Tuesday, May 24, 2005
My employer has a big hardware unveiling at a restaurant in Wisconsin today. I've been invited. Attendance is optional. I thought about attending. I would love to drive my unreliable expolding vehicle 100 miles straight north along the lake to shake their hands. I'd love to traverse the open country all afternoon long to arrive at a fast food joint that I could've visited two blocks from work. And I'd still have to pay for my sandwich? Wear a button shirt and slacks? Holy shit. I think I've got diarrhea. Yep. Sorry, can't go.
I think I'm going to stay here. To be fair, while I was encouraged to attend, and it would be the proper cheerleading asskissing chuckleheaded thing to do, they didn't make it mandatory. They would understand my decision to decline since my boss put me on the 6am shift this week. My sleep schedule is so fucked up I would probably nod off on a sparkling Wisconsin toilet. I can picture it already:
I can hear my snoring. I can see ribbons of shredded lettuce fluttering from my mouth, anchored between teeth, rusting quickly in the heat of my breath. I can see smears of unwiped mustard and mayonaise encrusting around my mouth, flakes of oregano poking out like tiny stegosaurus blades. My pants sit around my ankles. Thank god this store is new and the floor is pristine, or I'd have drain flies beginning to nest. The auto-flusher keeps triggering whenever I twitch or snore too loud, and the spray is keeping my ass perpetually moistened. I'm so relaxed that my shit is skydiving out in small little recreational clusters, enjoying the novelty of getting out without being pushed or squeezed. Outside, my boss is beginning to worry, unable to do anything for fear of creating an embarassing scene for our fair company.
I am tempted to go for one reason. I love visiting the tourist trap cheese shops right over the border. I love cheese. Goudas, Cheddars, Muensters, Bricks, you name it, they have all the best there. After brief consideration and reflection, I am deterred by milk. Milk? Yes.
When I wrote about the surprise grocery bounty last week I neglected to mention the two gallons of two percent. I already had a full untouched carton before all the free stuff arrived. That adds up to three gallons total for you math whizzes out there, and the first had a sell-by date of May 17th. Since Sunday I've been drinking a lot of milk. Every day. Don't do that.
My skin feels soft and squishy, my brains feels like yogurt, my bowels have just begun stewing the most disgusting farts of my life, and I have slimy white clumps of leftover enzymes squirting out of my facial pores like a thousand little toothpaste nozzles. I can't talk without phlegm bubbles foaming and popping in my throat. It's fucking gross. Want some cheese? No. Tonight I'm going to burn all the curdled sludge away with whiskey and hot sauce.
Sorry boss. Sorry Wisconsin. Maybe next time. 7:30 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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