Me and the Common Man. Working things on out.
Here I am, bitching and moaning about being unable to think of anything to write about, WHEN FATE THROWS ME A DOUGHNUT!
It's out among the common people, the working man, the 9-5 schlub in the steel-toed boots -- that's where the action is!
I drove to work today, something I am normally loathe to do, but my bride has an appointment in the early evening, so I took the car that I may beat a hasty early exit, so to provide parental care to the wee ones.
Got to the parking garage, after a forty drive that scarily I remember little about (morning commute zen). Get out to shut the door, then watch in a disassociated state as I lock the door and slam it shut with the keys on the front seat.
Brain: "I am locking the door. There are the keys. Must get to the keys. Before I shut the door. SHUT THE DOOR. I MUST SHUT THE DOOR. THE KEYS! THE DOOR! I am shutting the door, there are my keys. Oh, my keys. No. No. No. Dear god. I have shut the door."
So I call the road service guys and stand for 45 minutes staring at my office from across the street in the fall air, discovering a small hole in the ass of my pants thanks to the off-shore breezes finding a snug little cul de sac in my glutteal fold.
The guy shows up: sort of a bright-eyed young chap, neatly groomed in that cheery sort of service guy way. Ahhh, the salt of the earth.
Me: "Morning"
He: "What happened? Was you thinking about some snatch and got distracted?"
Me: Silence.
(For non-North American English speakers, snatch means... well, you know what it means.)
Co-worker Dylan had the best response: "No. Thinking about hot young locksmiths, actually."
It's out among the common people, the working man, the 9-5 schlub in the steel-toed boots -- that's where the action is!
I drove to work today, something I am normally loathe to do, but my bride has an appointment in the early evening, so I took the car that I may beat a hasty early exit, so to provide parental care to the wee ones.
Got to the parking garage, after a forty drive that scarily I remember little about (morning commute zen). Get out to shut the door, then watch in a disassociated state as I lock the door and slam it shut with the keys on the front seat.
Brain: "I am locking the door. There are the keys. Must get to the keys. Before I shut the door. SHUT THE DOOR. I MUST SHUT THE DOOR. THE KEYS! THE DOOR! I am shutting the door, there are my keys. Oh, my keys. No. No. No. Dear god. I have shut the door."
So I call the road service guys and stand for 45 minutes staring at my office from across the street in the fall air, discovering a small hole in the ass of my pants thanks to the off-shore breezes finding a snug little cul de sac in my glutteal fold.
The guy shows up: sort of a bright-eyed young chap, neatly groomed in that cheery sort of service guy way. Ahhh, the salt of the earth.
Me: "Morning"
He: "What happened? Was you thinking about some snatch and got distracted?"
Me: Silence.
(For non-North American English speakers, snatch means... well, you know what it means.)
Co-worker Dylan had the best response: "No. Thinking about hot young locksmiths, actually."
Labels: Greg's Life As Nincompoop
posted by Greg Mills at 11:15 AM
4 Comments:
Ben there,done that; funny, but not so much when it`s you.
word verif:fkklky
swear to god....
ben --
I see what you mean.
Yeah.
once I locked my keys in my car while it was still running. how'd that happen you didn't ask? I saw a cat and was in a hurry to pet it.
btw, I didn't realize you did those hilarious Bay to Breakers ads. had I known, I might have treated you with a little more respect. doubtful, but maybe.
"Oh, shit. Cat."
I love that.
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