Day 322: I’d Rather Have A Cat In The Closet [Friday Thoughts W/ TeeCoZee]
Good Moleman. Ahoy there, Dean! To the book depository! It’s Friday, August 6th, Two021. The weather in SoHo is 83° & Pantone 15-3930 and somewhere, somebody is living out their wildest fantasy. This is their moment. It is now. Their fingers tremble in anticipation. The left hand swiftly grabs the tissue. Then the right. Then the left. Then the right. Then the left. And so on, until the tissue box is empty. The moment is now over. They have reached their moment of true satisfaction. But what now? They’re left with an empty box, a pile of trash and a certain emptiness that will only come out when Guns ‘N Roses are on the radio. And me? I’d like to give dominoes a shot. That seems like a satisfying time. I also have some things on my mind…
– I was wiping down one of the self-scan registers one day, because I legitimately had nothing better to do. I accidentally bumped the Español button. A customer at the other end finished bagging his groceries and told me “Gracias” on his way out. For an extremely brief moment, I thought I found a glitch in the simulation.
– Back in simpler times, dumber times, Newarker times, Rachel had a gigantic closet. It was so big and filled with crap that I didn’t even get to see it fully until the day she moved out. The thing had it’s own sink. I had no idea if it worked, but her closet had a damn sink. And Willy was master of his domain in that apartment, as he had several hiding spots. If he wasn’t in the easily-opened cabinets, he was in his closet fortress, being a cat, living his life.
Willy hasn’t been that lucky since then. Forced to live in New York Apartments, he lost all of his favorite hiding spots. His only privacy is under the bed, but there’s tons of boxes and bins underneath. His cubby is small enough that we can still see his cute little paws sticking out. And then on one fateful day, Rachel couldn’t find him.
Have you seen Willy anywhere?
Did you check the closet?
There’s no way he’s in—-he’s in the closet.
Like ET, but a million times more handsome, Willy has finally found a private space in the closet. I would say that he’s a happier cat now that he has some privacy, but now he’s a lot more uppity when we have the closet doors closed. You win some, you lose some, I guess. But one thing’s for damn sure: I’m glad that it’s Rachel’s side of the closet.
– A customer came in the other day and asked if I carried 5 Hour Energy. Surprised that I hadn’t been asked that since 2013, I told him now. Distraught, he asked, “Well, do you have lottery tickets?” That, I was able to help him with. But it really made me think about the kinds of weird habits that people have to get their kicks. This seemed like a normal upstanding gentlemen, but he gets off on gas station uppers. If that’s not readily available, he gambles. Most people just drink and screw, but hey, you do you. I hope he won big. Or won enough to cash in and buy a 5 Hour Energy somewhere else…
– Last week, a minivan cut me off something fierce. I don’t normally honk my horn, but, err, yeah, okay, I honk my horn a lot. And I did in this particular instance. But then I noticed the the sticker in the back window said “Dog Grandma” and it threw my brain through a loop. That could mean so many things, all of them stupid.
A. The person’s child has a dog, so therefore she is a Dog Grandma. This is the most likely answer.
B. She was a Dog Mom, but the dog had puppies, who have since grown up, so now she’s a Dog Grandma.
C. She is a dog. She is also a grandma.
D. It’s a list of priorities in life: Dog, Grandma.
E. It used to say Dodge Grandma. As in Grandma that drives a Dodge. Or a Grandma that plays dodgeball or loves the dodgers.
F. It’s a Grandma that got rich on Doge Coin
The possibilities are endless. But what’s more disconcerting is the fact that it was a man driving the van.
– Try this trick over the weekend: Get a bumper sticker that says “You Mom’s 8”.
Have a confusing weekend, everyone!