Wednesday, December 7, 2011

I should just live in Costco

The other day I was in Costco (again, because everything happens to me in Costco, for some reason) (I think Costco should really pay me for all the times I've mentioned them on this blog) (well, I'm not materialistic.  I'll settle for their support in my bid for Supreme Dictator of the State of Utah) (or they could give me a gift card.  I'd like that too.)

What?

Anyway, I was in Costco.  I had to go to the pharmacy because my body suffers from a little thing I like to call "complete inability to function and be not-dumb" and I was pretty sure this was the correct Costco, the one where I fill all my prescriptions.  Except no it was not and being me, the only person in the history of the world to forget where her house is after living there for five years, I turned up at the wrong Costco.  BUT NEVER FEAR, said the pharmacy woman after I had waited a mere 30 minutes behind an old lady who kept hacking loudly and apologetically muttering, "Sorry, must be a tickle...I'm not sick...it's a...tickle" to no one in particular, as if all of us in line were keeping our distance based on her coughing and as soon as she explained the reasons behind it we would be like well that's a relief and hug her forever.

So the pharmacy woman was like KAY WE'RE JUST GONNA TRANSFER YOUR MEDICINE and I was like...um...kay.  Because in my mind she was saying that she was going to physically transfer my medicine from the other pharmacy to this one and I was trying to figure out the logistics but as it turns out I was, in fact, at another pharmacy where they also have medication on hand. I had to wait 20 minutes and in that time I basically ran around Costco like a woman possessed because why not, that's why.  I was like, "You can't throw me out, Costco!  I have my mother's membership card with me!  And I've written about you like FOUR TIMES.  And that's just so far!"

25 minutes later I was standing in an aisle seriously considering purchasing a collection of John Wayne movies even though I don't like westerns.  Such is the power of Costco.  Then I remembered that oh!  Yeah!  Prescription.  And I ran over to the pharmacy just in time to watch my pharmacy woman walk out with her lunch and I was like "HI WHAT ABOUT MY MEDS, LADY.  THIS BLOODSTREAM AIN'T GONNA MEDICATE ITSELF" but she just ignored me and went on her break.  So I stood awkwardly, trying very hard to both make eye contact with the other pharmacists and NOT make eye contact with the other pharmacists because I don't know how to handle myself in adult situations.  And so I waited for another 10 minutes.  And that's when I met a man.

He was walking around, muttering with a smile on his face, and every once in a while he would walk up to someone waiting in line and start a loud, apparently hilarious conversation with them.  Then he would walk away, shaking his head and laughing, and resume his muttering and pacing.  Then came the time when he decided to talk to me.  I didn't mind.  I like people.  Years of being socially inept have taught me to just embrace the awkwardness and I'm very good at it.

The man walked up to me.  His hair was sticking up at odd angles.  He was old enough to be my father.  One of his shoes was untied and his shirt was only half tucked in.

Man:  Well hey there!  How ya doin'?
Me:  I'm great, thanks!
Man:  You sure do look great, I'll tell ya that!
Me:  Why thank you!
Man:  My wife left me when I got this.
Me:  When you got...what?
Man:  Alzheimer's.

He stared at me very seriously as I choked on my own tongue.  I literally squeaked and sputtered as my brain ground to a stop and was like "Sorry, you're on your own with this one."  The man stared at me solemnly for about twenty seconds while I tried desperately to regain the function of my mind and say something appropriate.  I have never been rendered so utterly and unexpectedly speechless in my life.  But then everything was suddenly okay as he picked up the conversation, jubilant.

Man:  SO I GOT MYSELF A NEW ONE!
Me:  A...new...huh?
Man:  I got a new wife.  She's from Bulgaria.  Also, she's a rocket scientist.  That's what she does. Welp, bye!

And then I watched him walk away and I didn't know whether to laugh or not, but then I did because honestly?  I don't even have Alzheimer's and I will probably never marry a Bulgarian rocket scientist.  This guy's got me beat.  FOREVER.  Besides, he just seemed like the kind of man who would want me to laugh about it. 

I kind of wondered, then, whether or not I should have called someone.  Should this man be at Costco by himself?  Where's his Bulgarian rocket scientist?  How long until he trips on his untied shoelace?  But then he was gone, having done his job and done it well.

I think I'll just move into Costco.

Friday, December 2, 2011

And so it begins...

Did you know that Utah is freezing?  Freezing enough that I would seriously consider stealing a homeless person's only blanket if I thought it would do any good?  Freezing enough that if you wait too long between blinking, your eye lubrication quickly turns into ice?  SO COLD that the only words I can get out through my chattering teeth are "OHMYGOSH WHY WHY WHY I HATE THIS NO WHY"?  Point is, I don't like it.  Other point is, I'm pretty good at exaggeration.

Well today was one of those probably-colder-than-the-Arctic kind of days.  Luckily for me, I had a crucial test that I had to take for Biology (or as I like to call it, "Bio-dumb-ology." I never said I was clever) and parking at BYU is God's way of reminding me that those stumps of flesh attached to my butt are legs and are, in fact, capable of mobility.  So there I was, making the long and freezing trek back to my car from the testing center when I began to wonder why it was so dark.  I looked up at the sky.  It was filled with menacingly fluffy clouds.  Naturally I gave it a warning look, a look that said "You'd better just STAY clouds.  I don't want any precipitation out of you."

One miserably freezing walk later, I was finally, finally, FINALLY about to open my car door when I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING, a tiny, delicate, beautiful snowflake landed on my sleeve, pristine and perfect.  I blinked once and then immediately squished it in horror.  Waves of disgust rolled through me as I looked around and realized that. it. was. snowing.  It was very light snow, the kind that you might just mistake for a giant with dandruff scratching his head only you know, giants aren't real.  Probably.  I looked up at the sky and I was MAD.

"No.  NO.  DID YOU HEAR ME I SAID NO.  SERIOUSLY, STOP.  I HATE YOU, YOU HEAR?  I HATE YOU."

And I stood there shaking my fist above my head, yelling in the middle of the parking lot.  And now everyone who happened to be nearby (hint: many people) think I have a mental disorder or anger management issues.  If only they understood.

This is no exaggeration, the snow actually began to fall harder and thicker AS SOON AS I EXPRESSED MY FURY.  I don't understand why no one believes that the Universe hates me.  It's taunting me.  It's taunting me and there is no reasonable outlet because you can't just punch the Universe.  I guess I could punch the snow, but that would be awful because HELLO it's cold and wet.  The Universe has found the perfect weapon against me.

I was willing, maybe even hopeful, for a truce between myself and the snow.  I wanted to enjoy its sparkly beauty just like everyone else but, just as the white man and the Native American couldn't reconcile their differences and contagious diseases some 10 odd years ago (right?), I see no hope for peace here.  Except the likelihood that a holiday revolving around food will come from this feud is slim to none so THIS IS EVEN WORSE.

And you'd better believe I just said that this was even worse than that time Pilgrims settled America and virtually everyone died.  I don't know how I managed to end this post on an offensive note, so I guess I just have a talent.  Please send hate mail accordingly.