Ice cream night was appropriately annoying. I’ve noticed that I tend to be a bit psychotic at work sometimes, like when I’m angry about something. Here is just one example.
Turtle approached at a slow moment to check if I needed any refills; when I didn’t, he just stood there. I decided to voice a particular peeve.
“You know what drives me up a fucking wall, Turtle?”
“Those obstinate fools who persist in calling Reese’s Pieces ‘Reesie’s Piecies‘, despite the obvious lack of an ‘i’ at the ends of the words.”
I punished every one of them by giving them only one very small scoop. Or perhaps I was rewarding the ones who did pronounce it correctly by giving them two. This Reese’s thing has irked me since I was a little kid; I remember chiding Psychobrat for it many years ago.
And another thing: Is there any other type of ice cream that looks like mint chocolate chip? Answer: No, there isn’t. Nobody puts chocolate chips in pistachio. And that’s it. That’s the only other ice cream that color. So why did so many people come through my line tonight and say, “What kind of ice cream is that?” as though they had never seen or heard of mint chocolate chip before?
The Mormon and I went to Barnes and Noble and Walmart when I got off. We were, in fact, passing through that spot where we first kissed, and I said, “Aww, this is where we kissed for the first time.” So naturally, we stopped and did so at that moment. That’s gotta be good luck or something.
And now I must go and finish my laundry, because Nicole and I are going to Orlando tomorrow to stay with Cortney for the weekend. That, too, will kick much arse.