Thursday, June 1, 2017

Turn and Yammer vs. Las Vegas





I'm either really funny, or I just piss people off. Maybe both. And I will get you to ersatz proxy Vegas in this very post, I promise it. But first...

Today I ran out at lunch during my shift at Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer to pick up some subscription renewals at Flusherville's Costco pharmacy department. I've been taking these little chemical body-wonders for years.

The clerk, R. Bitchface, called me up and asked me my particulars ("Flusher, I'm here for two subscriptions.") and then ran off into the bowels of the pharmacy to get my goods.

Back at the counter, she turned to the clerk next to her and started yammering at her. She typed something on the computer. Scanned my card and returned it. (No charge, Veeblefetzer has an excellent drug plan.) Turn and yammer. Print something. Turn and yammer. Put my goods in a regulation paper pharmacy bag. Turn and yammer. Reach blindly for the stapler. Turn and yammer. Fold all the receipts and shit over the end of the bag and staple it, all while turning and yammering.

It was as if I wasn't even there.

She stood holding my stash against her ample belly, while still turned and yammering. And then, she turned her attention to me. Oh my, she actually did know that I was there!

"Do you have any questions?" she asked.

"Questions?"

"Yes, do you have any questions." Slightly bitched out now, still holding my important inscription medication as sweat-belly hostages.

"I only have one question," I said.

"And it is...?"

"When can I have my stuff."

Now she was on full Bitchcon level 9 scrunchface pissy alert. Never mind that I've been ignored thus far, never mind that nobody ever asks me if I have any goddamned questions about the 40 year old gold standard medication I've been renewing every couple of months for eons. Never mind that she didn't say what I might have any goddamned fucking questions about.

I swear she dangled the stash bag a little bit, out of reach.

"You can have your... stuff... now. If you don't have any questions."

"OK, so my only question is... can I have my stuff NOW."

She finally forked it over with an indignant slow roll over her piggy head which preceded the turning of her piggy body to her yammering partner.

I sealed the deal with a cheerful farewell, to lighten up the mood and break the tension.

"You don't have to get all pissy about it you know."

Yeah, that did the trick.

This slice of pill-fueled life is exactly the opposite of what, to me, a Vegas vacation is all about. Next time I get her she'll probably fill my paper pharmacy descriptions bag with past its best before date peyote or dried buffalo dung or something. The peyote wouldn't be bad, I guess.

I really had to hustle to get to the gate for my Vegas flight from Toronto. It seemed like a 15 minute walk because... it WAS. I'll be terse. I got there on time. They were waiting for some crew. They said I could eat. I bought a gooey sloppy egg sausage drippy greasy thing at Starbucks. The moment I received it, they started boarding. It was piping hot. I had to shovel that thing down through my grease-hole as fast as humanly possible, with the minimum of skin-peeling burns in my mouth. (This exact process would be repeated some 12 days later with a Carl's Jr. burger at McCarran. But I am getting way, way ahead of my self here.)
The Buffalo (BEEFFFALLOOOO!) chicken burg I crammed about four hours before cramming the Starbucks egg 'n sausage cheese-greaser.
 The important thing here is that I got onto the plane and into my Plus seat, awaiting the first of my free drinks like Odie, paws propped up onto the seatback, long tongue swinging to and fro above great big saucer eyes.

If you had to look up Nurse Diesel the other day, now go and look up Odie. We'll wait for you.

We were wheels up more or less on time, and fortunately, roughly synchronously with the moment Bernoulli raised our collective asses above the rapidly disappearing tarmac.
Chicago,  Chicago, I'm guessing. It's a hell of a towwwwwwn.
I had a couple of vodka rockses and settled into my seat, relaxing, listening to some music on my phone, and thinking about Piffles, who we had said goodbye to just three days previously. It seemed rather unreal, since his passing was so unexpected.

A lightning storm raged off in the distance, but it couldn't touch us, we could only watch from afar. I wonder if that was how it was for Piffles now, far, far away in some strange place, hopefully his idea of a wonderful Heaven.

Music is amazing, and it intensifies emotions of all kind - good and bad, happy and unhappy. Elvis Cadillac shuffled itself on and I listened intensely, watching the storm, or trying to, as the tears came. Goddammit. I'd have to bottle this up until... some other time.

It was late for me by the time Vegas poked its pin point lighty little face from around the desert mountains, but finally, yeah - I was there.

And the adventure could begin! So now I've gotten you to Vegas!

Yes my heart was opened
No, no I don't look back
Because I'm riding around heaven
In Elvis Cadillac
Riding around in heaven
In Elvis Cadillac




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