My brother...oh, my brother
It generally happens this way. When I get in a good-story-drought, my brother can always come through.
Background: He's a med student at the University of Missouri; bred on promptness; a lot like me, but a lot smarter; and in a long-term relationship.
Here's an e-mail I got from him yesterday...in its entirety:
It’s Saturday night. I am on my way to my girlfriend’s house.
We are planning a quiet evening together… maybe some booze, maybe some other stuff. Running a few minutes early, as usual, I think I might just stop and fill up the tank while the gas prices have reached their probable nadir for the year. The gas cap is open; the nozzle is in my hand. Pay inside or Pay outside? A no brainer. I love the convenience of modern technology that allows me to abuse fossil fuels without dragging anyone else down with me. I press “Pay Outside”.
Wait! Powerball is over 50 Million! Cancel! Cancel! Cancel! Whew. It’s not too late. Pay Inside. The fuel begins to flow. The numbers on the pump just keep going up, and up, and up; I don’t care, I am going to be rich in just a few hours. The pump finishes its work, and I screw the cap back to its rightful place and stroll inside, still a few minutes early for my date.
Several young girls are standing in line. I take my place behind them. They're a little under the influence of marijuana, I suspect, judging from the armfuls of chips, soda, candy, and Dashboard Diner sandwiches. Sure wish I could be that young and stupid again. Nah! Who needs it? Oh! My turn already.
"Pump number 7 and five Powerball, please." No direct response, but she nods and begins to process my request. The lady behind the counter is about 40ish, obese, none-too-attractive, and doesn’t smell like roses. Seems nice enough, though.
“Hmm,” she says, “expiration date error. That doesn’t seem right. Let me try again.” Pause. “Hmm, I can try one more thing.” My few minutes early are just about gone. I pride myself on my promptness. I had better solve this problem myself. I give her a second card. The card will work, but I am a bit disappointed. This is just a check card. It isn’t the original Discover card, for which I would have received approximately $0.247 in cashback bonus money at the end of the year. Time, however, is currently more important than earning these few cents.
I hear the familiar beep of a successful credit card transaction. The receipt is slid across the counter for me to sign. I quickly scribble something which may or may not actually be my name. Finally, the transaction is complete. I have Powerball tickets in hand, a full tank of gas, and a night of relaxation in sight. Oh, here comes my copy of the receipt. Better not forget that.
Wait, what’s the fat, old, ugly lady behind the counter doing? Is she writing something on my receipt? I’ve never seen that before. It must be because of all the trouble she had with the card, she wants to make sure it is documented that I was not overcharged. No. Wait. What is that she is writing? “I-d-a 8-1-7—4-4-2-4”. Hmm. That’s strange. Oh well. Time to go. I look up to nod goodbye.
Suddenly, the fat, old, ugly lady says “If you want to go out some time...” and hands me the receipt. Shit! What do I do? No time to think. Just run. Damn! My feet aren’t moving! How long have I been standing here? Should I say something? Just walk out calmly! Damn! Feet still not moving! Ok. Calm down. Just do what comes naturally.
I wink. I smile. I slowly walk out the door.
My brother...
It generally happens this way. When I get in a good-story-drought, my brother can always come through.
Background: He's a med student at the University of Missouri; bred on promptness; a lot like me, but a lot smarter; and in a long-term relationship.
Here's an e-mail I got from him yesterday...in its entirety:
It’s Saturday night. I am on my way to my girlfriend’s house.
We are planning a quiet evening together… maybe some booze, maybe some other stuff. Running a few minutes early, as usual, I think I might just stop and fill up the tank while the gas prices have reached their probable nadir for the year. The gas cap is open; the nozzle is in my hand. Pay inside or Pay outside? A no brainer. I love the convenience of modern technology that allows me to abuse fossil fuels without dragging anyone else down with me. I press “Pay Outside”.
Wait! Powerball is over 50 Million! Cancel! Cancel! Cancel! Whew. It’s not too late. Pay Inside. The fuel begins to flow. The numbers on the pump just keep going up, and up, and up; I don’t care, I am going to be rich in just a few hours. The pump finishes its work, and I screw the cap back to its rightful place and stroll inside, still a few minutes early for my date.
Several young girls are standing in line. I take my place behind them. They're a little under the influence of marijuana, I suspect, judging from the armfuls of chips, soda, candy, and Dashboard Diner sandwiches. Sure wish I could be that young and stupid again. Nah! Who needs it? Oh! My turn already.
"Pump number 7 and five Powerball, please." No direct response, but she nods and begins to process my request. The lady behind the counter is about 40ish, obese, none-too-attractive, and doesn’t smell like roses. Seems nice enough, though.
“Hmm,” she says, “expiration date error. That doesn’t seem right. Let me try again.” Pause. “Hmm, I can try one more thing.” My few minutes early are just about gone. I pride myself on my promptness. I had better solve this problem myself. I give her a second card. The card will work, but I am a bit disappointed. This is just a check card. It isn’t the original Discover card, for which I would have received approximately $0.247 in cashback bonus money at the end of the year. Time, however, is currently more important than earning these few cents.
I hear the familiar beep of a successful credit card transaction. The receipt is slid across the counter for me to sign. I quickly scribble something which may or may not actually be my name. Finally, the transaction is complete. I have Powerball tickets in hand, a full tank of gas, and a night of relaxation in sight. Oh, here comes my copy of the receipt. Better not forget that.
Wait, what’s the fat, old, ugly lady behind the counter doing? Is she writing something on my receipt? I’ve never seen that before. It must be because of all the trouble she had with the card, she wants to make sure it is documented that I was not overcharged. No. Wait. What is that she is writing? “I-d-a 8-1-7—4-4-2-4”. Hmm. That’s strange. Oh well. Time to go. I look up to nod goodbye.
Suddenly, the fat, old, ugly lady says “If you want to go out some time...” and hands me the receipt. Shit! What do I do? No time to think. Just run. Damn! My feet aren’t moving! How long have I been standing here? Should I say something? Just walk out calmly! Damn! Feet still not moving! Ok. Calm down. Just do what comes naturally.
I wink. I smile. I slowly walk out the door.
My brother...
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