Walked downtown to the post office at lunch, so I could mail a painting and some cigar-tin stories. It was the usual bullshit bingo: stooped Ukrainian women clutching parcels wrapped in butcher paper and string, middle-aged bearded guys in leather jackets trying to buy a single stamp, and herds of university girls wanting passport photos and the postal code for Vietnam. I ran into a guy who used to work in my department. His new outfit, apparently, is having their xmas banquet tonight.
We had to cancel ours, I said.
Why was that? he asked.
Because the managers' head table was going to be bigger than all the others put together, I said {true story}.
My old coworker then lamented that he might not enjoy his own dinner so much anyway, because his wife was out of town and he wouldn't be able to drink (and drive).
Can't get another date? I asked.
At which point the pint-sized old lady behind me piped right up. He better not! she croaked from behind her giant package. No fooling around party for you!
Leave it to the lil' ol' ladies to keep you guys in line!
ReplyDeletethey are the secret police which govern all common areas of our society in north america. ya gott live long to get in, but damn i hope i make it! :)
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