breakin all the rules

Here I sit on a conference call and typing this would break one of my rules about blogging on work time if I wasn’t listening to a repeat of the forty-five minute meeting I just endured. I am evaluating a new manager so I took notes like a cranked up schizophrenic for the first fifteen minutes and then her monotone delivery turned into a hum like a hive full of bees. It doesn’t help that I’m not in the room but its warm here at the stupidoffice so I went into a run of full-on head bobs. Now that I have a sore neck and we are ten minutes in nearing the really boring final thirty I am writing this as a survival technique. I have to give a little report after both meetings end and when I’m done typing this I’ll go to an online thesaurus to help dull the sharpness of my evaluation. Sadly in business I need to be a little less ME.

Speaking of ME I thought I was going to get in a fight at the Walgreen’s last night. Since Liza needs more allergy pills than the current drug overlords are comfortable with I had to drag my ass out to score I mean buy some. I don’t quite get that by the way because the folks that run meth labs readily giving their identification over to the asshole pharmacist that they see a couple times a month doesnt seem like it would happen a bunch but what do I know other than its an asspain. After that terrible sentence you probably would like me to stop now but I need to finish the story.

So I’m standing in line waiting to score next to a complete family unit. The baby in the cart is screaming at the top of his lungs for a ball in the toy isle. The dad was pacing and rubbing the full length of his arms then back to the top of his head and working down the other side. His eight year old asked what was wrong with him and he half shouted that he was having an anxiety attack. I don’t suffer from that particular mental malady but is sounded so weak coming out of a fathers mouth to his young child. Then he starts panic asking his wife who was busy at the counter probably trying to refill his anti-psychotics what was wrong with the baby.

She must be numb to his nonsense because six asks got nothing so I leaned over and said that he wanted the ball. I am no kid whisperer I just looked at what he was pointing at and followed the screamed BAAAA clue. The dad wheeled on me like I just asked him what color the sky was in his world. Big eyed shaky stare with both fists balled. That’s when I realized that I might have my first ever drugstore fight. I came close in seventh grade when Tim beat this kid up and his older brother caught us in the Osco alone but he ended up leaving when he realized that we weren’t scared if he was going to take us on at the same time. Anyway, I resisted the urge to mess with the crazy guy because his kids were there. The helpful eight year old had just retrieved the ball for her brother and without the crying his fruity anxiety was diminishing. That poor woman was dealing with a hot mess and once she got his elephant tranquilizers they left.