RedBox, in many ways, answered my prayers: access to new movies, for a minimal rental price, quite literally at my fingertips. Not only this, but the process is quick, easy, and stress-free. Someone should probably tell that to the guy I encountered this weekend at my local Stop & Shop.
This weekend was not one of my healthiest. Saturday (and Sunday for that matter) was spent in a blur of napping, watching television, and self-medicating. In between naps, I did manage to run a few errands, one of which was supposed to be returning my latest RedBox rental so I wouldn't be charged the excess fees. Like I always do when I am merely returning, I pulled my car up to the curb near the Stop & Shop entrance and ran inside to return my movie. Unfortunately, there were 3 people in line when I came in, one of which was finishing up and his DVD was being vended.
At this point, I was feeling much sicker than a few hours prior and it felt like I was swimming in my own head; I just wanted to return my movie and return to my bed. As the next guy in line started to step toward the machine, I asked politely if he would mind me jumping in to return my movie (which quite literally takes 3 seconds) because I didn't park my car and it just takes a second. I saw his lips move and I heard him speak but it was one of those moments where your brain registers the message after someone is already done talking. Soon enough, his words made their way to my ears and I realized he had actually said no - "No, I've been waiting for this for a long time" to be exact. Without an "I'm sorry" or even an apologetic shake of the head, he flat out shut me down! Completely taken aback by this type of rudeness, I didn't quite know what to say. So, I did what any other tough cookie in my case would do...I narrowed my eyes, and with an "Are you kidding me?" tone, said "Uhhhhhh, okay.." and walked out (such a badass).
Needless to say, my movie did not get returned for another 2 days and that jerk owes me $2.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
"Long Nail Man" Strikes Again
There are many occasions when a picture is truly worth a thousand words.
However, there are other occasions when taking a picture would be entirely inappropriate and thus, a thousand words will have to do.
I am not a superficial person...I try to reserve judgment, appreciate different views and lifestyles, and accept people for who they are. However, there are few things in the world that I find more disgusting than a man with gross fingernails and toenails...and that is where I draw the line.
My current job as a receptionist in a bank corporate headquarters exposes me to a wide variety of people, along with their peculiar habits, patterns, and personalities. There is a man who comes in every day to drop of "cash items" (I still don't know what this means) from the Federal Reserve Bank. Every day this man parks his gold station wagon in one of the 3 parking spots in the entire lot that do not belong to our company. He climbs out of his car and walks in wearing his usual attire (and when I say usual, I mean daily, with no variation whatsoever): his long blond greasy hair pulled back into a bun, a very dirty white (I think..) t-shirt under an open flannel shirt, grubby black sweatpants with elastic at the ankles, and old black sneakers. If it is raining or snowing, he wears a wicker-like straw fedora hat tipped forward like a cowboy walking into a saloon. Unfortunately for him, his massive belly, bright pink pig-like facial features, sweats, and sneakers sans spurs don't exactly contribute to the smooth Texas Ranger look. I digress.
As this man hands me his daily gift and pushes a clipboard into my hand to sign, I can't help but stare at his hands. At the tips are the most disgusting nails I have seen outside of the Guinness Book of World Records: very long, thick, yellow, and pointy like 10 little daggers; that alone is enough to test my stomach's resiliency, but atop these fungal weapons is a layer of clear nail polish, which is curious for obvious reasons.
I ask myself each morning what would possess a man to grow out his fingernails so long and then paint them. I wonder what he uses them for...Does he use them to mine for gold in his large swine-like nostrils? Does he pick the locks to his car when he loses his keys? Does he use them to ward off attackers?
I have yet to arrive at an answer. The mystery lives on.
However, there are other occasions when taking a picture would be entirely inappropriate and thus, a thousand words will have to do.
I am not a superficial person...I try to reserve judgment, appreciate different views and lifestyles, and accept people for who they are. However, there are few things in the world that I find more disgusting than a man with gross fingernails and toenails...and that is where I draw the line.
My current job as a receptionist in a bank corporate headquarters exposes me to a wide variety of people, along with their peculiar habits, patterns, and personalities. There is a man who comes in every day to drop of "cash items" (I still don't know what this means) from the Federal Reserve Bank. Every day this man parks his gold station wagon in one of the 3 parking spots in the entire lot that do not belong to our company. He climbs out of his car and walks in wearing his usual attire (and when I say usual, I mean daily, with no variation whatsoever): his long blond greasy hair pulled back into a bun, a very dirty white (I think..) t-shirt under an open flannel shirt, grubby black sweatpants with elastic at the ankles, and old black sneakers. If it is raining or snowing, he wears a wicker-like straw fedora hat tipped forward like a cowboy walking into a saloon. Unfortunately for him, his massive belly, bright pink pig-like facial features, sweats, and sneakers sans spurs don't exactly contribute to the smooth Texas Ranger look. I digress.
As this man hands me his daily gift and pushes a clipboard into my hand to sign, I can't help but stare at his hands. At the tips are the most disgusting nails I have seen outside of the Guinness Book of World Records: very long, thick, yellow, and pointy like 10 little daggers; that alone is enough to test my stomach's resiliency, but atop these fungal weapons is a layer of clear nail polish, which is curious for obvious reasons.
I ask myself each morning what would possess a man to grow out his fingernails so long and then paint them. I wonder what he uses them for...Does he use them to mine for gold in his large swine-like nostrils? Does he pick the locks to his car when he loses his keys? Does he use them to ward off attackers?
I have yet to arrive at an answer. The mystery lives on.
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