Xmas in July

July 14, 2016 at 7:14 am (Cosmic Encounters)

As I get older, when it comes to being impatient, the phrase “your mileage may vary” seems to fit.

At work, I stare at people as they choose which sugary treat to give them that push through the rest of the afternoon. I have the same issues with the humdrum of daily life. I need that extra boost sometimes. I’ve been chugging high-sugar, high-caffeine ice coffees lately, but no matter how jacked up on caffeine I get I can’t hurry the motherfuckers up.

Extra! Make the cussed-dumber a tweaker. If the food stamps are in, they will wander the store and spend $40, mostly on gummy candies, Rockstar drinks and Little Debbies. If they shop for an hour and have forgotten their card, or it has a balance of $0.41? You better have stolen a lot of shit, because you will be remembered for a couple months, and we will make a point of watching your every twitch forevermore.

Daddy's Little Helpers

Daddy’s Little Helpers

Of course I get bored. I am insistent on doing my job. Others with customer burnout just sit and read or play with their phone until quitting time, looking up only when a customer comes to the counter. This is not good! You need to make eye contact every few moments. It lets them know who’s in charge.

As I get bored, I do what I do when I get bored. I party! Well, party is overstating, but I, ahem, augment my realities to make the situation more enjoyable. I started doing that with alcohol in the late ’70s, and continued to maintain a functioning alcoholic lifestyle for about twenty years. After giving up alcohol, over numerous tries, I quit completely and switched to high-quality green bud for my get-through-the-day best friend. I have not regretted that.

But I am a respectful professional, and I can’t just wander out onto the porch, burn half a joint and butt it out the way Festus does his see-gars. Even when legal, people still frown when they smell the skunk. WHAT WILL I DO?

Now that weed’s legal, and they have vapor pens, half the people you see puffing on fruity smelling electronic devices are getting high out of their mind before going back in to analyze spread sheets. The crowd waiting for the MAX by the Waterfront Store has never been more polite or fun-loving. (“Ooh! I love your pickle scarf!”) I blame the Dispensary, not the Irish bar. It always smells skunky out there, and for once it ain’t me!

Now I have two vapor pens, the Intergalactic Crack Pipe and a stylish screw-on oil pen given to me by Dizzy. She was having trouble getting it to draw. It’s almost out of oil, but the oil in it was 21% THC, 35% CBD. Ho-lee cow! I mess with it, swirl it around, take a puff and get a half-hit that makes my head warm and my feet float for about an hour. I’m hitting it only at work until it dies.

I am okay with the public. Always have been, but the scabs on my soul are getting a bit thin. My ups and downs with pills are coming to an involuntary close, but I can see it’s for the best. I figure I will enjoy them until they are no more, and then go back to suffering through life the way everyone else does.

Normally.

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