I had a odd moment on the phone with my mom today. She reads my blog. It bothers me for some reason. I don't like to think that I write for an audience. I started blogging simply to deal with the stress of graduate school. I still write to relive stress. I have a hard job made all the more difficult because of a highly charged political environment. So I write about whatever is in my head at the time I sit down at my computer. I just write.
I write fewer stories about my experiences because it's easier to pump out atheism based content. Plus, I'm not so sure people care. Oh wait - screw the whole audience thing, right? I should just write a few stories for myself. So here is a story from my day. If you don't like it, move on to one of my 2,700 other posts.
My wife's started my day today by reminding me to drop off a load of my son's clothing at the local Salvation Army. I had carried the clothing around in my truck for nearly two weeks. My wife was annoyed at my lack of follow through. You see, it's the start of the new school year. She's worried that poor kids might need my son's old clothing. She's a good woman at heart. I never think about this kind of thing.
After my 6:45 AM game of disc golf, I stopped at the Salvation Army to make a donation. I look like shit. I need coffee and a shower. It was 8:30 AM.
The fence was open and the place looked active so I walked towards the donation center looking for a warm body. I found a man moving boxes. I asked if they were open. His response was amazing. I'll do my best to repeat it below.
He yells, "Do we look open?" - He gestates with dirty hands around the parking lot. I look around and nod "Yes''.
He approaches while waving his hands. "That's what's wrong with you people, we're not open. We never open this early".
He puts his hands on his hips and then points at the Sun. "It ain't time yet. What does it take for you people to get that?"
He looks at me like he expects an answer. I keep my mouth shut.
"You people, you donors, you think you own the world. You come in here and drop your broken down shit off and expect me to jump around like a slave kissing your ass. Well let me tell you, we ain't open yet so I'm not kissing your ass."
I ask, "When do you open"? I'm already thinking about breaking his legs. I need to leave.
He points at the building and says "Figure it out yourself".
I look. I don't see any numbers, no time, no indication of open or closed, just a jumble of signs. I ask again. He says, "What are you, stupid? 9:00 AM".
I'm a nice guy, but I'm not a nice guy at the same time. I've heard it described as slow fuse, big boom. I think about hitting him in a soft spot, but dismiss it quickly. It's better to just drive away, so I do.
I'm back in 25 minutes. Mr. Nasty (that's what I call him now), has transformed into Mr. Nice Guy. I hold 50 pounds of clothing. He asks me to put it in the container for him. I say, "No, I expect you to jump down here and kiss my ass". He looks at me kind of funny. I see the lights come on.
He jumps down off the truck and offers an excuse. "Look man, this job sucks. I was just blowing off steam". I look him off. It scares him. He jumps back into the donations container and does some writing at his kiosk while muttering insincere apologies. A moment later he hands me three receipts and then winks. I just walk away.
My wife thinks I'm a hero.
