Lottery Isn't Comprised of Three Words

I was returning home from an excursion I'd taken at mid-day.  Suffice it to say, I wasn't in the best of moods, given a major inconvenience about an hour earlier, but I wasn't prepared for what happened when I stopped at a nearby gas station to pick up a lottery ticket.

I've rarely visited this location over the years, as it's situated in a very inconvenient place.  It's pumps face backward in relation to when you drive into the lot, but given that I don't buy my gasoline from any of the regular stations, opting instead to visit the Costco for it's lower prices, the odd placement of the gas pumps at the Shell station are barely an issue.  However, I only needed a lotto ticket.  I haven't any chance of winning the jackpot, on account that it's something that I want and need desperately, hence the unlikelihood that karma will allow it, but just in case, it's only slightly easier to win with a ticket in hand.

I've purchased lottery from this location before, albeit it hadn't been for more than a decade, I'm sure, but I slipped in quickly, with only this purchase on my mind.  Behind the counter was a lone female.  She was a bigger girl, both in height and girth.  I directed my inquiry to her as she sat perched atop a tall stool, with an abundant belly hanging down over her "cooch", and both hands tucked deep into the pockets of her bunny hug, sorry....  In the pockets of her hoodie.

"Could I get a 6/49 with the...." I asked, interrupted by a negative blast from the large Marge parked behind the counter, 

"N***a, please!!  We don't sell no lottery!!" she blurted out in response.

I paused for a split moment, although it felt like an eternity as her statement slowly soaked into my psyche.  For one thing, she pronounced the word 'lottery', like it was three words; "LAW-TRRR-EEE"!!  Another thing, "We don't sell no..." is a double-negative, which would conclude that they do, in fact, sell lottery.

I shook my head, then responded, "First.  That seems a little harsh.  And secondly, who the f*ck doesn't sell lottery?  Every place of convenience, sells lottery."

Still seated on her perch, hands still in her pockets, she just turned her head to look out the window.  "Yeah.  Well we don't!!"

Anyone in the Saskatoon-area who may read this, please stop supporting this location of Shell.  Normally, I could laugh this shit off, but holy f*ck, such a callous response to such an innocent query, seems inexcusable.

Drop To Your Knees

Suffering from back pain, I found myself in the fortunate situation a few years ago, where I was able to replace my decrepit old spring-filled mattress with one made of foam rubber.  While it is not like those advertised on late night television, boasting space age memory foam that conforms to your natural rolls and folds, it has proven to me in the years since it's purchase that a supreme level of sleep and comfort can be achieved.

Costing a fraction of what the Tempur-pedic brand is priced, I've not suffered from severe back pain since that first night that I bedded down.  It used to be, that I would literally roll out of bed, barely able to move.  My back hurt so much from years of abuse and a multitude of terrible car accidents, that I was in pain for most of my waking day.  Since I bought the foam mattress, nearly no pain at all, in my hours of operation.  Other than that from physical over-exertion, that is.

At the time of my purchase, I also experimented with a small foam cushion that was supposedly conformed to the natural curvature between the base of my head and my shoulders, but I never had much luck with that one.  Since that time, due to what some may refer to as "thriftiness", but who are we kidding?  I'm a cheap bastard.  If I can't justify the price for something, then no matter how beneficial it might be, I'm not going to shell out a single dime for it.  That being said, I've never invested in any of the memory foam pillows until today (03/04/2013).  I bought a couple from Costco that were reasonably priced plus a hefty instant rebate at the cash register, so I'll be trying those out very soon.

On my way from the sales floor to the check out line, though, I passed these bathroom mats.  It wasn't the price that caught my eye, but the description.  For the life of me, I can't understand why one might require memory foam for a bathroom mat.  The technology seems like it'd be wasted for something so frivolous as a bath mat.  You step out of the tub, onto the mat, stand there for maybe a minute while you towel off your goodies, then step off.  Why would someone require memory foam for that?  Then it donned on me.  Like a flash bulb went off in my head, a series of still pictures whisked past my mind's eye, all depicting myself in several situations, all of which involved myself and the bathroom floor.

I don't drink anymore and haven't for well over a year.  I don't have a problem, but consuming alcohol is something that I don't do very well, anymore.  On occasions of the past though, I'd ready my bathroom for my arrival home.  I have bad knees and can't kneel on hard surfaces., so a "just-in-case" sort of scenario was required.  This act simply involved my placing a freshly fluffed and folded towel at the foot of the toilet, on the off-chance that there might be vomiting involved on my return home.  Surely, this, of all things, would be one of the benefits of owning a memory foam bathroom mat.

However, it wasn't very often that I'd find myself at the helm of the porcelain bus, upchucking a technicolor yawn of the snacks previously consumed.  More times, than not, I'd simply pass out on the floor.  In the morning, I'd find myself just about anywhere.  One time it was in the middle of the living room with my pants down around my ankles, which would've been fine IF it had been my house.

Perhaps instead of a soft memory foam bath mat, the company should think about a memory foam backing for carpet.  That way you could pass out anywhere in your house and at least have a well rested and relaxing sleep.  It'd probably help stop the room from spinning too.  Or slow it down, at least.

Bucking Tradition

For many many years, I've enjoyed spending Christmas Eve alone.  I've never had anyone special to share my holidays with, so this has never been an issue.  In the past, this tradition involved my getting very high, eating a pizza and watching television, usually viewing "Die Hard 1 &2" and "Lethal Weapon", both being excellent "man-style" Christmas movies.

As the years went on, certain aspects were phased out.  No longer do I partake in illicit drugs that will put me into a state of numbness, nor do I even dabble with alcohol anymore.  Neither has a positive affect on me, mentally.  Christmas is depressing enough for the single person, without having to intensifying this emotion.  Still the consumption of pizza continued.

These days, I don't even hardly bother with the movies anymore, opting to watch them on a predetermined schedule, instead.  Actually, it's less predetermined and more whimsical, but the pizza remains.

This year, I've already viewed my "Die Hard's" and oddly, I don't feel like watching "Lethal Weapon", but the pizza remained.  This year, however, due to a commitment to play Santa Claus, I've had to bump up the consumption of my Christmas pizza.  I arranged to pick it up at noon today, in hopes of spending the afternoon, eating and watching TV.  Fate, however, had other plans for me, and instead of picking up my meal and returning in a timely fashion, the battery in my truck decided to die, leaving me stranded in front of Costco for nearly an hour before the tow truck driver arrived.

Pizza cost $14 and change.  Thirty-plus minutes seemed like an eternity as last minute shoppers aggressively honked with the intention that I move the f*ck out of their way.  "And a Merry Christmas to you too, sir." I thought, watching each driver creep past me, with finger extended for my viewing pleasure.

Then a little chubby white-haired bloke pulled up beside me in a beat-up old tow truck that had clearly seen better days.  He hopped out and waddled his fat ass around to the raised hood on my truck and gave my battery a quick jump.  Accepting only cash, I was forced to return inside the Costco and visit the ATM which, subsequently, only distributed $50 bills.

"I hope you can break a fifty." I said, returning to my spot outside, next to the chubby elf-like gentleman.  He turned and smiled saying, "It's $50 and change, but..." he paused, looking down at the crisp new plastic Canadian fifty dollar bill, "Aah.  It's Christmas.  Let's call it an even fifty."  With that he scooped the bill from my hand, hopped back behind the wheel of his beat up monstrosity and disappeared into the distance.

I'm bucking tradition this year.  Eating about eight hours earlier than usual.  Spending $50 for a job that, literally, took less than 60 seconds, and will most likely be buying a brand new f*cking battery, shortly after Christmas, for a truck that has less than 48,000 km on it.  Go big or go home, I guess, huh..?  Merry Christmas one and all!!