So I’m at the bank the other day, and there are a few people in line ahead of me, and a few more at the teller windows. There is also a loud racket coming from behind the counter, it was the coin counting machine. Someone was cashing in a large amount of coins…
I know this because it took two tellers to lift the giant plastic fake beer bottle that contained all of the coins. Some guy had been saving his pennies since about 1972. Anyway I finally figured out who the bottle belonged too, since all of the tellers cycled through customers except for one.
This thrifty gent was about 45, pasty-skinned, and quite pleased with himself. When I got to the front of the line he turned halfway toward me and gave me that universal “half-nod, arched eyebrow, chics dig me” look that cool guys give to us un-cool guys.
I got the impression he was gonna take his $37, rent some videos, and go back to his room in the basement of his Mom’s house and watch them. Maybe go a little crazy a grab a pizza and some brewskis too…
Speaking of “chics dig me,” my name appears on page 49 of the August 20, 2007 issue of Sports Illustrated (first column, about halfway down the page). This is of course a lifelong dream of mine. The only problem is that the person they are writing about is not me, but he and I do share the same name. I really have no ethical or moral problem with achieving my dreams vicariously…
Plus, I now have a shot at moving into Mrs. R’s Top 100 (Re: http://srogue.blogspot.com/ from December 28, 2006).
Today I was outside doing some yard work in the backyard. I was home alone, and I had left the garage door open. When I do that, I lock the door from the garage to the house, and keep my keys in the front pocket of my shorts. My truck was parked in the driveway.
Big Mo has a keyless remote that also includes a panic button. It’s a nice feature, especially if some pasty-skinned 45 year old stud is thinking about beating me up in the parking lot at the bank. Sorry, I digress. Anyway, when the panic button is pushed, the horn honks rhythmically, and the lights flash.
So as I was out back and bending over to spray some weeds, I heard someone’s car alarm go off. There was all kinds of noise, a horn honking, etc. It was very annoying, and I was grumbling to myself about “the damn neighbors who don’t pay attention to a f**king thing and just let their car alarms go off and disturb everybody.”
After 3 or 4 minutes, the alarm shut off, and peace returned. By this time I had moved to other end of the backyard, closer to the front gate, and the driveway. I bent over to attack some more weeds, when that damned car alarm went off again.
At this point I am not a happy camper. I also notice that the honking horn sounds very close. Very, very close actually.
I’m thinking I’m just gonna go next door and let the neighbors have a piece of my mind. Not that I can afford to give too many pieces of my mind away, but it seemed like it was warranted in this case.
So I kicked open the gate, doing my best “that’s right, I’m bad,” getting myself all worked-up, when I notice the lights on my truck flashing and the horn rhythmically honking.
I sheepishly pushed the panic twice to stop the racket, and went inside.
So much for breaking into Mrs. R’s top 100…
I know this because it took two tellers to lift the giant plastic fake beer bottle that contained all of the coins. Some guy had been saving his pennies since about 1972. Anyway I finally figured out who the bottle belonged too, since all of the tellers cycled through customers except for one.
This thrifty gent was about 45, pasty-skinned, and quite pleased with himself. When I got to the front of the line he turned halfway toward me and gave me that universal “half-nod, arched eyebrow, chics dig me” look that cool guys give to us un-cool guys.
I got the impression he was gonna take his $37, rent some videos, and go back to his room in the basement of his Mom’s house and watch them. Maybe go a little crazy a grab a pizza and some brewskis too…
Speaking of “chics dig me,” my name appears on page 49 of the August 20, 2007 issue of Sports Illustrated (first column, about halfway down the page). This is of course a lifelong dream of mine. The only problem is that the person they are writing about is not me, but he and I do share the same name. I really have no ethical or moral problem with achieving my dreams vicariously…
Plus, I now have a shot at moving into Mrs. R’s Top 100 (Re: http://srogue.blogspot.com/ from December 28, 2006).
Today I was outside doing some yard work in the backyard. I was home alone, and I had left the garage door open. When I do that, I lock the door from the garage to the house, and keep my keys in the front pocket of my shorts. My truck was parked in the driveway.
Big Mo has a keyless remote that also includes a panic button. It’s a nice feature, especially if some pasty-skinned 45 year old stud is thinking about beating me up in the parking lot at the bank. Sorry, I digress. Anyway, when the panic button is pushed, the horn honks rhythmically, and the lights flash.
So as I was out back and bending over to spray some weeds, I heard someone’s car alarm go off. There was all kinds of noise, a horn honking, etc. It was very annoying, and I was grumbling to myself about “the damn neighbors who don’t pay attention to a f**king thing and just let their car alarms go off and disturb everybody.”
After 3 or 4 minutes, the alarm shut off, and peace returned. By this time I had moved to other end of the backyard, closer to the front gate, and the driveway. I bent over to attack some more weeds, when that damned car alarm went off again.
At this point I am not a happy camper. I also notice that the honking horn sounds very close. Very, very close actually.
I’m thinking I’m just gonna go next door and let the neighbors have a piece of my mind. Not that I can afford to give too many pieces of my mind away, but it seemed like it was warranted in this case.
So I kicked open the gate, doing my best “that’s right, I’m bad,” getting myself all worked-up, when I notice the lights on my truck flashing and the horn rhythmically honking.
I sheepishly pushed the panic twice to stop the racket, and went inside.
So much for breaking into Mrs. R’s top 100…
2 comments:
No problem, bro. It's the vehicle manufacturers fault. That panic button should be recessed just a tad to prevent too tight shorts from pushing it, but then, maybe looser shorts might help, too...
But the shorts were loose. Errr, at least they used to be...
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