didn’t want to budge. Then after a huge sigh he disappeared mumbling how it would be easier for him if I put it on a credit card.

Such a whiny pissy postal person.

And then I waited and waited and waited some more and the line of customers behind me grew longer and longer. He finally moseyed from the back room and handed me $15.00. I explained the change was actually $18.00 and after he scrunched his pea brain Postal Clerk head and looked like he was lost in the world of simple mathematics he surrendered to his stupidity and gave me the correct change.

I wished him a good day and fled.

I’m now hoping my oversized envelopes don’t get “lost” in the postal system and never make it to where they need to be.