I've been buying a bunch of stuff from Music Go Round lately-- odds and ends that I need for McKenna's and my recording project.
A few months ago I bought a $300 slingerland bass drum that stands up like a floor tom. I paid in mostly one dollars bills, explaining/apologizing to the guy (who I think owns the store) that I'm a pizza delivery man-- hence the ones.
I've been back every other week and since then he's asked me about McDonalds, as in he thinks I work there. I guess he filed away "stupid job" in the customer small talk part of his brain. Fair enough. Or he assumes that, because I'm so fat, I eat at McDonalds all the time and would like to talk about it.
It's getting dark earlier and more difficult to read the addresses of these Grosse Pointe mansions; they're all set so far back from the street. I don't like this job anymore. Fall was my favorite season for as long as I can remember, but last year was a nightmare and this one is shaping up to be the same.
I met Reilly, McKenna, and Kal at a bar where McKenna and I used to do open mic last winter. I was going to play a song on the jukebox but bought a scratch off ticket from a vending machine instead. I won eleven dollars. Lucky me.
In April of 2018 I rode the train, alone, to Chicago to see the Lillingtons-- one of my favorite bands when I was a teen. I took an early Amtrak and arrived at my sister's apartment by noon or so. It was a Wednesday, and Mary and Ed were still at work. I got a key from their doorman, finished the book I had started on the train I'm Thinking of Ending Things and walked around their neighborhood.
The morning after the show (it ruled, all hits; they did this thing where they'd turn around, bow down and do a seance type thing but really they were tuning their guitars) I went on a long walk with Mary; we went to brunch. She had a specific restaurant in mind. A few blocks away, she spotted a group of basics who she thought were headed to the same place and insisted we run past them. She was right and it saved us a forty-five minute wait.
Last month I found a lady of shalott poster and the first weezer album on cassette at an estate sale in west bloomfield. I'm trying to hold on to that feeling
I was twenty minutes late to work this morning. I woke up and everything but couldn't get up. I told this to my boss-- the grocery manager and she said, "it was too good to you."
I knocked over a bunch of kombucha bottles and they didn't break
my gym bag smells like a glue stick
Garden of Life products were forty percent off at the vitamin store where I work, so as a result I rang and rang and rang all day yesterday.
My shift began at eleven a.m., but I acknowledged each customer with "good afternoon" because "good morning" sort of sounds like you fucked them and now it's morning. And it's already awkward enough, because in order to look up someone's account (so they can get their reward points) I have to ask for their name. People are used to giving their phone number for that sort of thing, because that's what every other store on earth uses. But this place uses first and last names. So I have to ask everyone what their god damned name is like a psycho.
Last night some guy's last name was Voorhees. My co-worker, who was bagging for me, said, "Voorhees-- that sounds so familiar." And I said, "yeah like Jason and his mom Pamela." But she hadn't seen those movies. The guy's wife had been her teacher.
Earlier in the week, a customer wanted to know if we carry "liquid euthanasia for children." I said, "yeah, echinacea-- we have it." I started to tell one of the supplements department workers that story so I could say, "who makes that? Garden of DEATH?" But before I got to that part, she said, "euthanasia? isn't that a Megadeth album?" And I said, "yeah, it's the one posers like."