top of page

Blog: Heating Up

(originally written 7/6/12)

At 11:45 am, I was already set to write this day off as a total loss.


It all began at 7:48 a.m.

I woke up cranky, mad at myself for not properly retaliating against a couple of inbred punks who disrespected my dream. Had to shake that off, however—too many waking tasks needed completion, among them check-cashing and grocery shopping.


One problem—can't find my ATM card. Gone without a trace. My blood temperature rises a bit, up to 98.8 degrees.


Since my replacement driver's license still has not arrived in the mail, all signs point to check-cashing difficulties ahead.


I arrive at the local in-store branch just after 9am—only to learn they open at 10am.

Temperature: 99.5


As I debate whether or not to wait the hour out, or drive across town to the full-service branch, the manager of a company I applied to calls. This can ONLY be good news, right? Not even I can get fired from a job I don't even have.


Greg soon informs me that because I lack recent experience in the positions available (not required according to the ad) I'm not likely to be considered.



Thanks for getting my hopes up.


You know, I've griped as much as anyone about the lack of courtesy by companies who don't contact rejected job seekers just to inform them they weren't considered, and now that one has contacted me, I understand why they don't. 

Temperature: 101.5


I wait out the remaining 50 minutes and return to the bank at 10am sharp where some female suit tells the waiting customers that they will not be opening on time due to some malfunction or something. I'm now officially upset.

Temperature: 110.1


I drive across town to the other bank (being delayed by a fire truck along the way). The line simply DOES NOT MOVE for several minutes, in part because some middle-aged cranks are hogging a teller with their bizarre requests, internal arguing and comically poor hearing.

Temperature: 115.9


It's finally my turn. As expected, they will not cash my check without photo I.D.; a photocopy of the I.D., temporary I.D. and SSN are insufficient. Looking back, I'm positive that only my medication kept me from making a scene. At least there's indisputable proof it works.

Temperature: 122.2


I now head to the local check-cashing facility, where they will pay me...with a $12 fee and a lot of questions, of course.

Temperature: 128.7


(I falied to mention that every parking lot/space I exited throughout this morning, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid either someone going NASCAR behind me, or Rose, White & Blue Parade in front of me. So let's up that temperature to 130 even.)


Finally paid, I manage to pump gas without incident before heading to Taco Bell—all the unplanned running around and waiting got me hungry. As I walk toward the entrance I'm nearly brought to my knees by an out-of-nowhere ambulance siren about 10 feet away. Only on a day like today.

Temperature: 140.4


I place my order to the Liev-Schreiber-doppleganger cashier, who asks if I want the combo meal.

ME: No.

LSDC: It comes with chips.

ME: No.

LSDC: It's cheaper!


ME (externally): No.

Temperature: 155.3



Don't let the eight weeks of scruffy beard growth fool you, Mr. Schreiber-wannabe. I can afford 72 extra cents if it gets me my food quicker. Really. I can.

You see, I used to work at The Bell in the early 2000's. I know firsthand that once you start deleting stuff off the register and re-entering it, you're almost guaranteed to f--- up. Which causes delays, a need to repeat my entire order, possibly the manager called over, a lot of preventable hassle. You've probably figured out by now the last thing I need right now is more hassle. 


As I eat, some heavily-accented chick and two kids saunter in. The mom's own order is unbearably picky (no sour cream, no meat, extra lettuce, light sauce, no cheese, yes cheese, and on and on) and even worse for the kids (no rice, extra rice, is your guacamole made from avocados, yada yada blah blah SHUT UP! GO MAKE YOUR OWN FOOD AT HOME!!


I'm sorry, that last line came from my head.

Temperature: 158.0


Her finickiness coupled with the cashier's difficulty understanding her dragged this order out to four full minutes. Yes, I counted. The irony: one of the kids still didn't like her meal.


SO glad my daughter isn't like that—she will eat anything, especially if it's on Daddy's plate and he really wants it himself.


It seems as if everything is finally in order and I can at long last begin shopping. Except my body has decided now would be an excellent time for a little...Montezuma's Revenge. GREAT.

Temperature: 175.0


I've already used up my one annual "Get Out Of Montezuma's Revenge" card this year—in May, while hiking with friends, M-R tried to rear its' ugly head but I played my card, complete with appropriate swearing and gyrations. But I'm not here to talk about the past.


Flying up the road and waiting at a light near the crib, here comes yet another emergency vehicle—fire truck again, needing to turn left and forcing me to run the light to accommodate it. (Seriously, what the hell was going on? Three emergency vehicles in my realm before 11am? Is there another parade going on I don't know about?)


Now, as a pro driver, I know for a fact that what I did is not only legal, but also required if it can be safely done so. Apparently, nobody else at the intersection knew that because after the truck passed and I surveyed my surroundings, at least three pairs of disapproving eyes—one attached to a shaking head—were fixated upon me.


Final Temperature: 202, just short of official blood-boiling...


It's now 2:30. I've long since handled business, taken a quick nap, and put the events of the morning behind me. 

Time to give Friday, July 6 a mulligan.

And myself an icepak...

bottom of page