I made a fruit smoothie (out of peach yoghurt, cherries, orange juice, and crushed ice; it was a’ight) and stood at the kitchen sink, drinking the excess straight out of the blender, and I felt like such a boy. It was fun.
I stopped by the drugstore a couple days ago to drop off a disposable camera for photo processing. I don’t even remember what’s on there, but it’s been sitting on top of my bed’s headboard for the past two months or so. Super charismatically mysterious. But this is not the point. The point is that while I was filling out my photo envelope at the counter, the guy adjacent to me was loudly jabbering away on his cell phone. Actually, he had one of those hands-free headsets that I always laugh at because it makes people appear as if they’re talking to themselves. Which this guy may have been, for all I know. With his conveniently freed hands, he was sifting through a pile of photographs, some of them black and white. He was tall and blonde and looked normal enough, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and shoes. His phone conversation sort of went as follows:
“Daniel, I told you, I’m at Longs, picking up pictures. I’m looking right at them right now. Daniel, I’m looking right at them. Here’s one of you in front of your great-grandfather’s house. Here’s one of an iguana and a giraffe sitting on a chair that’s at least two hundred years old. [Laughing.] Daniel, you have to see the iguana and the giraffe! What do you think of that! And here’s one of… [Mumbling indistinctly.] I’m looking right at the pictures, Daniel, what do you think of that! What do you think, huh? [Pauses, fiddles with his phone.] Sorry, Daniel, I was really focused on these pictures; I guess I cut you off. Okay, anyway. And here’s another picture of your great-grandfather’s house again. So this is what I need you to do, Daniel: I need you to bring a shovel and help me dig. There’s gold buried at your great-grandfather’s house in South Africa, Daniel, and you need to help me dig. Daniel, are you listening to me? Daniel, Daniel, Daniel… There’s gold there! What do you think of that! Oh, look, here’s the iguana and the giraffe again. [Laughing.] I’m looking right at them. You see that? [Holds the photos up so the photo center employee can see. She smiles.] Okay, so make sure you bring your shovel, Daniel.”
I was discussing my career plans (or lack thereof) with my father the other night. “Make sure you get a happy job,” he advised me. Lately, he has been of the mindset that a “happy job” would involve a post-law school career. I’m pretty sure I disagree. More on this later. Happy jobs though, that’s something to keep in mind.
I have spent the last two days trying to get ahold of my mother’s various medical records in preparation for an upcoming appointment she’s scheduled for, and people are driving me crazy. Today’s drama trauma: The doctor’s office assures me they will have the records available at the front desk for me to pick up, then they go and courier them somewhere else, they don’t know where, and I have to spend 45 minutes tracking them down. We need more rockstar (some soon-to-be) medical doctors like Chai, karrvakarela, Sri, Maria, and, hands down of course, Somayya AND THE BEAN! Everyone else is a stupid moron. Or maybe, in all fairness, the doctors are fine and it’s just the people who work for them who are morons. I don’t know, I’m just annoyed.
I went out to lunch with a group of friends. A friend replied, “Yes, please,” when the server asked her, “Would you like a super salad with that?” and I started laughing because what the server had really asked was, “Would you like a soup or salad with that?” and at least one of my friends always gets it wrong whenever we eat at this place. And then I had to repeat it about seven times, mainly because that was such a Yasmine kind of misunderstanding, and so I take some sort of perverse pleasure in other people making the same mistake. Ah, me.