Ladies and gentlemen, I have found my wallet. You may now return from the edge of your seats.
I found it, of course, ten minutes after I'd finally given it up for lost and chalked it up to another plot by Number 2 to finally drive me to my breaking point and purchase himself something with a market value equal to or less than four dollars. But as it turns out, I'd just been too tired to take it out of my pocket when I got home, and it dropped into a basket of socks when I folded my jeans.
Thanks, Occam's Razor!
Unfortunately, I did nothing today but look for my wallet and watch the Prisoner again, with a short break to marvel at the fact that Fastlane is now showing on CourtTV. Seriously, with Michael Jackson acquitted, times are hard on the boulevard for those folks. Anyway, you're going to have to content yourselves with reading what happened to me yesterday, instead.
Here's how it all started. I woke up early so that I could go to the store and play a few games of Necromunda with Tug's buddy Josh, an all-around cool cat that schooled my team (The Unholy Bastards, led by Sgt. Badamadeuce) twice in a row. But that all came later. When my alarm got me up, I flipped on the TV, and before I'd even opened my eyes, I was chilled to the bone by the sound of evil.
"I try my best to quickly put it on viiii-brate..."
Yep. R. Kelly. And he was trapped in that frigg'n closet again. I'd left the TV on VH1 after watching Best Week Ever, and those guys apparently didn't get the memo that nobody needs to be exposed to that video before noon. Although I will admit, the guy who plays Rufus is starting to grow on me.
Anyway, when I finally made it out of the house, I realized that if I actually wanted to propel myself to work, I was going to require the use of your earth-gasoline. Which meant I was going to have to go to the gas station by my house, which makes up for having cheap and reliable fuel by having the worst customer service of any gas station in the history of man.
This was the place that I had to stand outside of for fifteen minutes waiting for them to turn on my pump one day, and when I went inside, the lady told me she couldn't see me. I turned around to look, and noticed that while the storefront is made entirely of windows, they've taken to stacking up cases of beer and soda in front of them so that she couldn't see the pumps. You know, unless she ever moved two feet to her left. Or listened to the beeping of the console that alerts her whenever someone's trying to get gas. Or got her GED.
Anyway, since it's such a hassle, I usually just pay at the pump, but with my debit card nestled snugly in a basket of socks at the time, I had to make do. So I cruise in, hit "Pay Inside," lift up the handle, and shove the nozzle into my ride.
And nothing happens. I check the display, which encourages me to "Begin Fueling." Well, I'd love to, but alas. I decide to just move to another pump, but as I hang up the nozzle, the display says I've gotten about twenty bucks in gas. I'm not sure if this was a holdover to the previous guy or what, so I go inside to make sure everything's cool, and ask her to maybe push the button that lets me get gas next time.
I stand there for a few minutes while the large, hateful woman behind the counter shrieks "WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?!" at a wizened old man who wants to buy a candy bar. They discuss the Powerball jackpot for a few minutes. I take one look at the guy as he purchases a lottery ticket and a carton of Winstons, and decide he's an Alanis Morisette lyric just waiting to happen. Finally, he shuffles off, and I tell the lady my problem.
"Did you lift the handle?"
"Because you have to lift the handle."
"Well, go out and try it again. And remember to lift the handle."
Now I don't begrudge her for thinking I was an idiot. I mean, look at the people I have to deal with in my job. But after I was outside, and she not only mimed pulling up the lever through the window, but also sent another customer outside to tell me to pull up the lever... well, I thought that was a little extreme.
I mean, really. It's not like I'm this guy or somethin'.