Why Is It ...

… that no one believes that I have no skeletons in my closet I do have a tiny box of souls in my underwear drawer.

… that nothing pisses me off more than pulling up to my job and finding the building still standing.

… that just because I like to walk around in my underwear, eating Doritos, does not make me strange and the people in Aisle Four need to get a life.

… that I often feel the need to tell people they should go to church because I don’t want them in Hell with me

… that more people don’t ask for my opinion. I mean, like the other day I said to a coworker, ‘Relax, you aren’t the dumbest person in the world but you better hope he doesn’t die.’

… that I often tell songs to “Shut up” before I skip them.

… that once I’m in bed and I turn over on my stomach and make that 4-shape with my legs it’s a wrap

.… that my idea of help is a sniper on the roof.

… that if I died and went straight to Hell it would probably take weeks to realize I wasn’t at work anymore.

… that every time I try to donate blood I always get the same stupid questions: Who’s blood is it? Where did you get it? Why is it in a bucket?

Why Is It ...

... that these days I feel the need to move a lot of people from the VIP section of my life and put them in general admission?

… that when one door closes, another one opens, and then closes, and then opens … it’s the fridge. It’s me in front of the fridge.

… that I feel like I’d be a much better person if I didn’t have to do it every day?

… that most I’m like my computer. I don’t know if I should sleep, shut down, or restart?

… that I feel like my superpower is the ability to pick the grocery checkout line that immediately becomes the slowest line?

… that I think of my mouth as a filter … coffee goes in and sarcasm comes out.

… that when people ask if I am a cat person or a dog person, all I can say is that I am not a people person?

… that when I say “the other day” it can be anytime between yesterday and my birth?

… that nothing refreshes my memory about what I need from the grocery store more than coming home from the grocery store?

… that one day I was driving down the road and I saw my ex and suddenly the phrase “I’d hit that” took on an entirely different meaning?

Random Musings

We spent last Sunday with former Round-The-Way-Gays, Neal and David; they downsized a bit and moved into another neighborhood here in Smallville, so they are just a little Further-Round-The-Way.

We picked up a friend, Matt, who is in his mid-80’s — yes, I said, eighties — and he is always such a pistol. He’s spending part of this next weekend at a male dance revue where the men don’t actually take off their clothes because, well, they aren’t wearing any clothes, save for elastic bands on their wrists and thighs for you to slip your money into. My wish is that I have half the energy, zest for life, the get up and go, and just plain fun in my 80s as Matt does now.

Afterwards, we took Matt home and then the four of us do what The Gays like to do on a hot day: shop. I’d heard from a friend about a salvage shop near downtown Columbia, and Neal, who knows where everything is, literally, knew of it, so off we went. And they had everything; some salvaged, some salvaged and repurposed; clay pots and sheets; palladium windows turned into mirrors; cabinets, tile, sinks, lights, furniture.

Naturally, Carlos and I will be headed back soon because there were several things we want for the house that we found there, though one thing I think we’ll pass on is the stone sink that Carlos found.

I mean, if we lived in bedrock …..

Why did it take seven years to get Sherri Shepherd off The View? 

She should'a been gone the day after she said, live on air, that she wasn't entirely sure that the Earth was round.

Oh, yes she did.

I like Elton John, I do, but there are times when I wish he’d just shut up and sing.

Like last week when he said that Jesus would want The Gays to have the right to marry.

Really, Elton? You know this for a fact? A man that has allegedly been dead for over 2,000 years and you know what he thinks about marriage equality?

Stop. Seriously. Stop.

Speaking of religion, I’ve been wondering about all these religious folks hatin' on The Gays and hatin' on laws that are changing to make The Gays equal. 

If God is Love, shouldn't y'all be more tolerant? And if you believe, as some politicians like Frothy Mix has said, that this country was created by God and that our laws come from God, then doesn’t that mean that all new laws, even those granting equality to The Gays come from God? And if so, shouldn't y'all just shut up and take a seat?

Asking for a friend.

Beyoncé. Meh. 

I mean, I kinda liked her a few years back, but then she seemed to reinvent herself as a high-class stripper, grunting and grinding all over the stage while a wind machine attacks her weave.

And now she has a new look: a body suit with the butt cheeks cut out.

Get on the pole already, girl, I hear Cheetahs is looking for fresh meat.

How can it be that pulling a nose hair out is the most painful thing I've ever experienced?

So, last night we wondered what to watch on TV and I had DVRd TNT's new show, The Last Ship, as well as CBS' Under The Dome.
Carlos wasn't feeling very dome-ish, so we opted for The Last Ship.

It should be called The Last Ship of Hot Men. Oy, that's beefcake Travis Van Winkle who obviously buys shirts one size smaller than legally allowed, and Jocko Sims, oozing with sexual heat, and beautiful Commander daddy, Eric Dane.

Yeah, I think we'll keep watching.

Shia LaBeouf was arrested at Cabaret last night and police reported that he was incoherent and disheveled and that he had severe body odor.

No wonder his movies stink. It's not the script; it ain't the acting' it's LaBeouf.

The perfect way to get people to stop talking ... just because?

Hold up the index finger of your left hand and say, "This is my last nerve."

Then take the index finger of your right hand and scratch the index finger of your left hand while saying, "And this is you."

Works every time.

I am not a fast food person; ever. I figure I can get a better meal at a ‘real’ restaurant where the food isn’t frozen and then nuked or super-heated before serving.

Still, I like Burger King’s new Whopper that was unveiled during Pride in San Francisco; a burger wrapped in a rainbow flag paper.

When customers asked what made this Whopper different from a standard-issue burger, they were simply told, “I don’t know.”

But the mystery was revealed once the rainbow-colored wrapper was opened: there was absolutely nothing is different about this burger, nothing at all.

Like it says: “We Are All the Same Inside.”

Ken-freaking-tucky. Where marriage equality arrived this week, though there is a stay on the ruling pending an appeal, but, man oh man, the march is going on.

Maybe, when Carlos and I get married — and we’re doing so this October ... fingers crossed that the plans work out — we might actually be able to do so in South Carolina; it’s all changing so quickly.

Must Have Shopping: Book Stores

I love books. And, maybe even more than books, i love bookstores. And the older, and bigger, the better, because there is so much to see and read and touch and feel, while you scour bookshelves for that perfect read.

So, imagine how it would feel to look for books in places like these:

The Selexyz Dominicanen in Maastricht

This 800-year-old Dominican church has had a chequered history since closing its doors to the congregation; it was derelict and overgrown at one point, and was even used for bicycle storage.

Now, thanks to a radical overhaul by Dutch architects Merkx + Girod, it could well be the most stunning bookshop in the world.  The architects have been mindful that the main feature of the bookshop is the church itself.  As a result, the minimalist interior adds a splash of twenty first century colour to this very medieval canvas, doing justice to both in the process.

It has been called “A bookshop made in heaven”.

The  El Ateneo

A downtown Buenos Aires bookshop converted from an old theatre, this imaginative reuse sees every corner of the theatre auditorium utilized, from the stalls to the circle to the balcony. The theatre boxes are now private reading rooms, while the stage serves as a cafe area complete with the original crimson curtains.  

The El Ateneo is a fine example of how an important piece of history can be preserved and repackaged for a contemporary audience.

The Livraria Lello 

It is smaller than the El Ateneo and Selexyz Dominicanen, and unlike them, it is a purpose built bookshop, a stunning contrast of dark wood and exuberant paintwork.

Livraria Lello has sold books since it was originally established in 1881 and boasts stained glass windows, wood panels and columns worthy of the finest craftmen, Livraria Lello, like its companions above, is ideal for book enthusiasts and architecture fanatics alike.

And it will come as no surprise to some that the impressive steps shown above have been described as a “stairway to heaven”. 

via Urban Ghosts

What's A Little Pepper Spray When TV's Are 50% Off?

I don't like shopping. I have never done, and will never do, those Black Friday things where you have your Thanksgiving dinner and then head out to a store to sleep on the concrete so you can buy a TV at 4 AM.

I.Don't.Shop.

I purchase. What I need, when I need it. I know what I want when I head out and I find it, buy it, bag it, and drive it home. I don't even like Internet shopping. That's how much I hate shopping.

So, naturally, this story about the woman who pepper sprayed customers at a Wal-Mart in what many folks are saying was a deliberate attempt to get more "door buster" merchandise makes me ill. Weren't we all just up in arms last week about the UC Davis police officer who pepper sprayed the protesters? And now a woman uses the same tactic to save a couple of bucks?

That woman, who so needed to buy whatever it was that was on sale, injured some 20 customers, including children, in her rampage. Shoppers complained of minor skin and eye irritation and sore throats. And it neither started nor ended at the door. This particular wacknut--and WTF is her name?--used the spray in more than one area of the Wal-Mart "to gain preferred access to a variety of locations in the store." 

"This was customer-versus-customer 'shopping rage,'" said Los Angeles Police Lt. Abel Parga.  Los Angeles Fire Capt. James Carson, said, "She was competitive shopping."

No, she was assaulting people and should have been arrested. Unfortunately, too many people were temporarily blinded, or burned, or frightened to give a detailed description.

source

Abercrombie & Fitch Don't Want Her Stinking Money

Kim Navarra is a ho for Abercrombie & Fitch. And I mean that in a good way.

See, Navarra used to spend upwards of $1,000 a year at her local San Francisco A&F store, buying everything they had, and everything she wanted. But this summer she tried to order a $200 A&F gift-card online and was unceremoniously rejected.

Abercrombie & Fitch sent her a letter saying: "This order was cancelled and we will not accept future orders from you. Abercrombie & Fitch is a private label brand. To protect its intellectual property rights, suspected resale of our merchandise for personal or business profit is strictly prohibited."

Except for that first sentence, the entire letter was a cut-and-paste from the store's website.

So, they thought Kim Navarra was buying A&F merchandise and reselling it? Seriously? She was spending a lot of money, I guess, but it wasn't an exorbitant whoop whoop whoop sound the alarms and send out the dogs red alert amount of spending, was it?

Kim Navarra took her story to her local San Francisco news station ABC7, saying that she is just a loyal customer who likes the brand. "All their clothes seem to fit and last over the years. I'm not reselling them. As you can see, I have the clothes on, I wear them to work, I've worn every single pair of jeans."

Well, since the story broke on the news, and bad publicity really is just that, Abercrombie finally relented and let Navarra shop again. Perhaps they came to the realization that banning a loyal customer isn't good for business.

Then again, it isn't the first time A&F shows some hint of bad judgement. The company once fired a male model for eating a croissant at the wrong time, and then the company landed in some serious legal hot water for allegedly firing a Muslim female employee for wearing her religious headscarf.

I hope their team of lawyers and their PR firm is paid handsomely, because they must be working overtime.


source

Old Navy Is So Gay

I like clothes. I like nice clothes. But I'm not really trendy, and i don't like logos on my clothes. i don't shop at A&F, Banana Republic or Old Navy because most of their clothes appear emblazoned with the company logo. Now, my motto, well, one of my motto's, is: If you want me to be a walking billboard for your company, put me on the payroll.

Why should I promote A&F if I don't get a check? Why should I pay them to advertise them? I don't. But then Old Navy went and got all gay on me.

Word has it that Old Navy will be selling a line of Gay Pride T-shirts, with part of the proceeds going to the It Gets Better Project. Now, that's some advertising I can get behind; or into.

The shirts, for men, women, and babies--which will, no doubt, inflame the gay haters--will be available in some stores--hopefully my nearest branch--during Pride month, and 10% of the proceeds will go to Dan Savage's 'It Gets Better' campaign.

And Old Navy is taking steps where few major chain retailers go by selling these Pride shirts, though American Apparel did team up with the Human Rights Campaign to distribute its "Legalize Gay" shirts.

So, if you see me in an Old Navy, don't think I've become a shill for their clothing. I just might be showing off my Pride.

via The Advocate

Bob v Salesperson

I'm a smartass. But I'm also extraordinarily polite. I think with being gay, and a bit shy, comes lovely manners. Now that doesn't mean the straight folks aren't polite, but, for me, being gay, and shy, instilled in me some lovely manners.

I'm a Please and Thank you guy. I say My pleasure when someone thanks me for something. I hold doors open. I let people go into buildings ahead of me. I'm nice.

Once, years back, I was picking out a birthday cake for a friend, and I was asking the Counter Girl some questions. I kept saying Please and Thanks as we talked and then she disappeared into the back to finish icing my cake. Suddenly she reappeared and asked if she could tell me something.

Of course.
She said, You're just about the most polite person I've ever met.
I said, Thanks. But could you just shut up and ice my damn cake.

Like I said, I'm a smartass, and nice. To a point.

Okay, so here we go: yesterday was Carlos' 67th birthday--he'll kill me for that because he's a couple of decades shy of that number, but that's what I always tell him--and as I am a procrastinator of epic proportions--though not as epic as Carlos who took three-plus years to paint the kitchen ceiling, but I digress--I went out shopping for some birthday trinkets yesterday.

The day before his Big Day. Pro.Crasti.Nation.

Now, to be fair, I had ordered him a new briefcase since his last one is falling apart at the seams, but it won't be here for a week or so. Don't worry, I already told him, because i was worried he'd find one on his own and then we'd have two, and that would just be odd. But again  I digress.

So, I'm out at The Stores, doing some shopping, which I hate because I'm a get-in-get-what-you-want-and-get-out type of guy, but I was stuck perusing the shelves at every kind of store imaginable. And finally, at one store, I found something--I'll keep it a secret because he gets the gift today which is his actual birthday--he would like.

I took it to Cashier--like Karen Walker, I call people by what they do...Counter Girl, Cashier, Hustler--and Salesperson asked if I wanted to sign up for a store credit card and receive ten-percent off. I said, No, because I was paying cash and I don't like having store credit cards with their 87% interest rate. But she persisted.

You can save an additional ten-percent off every you purchase today.
Oh, thanks, but that's okay. I'm getting just this, and then I'm done. But thanks.

Well, that put a sour look on her face, and she proceeded to ring me up, collect my cash, give me my change, bag the gift and rip off, and hand me, the receipt without so much as a smile or a pleasant word; hell, without so much as a word.

I took my purchase and headed for the door, and I almost made it....I turned around and went back to Cashier.

You know, I said, I'm sorry I didn't want the store credit card. I'm sorry I didn't care about an additional ten-percent off. But what I'm most sorry about is that the mere idea that I didn't want the card has ruined your day.

And I left.

Second store. Same deal. Save ten-percent and get a credit card. I declined. I got the sour apple face.

Again, I said, I apologize, but do you get some sort of commission for getting people to sign up for these cards, because you seem truly pissed off that I don't want one.

Blank stare.

See, I said, I think that next time someone declines your lovely offer, you should just smile and say, Thanks. It's called customer service for a reason. Don't take it personally.

And I turned. Then turned back.

And thanks for your help, I appreciate it.

Oy.
No wonder I hate to shop.

Weekend Of Mo's: Mo Friends, Mo Music, Mo Food, Mo Drinks, Mo Shopping

It was a homo-licious, homo-filled, homo-stravagnza weekend in Smallville.

Saturday was our pilgrimage to Kroger for a week's worth of groceries, and an afternoon spent trolling antique stores in town, Carlos had seen an old clock he wanted for the mantle, but alas it was either sold, or moved; we looked all over the store to no avail. But that didn't stop us from hitting other stores and seeing their goods, or their crap as Carlos called one store.
We returned home empty-handed, but with an idea for a couple of things we might like. Carlos napped; I made myself a little lunch, and then it was time to head out again.

That night, our friend, Round The Way Gay, Neal, gave a little concert at the local Fine Arts Center. Neal is a fantastic singer and wowed the crowds--mostly the normal geriatric Smallvillians [I think that's what you call them] and quite a smattering of the out and proud homosexual of the gay and lesbian persuasion. Neal sang opera and show tunes and a couple of very funny numbers, including one about Two Old Crows--I thought for a moment he glanced at Carlos and me when he sang that one.
But he was looking at John. ;)
Neal was joined onstage by a trio of friends, including his partner, Round The Way Gay, David. It's one of those rare times when you know your friend has an amazing gift, but to be in a room and see the faces of other people around you as they realize how talented he is, that makes for a truly wonderful evening.

The gaggle of gays that gets together whenever possible was in attendance, drinking and laughing and joking, and afterwards we all sashayed over to Neal and David's for an after show cocktail party. It was a fun-filled evening, with jokes both good and bad, delicious food, and a fabulous--if I do say so myself--Grey Goose martini nightcap!

The next morning, we went back to Neal and David's for a Sunday brunch. All evidence of cocktails and appetizers from the night before--hell, from just a few hours before--was gone, replaced by champagne, with pear-and-orange juice, and all kinds of breakfast casseroles and pastries and a beautiful birthday cake for David and his twin sister Barbara.
The crowd was smaller, but no less fun, and there were good laughs again about the show and how most of us think it should be an annual Smallville event--it raised money for our Fine Arts Center--and I, personally, thought Neal should do a show every week. This was not met kindly by Neal, so, sad to say, unless Neal gets more friends to help entertain, well, it might have been One Night Only.

After that, Carlos and I were off to Homo Goods, er, Home Goods, in Charlotte. The spring-like weather of Saturday had disappeared and we were cold and drizzly--as well as Carlos' nose being drizzly with a cold. But, we suffered through--he with the cold and me listening to the cold--and hit the Homo Goods and found a new rug for the entry hall, a couple of new lamps, and a few little tchochkes for the house.
It was a big day for us as we actually agreed on the lamps; a minor miracle if you will. While I favor something a little streamlined and contemporary, Carlos leans more towards lamps with, well, monkeys on them. Thank goddess, the Homo Goods store had better sense than that.
The rug was different than I has wanted and has caused me to rethink the drastic secretary paint, which may go olive green and gold rather than lime green and red. Stay tuned, because that could change at any moment.

Once home, we settled into jammies, and Carlos grilled some veggies and marinated pork chops for dinner, and then we nestled into the couch and :::whoosh::: relaxed. Where the hell did the weekend go? Between good friends, good food, good music, good drinks, and good sales, it had disappeared almost as soon as it started.
It was early to bed, because the new week was starting sooner than we wanted.

Re-Giftage

Here's a retread of a post from last year, about this time....Decembert 21, 2008, to be exact. It's about me and shopping...one of my least favorite activites. But I'll post it again because I'm lazy and that's how I roll...and because we're getting a new cable sevrice provider today and I don't know when i'll be able to get on-line to write something wonderful and magical, or irritating and annoying, so here's a little somethin'somethin' from the past:

Okay, so as I've said before, I don't wait until the last minute to do my Christmas shopping, I wait until the minute before the last minute to start.

That was today.

I give Carlos the lowdown that I have errands to run--errands being code for I'm buying your presents....I should be a spy I'm so good with codes--and that I'll be going alone. He asks where I'm going and I say, None of your business. He wants to know why I won't say and I tell him that if I said where I was going he might know what I was buying and that wasn't happening. I'm spy smart, I tell you; spy smart.

So the lip came out. He has the cutest pout.

I promised to take the cell phone with me and off I went. Now, I can't even say what stores I visited because prying Latino eyes, and all that. Suffice to say that I hit one store and found a couple of things he might like, and little something that he could give to me, even though he didn't know it. I can't wait for him to see my face when I open it!

I go stand in the line to pay. Now, I'm not one of those impatient shoppers; I know it's Christmas; I know they're busy. I don't mind waiting.

But this woman, all scarves and woolen accessories--mind you it's in the mid-sixties and sunny--is in front of me.

Foot tapping.

Huffing.

Puffing.

Harrumphing, is a better term. Yeah.

Harrumph! Craning her neck to see when it's her turn; rolling her eyes when someone at the counter pulls out a checkbook.

I thrive for this.

She's tapping, harrumphing, scarving, rolling, all over the place and finally turns to me to give me one of those, Can you believe it? looks. I smile back, and her face freezes; I would have thought it would melt under so many layers, but it actually froze.

How.Dare.I.Smile. How dare I be patient. It's Christmas for cryin'out loud and there are crowds and people and traffic and cars and lines. And checkbooks.

But I smile. She harrumphed again and turned away.

At the next store, I found another little somethin' somethin' for Carlos and back in line I went. Only this place makes you stand at the end of what looks to be a cattle chute. And then some Beefy Moron, and I use the word moron in the nicest possible way, directs you toward a particular register.

I get up to the front of the line, and he's lookin' at me, and lookin' at the registers, and lookin' back at me. Finally, he shouts Number 10, Number 10, sir! I swear I heard a bell ring and off I went down the chute, lookin'for Number 10.

There's a woman ahead of me at Number 10. She's buying a gift card. Now, I suppose some people like gift cards, and they do come in handy. But at this particular store, I think that buying a gift card is like saying I really don't care for you enough to spend more than five minutes shopping for you. Or it's the obligatory under-$15 gift card for the office gift exchange. Whatever. I am not a fan of the gift card. (side note: I got a gift card for my Dad, but only because the place that honors the card is in his town, and his town is 3,000 from mine.)

So she writes a check. I don't eye-roll, harrumph, or tap. I smile. She gives me that apologetic look that says she written checks in long lines all over town and almost come to fisticuffs over it. I smile back.

Then the cash register freezes. It won't accept her check. It won't print a receipt. It just won't. I'm still smiling; seriously, still smiling. The poor kid, Wendell is his name, is turning all sorts of red; sweat forms at his hairline and his eyes grow large, like the woman with the check is now holding a double-barrel shotgun instead of a Bic Clic. He's calling for help and no one is answering.

Ms. Miriam,, who took the place of Beefy Moron as line guard, is chatting with a friend. Finally, Check-Writer gets Ms. Miriam's attention and she tells Wendell how to fix it.

At which point, Check-writer turns to me and says, with one of those sweet Southern lady smiles, He doesn't even know how to cash a check!

To which I reply: It's not him, it's the computer.

From her: Well, he ought to know how to do it.

Do you? I say, with my Christmas smile.

Check-writer goes mute.

I smile more.

Happy shopping!

Do The Hustle

Okay, so as I've said before, I don't wait until the last minute to do my Christmas shopping, I wait until the minute before the last minute to start.
That was today.
I give Carlos the lowdown that I have errands to run--errands being code for 'I'm buying your presents....I should be a spy I'm so good with codes--and that I'll be going alone. He asks where I'm going and I say, None of your business. He wants to know why I won't say and I tell him that if I said where I was going he might know what I was buying and that wasn't happening. I'm spy smart, I tell you; spy smart.
So the lip came out. He has the cutest pout.
I promised to take the cell phone with me and off I went. Now, I can't even say what stores I visited because prying Latino eyes, and all that. Suffice to say that I hit one store and found a couple of things he might like, and little something that he could give to me, even though he didn't know it. I can't wait for him to see my face when I open it!
I go stand in the line to pay. Now, I'm not one of those impatient shoppers; I know it's Christmas; I know they're busy. I don't mind waiting.
But this woman, all scarves and woolen accessories--mind you it's in the mid-sixties and sunny--is in front of me. Foot tapping. Huffing. Puffing. Harrumphing, is a better term. Yeah. Harrumph! Craning her neck to see when it's her turn; rolling her eyes when someone at the counter pulls out a checkbook.
I thrive for this.
She's tapping, harrumphing, scarving, rolling, all over the place and finally turns to me to give me one of those, Can you believe it? looks. I smile back, and her face freezes; I would have thought it would melt under so many layers, but it actually froze.
How dare I smile. How dare I be patient. It's Christmas for cryin'out loud and there are crowds and people and traffic and cars and lines. And checkbooks.
But I smile. She harrumphed again and turned away.
At the next store, I found another little somethin' somethin' for Carlos and back in line I went. Only this place makes you stand at the end of what looks to be a cattle chute. And then some Beefy Moron, and I use the word moron in the nicest possible way, directs you toward a particular register.
I get up to the front of the line, and he's lookin'at me, and lookin'at the registers, and lookin'back at me. Finally, he shouts Number 10, Number 10, sir! I swear I heard a bell ring and off I went down the chute, lookin'for Number 10.
There's a woman ahead of me at Number 10. She's buying a gift card. Now, I suppose some people like gift cards, and they do come in handy. But at this particular store, I think that buying a gift card is like saying I really don't care for you enough to spend more than five minutes shopping for you. Or it's the obligatory under-$15 gift card for the office gift exchange. Whatever. I am not a fan of the gift card. (side note: I got a gift card for my Dad, but only because the place that honors the card is in his town, and his town is 3,000 from mine.)
So she writes a check. I don't eye-roll, harrumph, or tap. I smile. She gives me that apologetic look that says she written checks in long lines all over town and almost come to fisticuffs over it. I smile back.
Then the cash register freezes. It won't accept her check. It won't print a receipt. It just won't. I'm still smiling; seriously, still smiling. The poor kid, Wendell is his name, is turning all sorts of red; sweat forms at his hairline and his eyes grow large, like the woman with the check is now holding a double-barrel shotgun instead of a Bic Clic. He's calling for help and no one is answering. Ms. Miriam,, who took the place of Beefy Moron as line guard, is chatting with a friend. Finally, Check-Writer gets Ms. Miriam's attention and she tells Wendell how to fix it.
At which point, Check-writer turns to me and says, with one of those sweet Southern lady smiles, : He doesn't even know how to cash a check!
To which I reply: It's not him, it's the computer.
From her: Well, he ought to know how to do it.
Do you? I say, with my Christmas smile.
Check-writer goes mute.
I smile more.
Happy shopping!