Apartment shopping.

I was apartment shopping the other day with my future roommate. We spoke with a nice lady about the financial details. In order to give us an accurate quote she asked us some questions. One of which was:

Her: “Will you be bringing any pets with you?”

Me: “Just pet peeves.”

Her head rose as though she were lifting nearly impossible weight with her neck. Her face registered no expression. The only way I knew she was still alive was from a series of blinks.

Me: “Uhhh…???” I looked at my future roommate to see if the joke landed there. He chuckled. Armed with that slight reassurance I looked back at the lady. She hadn’t stopped blinking and showcasing what is possibly the best poker face I’ve ever seen. Was the joke still processing? Couldn’t be, it wasn’t complicated. Was she partially paralyzed by my humor? Hard to say.

Can’t win em all over I suppose. The experience failed to dissuade me from thinking I could. I had a feeling she would soon appreciate the skills…call it woman’s intuition. I didn’t have to wait long before another opportunity to shine presented itself. By shine I of course mean an opportunity to display my unique ability to make a donkey of myself. Eventually you would think I would get embarrassed and stop. If so, you would be so very, very wrong. Few things are certainties. This is one of them.

Not in the mood to finish the remainder of the experience. Perhaps I will at a later time.

Oh so hungry.

I’m so hungry that I’m tempted to go to fish something out of the toilet.

Don’t judge me.

A verbal exchange with a super hot substitute in one of my high school classes.

Sub: “Here is your test, E.”
Me: “How did you know who I am? Scratch that, I don’t care. I’m off to explore new drugs and sleep with questionable women.”
Sub: “Sounds like a solid life plan. Where do I sign up?”
Me: "Why Miss Jenkins I didn’t think you swung that way.”
Sub: “A door that swings both ways swings more often.”
Me: “Uncontestable logic. Grab the hot girl in the second row and let’s go make some bad decisions.”
Sub: “You mean Jenny. Excellent selection. She’s a lot of fun. She’s bendy too.”
Me: “Nice. I can’t wait. Why are your clothes still on?”

Getting spoiled incessantly spoils getting spoiled later.

“Are you able to perform the required task, sir?”

The responsibility weighed heavily upon my brow. Sitting in an exit row is a big deal. Seeing as though I am as big of a deal as Ron Burgundy, it only made sense I was assigned the responsibility. The woman at the ticket verifying counter selected me from the myriad of other candidates. She knew I was best able to handle the physical and emotional responsibilities of manning the exit hatch. Me. No one else. I was the only qualified flyer. The template for which all future candidates would be measured against I’m sure.

“That I am. If I were created for only one purpose, it would be that.”

“Ummm….okaaay. You may now proceed to the boarding gate, sir.”

“But of course. Please inform the passengers of the assured safety my able body will be providing during today’s flight.”

“Uhhh…sure. I’ll get on the horn and relay the message ASAP.” [cough] “Tool box” [cough]

“Get yourself a respirator for that nasty cough too. You come in contact with too many people to not take precautionary measures when it comes to spreading sickness.”

It is of little wonder that situations like this have provided the impetus for constantly washing my hands like I was OCD. Anyway, approaching the terminal I noticed a nice little reception party. I am so used to having the red carpet rolled out for me I no longer question the reason. This particular time however I wondered why, probably because it was smaller than normal. A nearby sign illuminated the reason. It read: “Frontier Airline’s inaugural flight to Louisville from Salt Lake.” Interesting. I pondered on that as I boarded the plan. Apparently I would not be the only one getting spoiled on the flight although each of the flight stewardesses’ eyes lecherously suggested the contrary. So be it.

They pulled out all the stops for my flying companions and I. Case in point; they allowed me the whole can of soda instead of the three stingy drops they splash onto ten ice cubes. A word of caution, don’t hesitate in swallowing the few precious drops of chilled liquid they usually provide. Do so and be disappointed when the delayed drinking action results in nothing but sadness. Waiting will evaporate the liquid long before you get the chance to wet your throat with it. I’ve always wondered why they ration the sodas. Do they only allot one can of each kind of soda for the whole plane? I want a thirst quenching amount, not one that arouses my thirst and does nothing to abate it.

While marinating in the gladness that came with receiving a whole can of soda, I was presented with an essential swag bag. They were given to all passengers as way of remembering the historic event.* I was so impressed with its contents that I quickly threw it in the next passing stewardess’ outstretched garbage bag without caring if the giver was watching. I’m sure the land fill will appreciate the donation.

Make no mistake the red carpet was not only rolled out for the inaugural flight. Seeing as though I would be forever remembered in the Frontier Airline’s archives and probably whispered about in the halls as the guy that would have expertly handled the exit door responsibilities should the need have arisen, they treated me like royalty on the return flight too. While flying to Denver, the control tower felt it necessary to allow the pilots to dillydally in a holding pattern for a half an hour or so because of a “major” rainstorm in Denver.

Upon arriving in Denver and surveying the skies, my eyes could only detect traces of a very minor rainstorm. I don’t know how quickly rain clouds can up and evaporate or move to other destinations but what I did know was that I was late as shit for my connecting flight. We landed precisely 5 minutes after my other flight was supposed to depart. The crew, realizing they had a bit of a celebrity they were detaining, alerted the other passengers that I would take de-boarding precedence and that they were to remain seated while I hastened to make my other plane 12 gates away. Sucks to be a peon…or so I’m told.

The connecting flight was held on the ground until I was able to board it. Many passengers were upset about sitting on the tarmac for 15 minutes. Their discomfort quickly dissipated when they discovered they were waiting for me. As we took off, I couldn’t help but wonder for a second time in a twenty minute span why there was no turbulence accompanying our flight. Zero turbulence landing. Zero turbulence taking off. Clearly substantial evidence of a “major” rainstorm barely avoided.

*My activities have been making a bunch of entries in history’s log books lately. Just a couple weeks prior I made history by attending the opening Bee’s game. We set the Bee’s record for opening game attendance. It felt nice to be such an integral piece of our great nation’s history. I don’t take my involvement lightly. Writing history by simply living life is a great responsibility and I act accordingly. It could easily be said I am living history.

Suns-Jazz weather preview for tonight's game.

SUNny with a high chance of rain from the three point line.

GO SUNS!!!

Future conversation with my wife. Part III

Wife: I’m ready to get back on the horse.

Me: That’s great. I was unaware you were trying to quit something.

Wife: Hmmm? Totally not quitting anything. I was meaning I’m ready to mount you again.

Me: Oh right cause I’m hung like a…yeah I get it. Man I’m awesome.

Wife: In the truest sense of the word, not modern vernacular.

Me: [blink, blink]

Wife: Awesome meaning tremendous, breathtaking, massive. Clearly I’m not with you for your scant intelligence.

Me: Ha ha. You said scat.

Wife: Scant you gorgeous moron. Just take your clothes off.

Me: I wonder why you even bother dressing me every morning when you just undress me every time I see you.

Work business.

I am glad the bathroom partitions at my work don’t continue to the floor. Largely because the lower open space provides valuable information as to the identity of your neighbor. I don’t look to see who it is to start a conversation. I don’t look because I have a shoe fetish. I look because this inconspicuous deed sometimes saves my life.

Sometimes I have mere moments to finalize the paper work and flee ground zero. Some go about their business quietly. Some mask their business with a flushing of the toilet. Some believe the stalls to be concert venues/stages and proceed to unleash anal symphonies played by a musically disinclined brass section.

Whatever their preference is, I prefer they do their business elsewhere or at another time when I’m occupying a stall. I used to work at a building that had two urinals and two stalls on each level. Working on the first floor and knowing it was heavily trafficked forced me to venture to other floors to attend to business matters. Surreptitiously folded over in my hand was a freshly printed sheet of paper with a strip of tape and three magical words emblazoned on the front.

OUT OF ORDER

I don’t like to be neighbored up. This magical, posted declaration prevented such occurrences…most of the time. Unfortunately it wasn’t foolproof. Many times however, I would hear hurried footsteps loudly crash to the stall, pause to allow the potential intruder time to read the sign falsely advertising faulty facilities then I’d hear an audible sigh of disgust. Success!! It took all I had to conceal my laughter sometimes. Good thing I was on the toilet and could allow little amounts of pee to escape safely.

I have come to learn so much more about the shoes of the people I work with. More than I ever wanted. Shoes tell a lot about a person. They tell if a person is neat, orderly, filthy, etc. Most importantly they can incite the aforementioned Pavlonian response. For example, I hear keys jingling in the bathroom I know our heavy set (don’t know what his title is) is coming to defile some porcelain. Each time I wonder anew if he has never excreted the contents of his colon before. It is as though he has held onto them his whole life and has chosen the precise, damnable moment I’m there to release the contents in the most audibly disturbing manner. Babies crying are a more pleasing sound than the ear drum rape he shares.

I don’t know how I can be so revolted by this entirely natural phenomenon. Especially considering that I will be working on the other end of the tube in a few years. Sounds a mouth makes are nowhere as troubling as the exit side of the tube. Anywho think about this the next time you’re on the job. Study the footwear of your neighbors. Associate the accompanying activity of the wearer. It will aid you in your future neighboring endeavors.