It’s the Friday night blues. I’m tired. My job is really easy and not too stressful. Well, until I have to explain to almost everyone that we don’t have what they are looking for. What the hell kind of hardware store doesn’t stock half inch compression fitting water supply lines? Or a standard size plaffemegonger? You want a two by four? Good, because the ones we have are crap. But we’re cheaper than everyone else in town. We’ll deliver it too, while we dump it aimlessly off the back of our truck. Don’t mind the blood stains from the reckless plan of sliding odd shaped units off the back of the truck into the hands of the driver. Did I mention I got eight stitches in my knuckle? Luckily the customer was kind enough to drive me to the clinic to get stitched and medicated. Only to return back to the store and immediately take a load out on the semi. Whatever. I can make fun of my bosses and still ask for time off because they know they have no one else in town that would work for beans doing what I do.
Speaking of beans, I really miss good food. One thing I took for granted living in a metropolitan area was the wide array of food choices. Not just dining out either. Here in Moses lake we have the usual suspects Walmart and Safeway along with some less than appetizing delis specializing in European or Mexican groceries with peculiar expiration date stickers on the packaging. What I wouldn’t do for a Wegman’s or whole foods right now. And why can’t any of the bars serve a true pint of Guiness? There’s actually a new place I might go soon. I’ve been looking for a real good dive bar. Not for the sake of drinking so much. I miss good genuine conversation with the misunderstood sector of society. Some of the best memories came from the shittiest little dive bars.
I rode into a bar one day off the back roads of North Carolina. I met up with and old timer Hells Angel. I tried to assume the role of being subtly intimidated by him and his friends but I couldn’t shake the fact that they were in fact humans, just like me. Mutual respect was the key just as it should be all over society. One of them bought me a beer after checking out the bike and bullshitting about our war stories. Their Vietnam experience was quite a bit more brutal than my few tours in Iraq. One of the oddest things I remember was a ‘pearl of wisdom’ from one of them about keeping money. As he pulled a few dollars out of his wallet, he told me that if I always faced my money the correct way, I’d never run out. No matter what. I’m not entirely superstitious, but I will generally make an effort to face my money whenever I put it in my wallet.
I’m not sure where this blog is going today, but for the few faithful daily readers it may illustrate my general mood trend that I go though with writing. I think I might just call it an early night.