My Personal Curse

Everyone's got their own curse. Mine is the ol' "my line always moves the slowest." Oh, I know. That's your curse, too. No, I'm afraid not. Sure, you may have times when your line moves more slowly, but you just forget about the other times, when it moves faster. It all evens out in the end.

But not for me. The other day was unusually bad. I was again in the slowest line. In fact, it was the only line. To be more specific, I was the only person in line.

I was on the way to a local Game Stop to check out the non-existant specials, bad used-game pricing, and to just generally schmooze with the gamers that worked there.

On the way, I decided to stop at the Tropical Smoothie Cafe. I hadn't had lunch, didn't want to take the time to go to a restaurant or even a fast food place (the curse, remember?). So, I thought I'd grab a Peanut Paradise smoothie, which is a scoop of peanut butter, a banana, some low-fat yogurt, and enough suger and other junk to make an otherwise healthy drink truly fattening. But, hey.. it's got soy protein in it!

I entered the store, and luck was with me! Or so I thought. No one was in line. There were four other people there. Two were already eating, and two were waiting for their orders.

I walked up to the register, and a guy comes out from the back to take my order. Just as I notice a sign advertising that they take call-in orders for pickup, and right before the guy can ask me for my order, the phone rings.

"I'm sorry, I have to take that," he says.

About twenty seconds later, I'm thinking he's either ordering for a small town, or he's never been to Tropical Smoothie Cafe, because the guy is pretty much describing the entire menu of thirty smoothies.

Finally, after another minute, another guy comes out from the back, delivered a couple of sandwiches to the two waiting people, sees my dilemma, takes pity, and takes my order.

"Peanut Paradise, with whey, no soy," I say. Hey, that soy protein is too healthy, anyhow.

He rings it up and I pay. He goes back into the back, but he's not making my smoothie. No. He's cleaning up his workstation.

Finally, the other guy gets off the phone. "Sorry," he says, and then goes back to, presumably, make my smoothie. His workstation is around a corner, so I can't see what's happening.

A minute or so later, I hear the 'ding' of the door, and another customer walks in. I hear the blender kick in for my smoothie, and then the smoothie guy comes out to take the new order.

Another genius, here. He has questions. The guy has answers. The blender keeps churning. Finally, a decision is made, the order is rung up, and a cash transaction occurs that would put Paper Moon to shame.

Finally! The smoothie guy turns to go get my smoothie. But, no. The customer stops him and asks, "How much for that cookie?" "89 cents," is the reply. So, another cash transaction takes place with the customer slowly peeling a George Washington from his roll and the guy, oh so carefully, grabbing a pair of tongs, extracting the cookie from the display case, and placing it in a wax-paper bag.

The blender finally gives up and stops on its own. The guy goes back and finally delivers me my smoothie.

After all that blending time, it was a bit too smooth.

Total time? Fifteen minutes. Clocked.

Passing on the gene

It started out like any normal day. My wife had the day off and was helping to get the kids ready for school. Lunches were made, shoes and socks were on, and all that was left was getting the kids and their paraphernalia out the door, in the car, and on to school.

Suddenly! My son can't find his lunch box! Panic ensues! "Mom! Where's my lunch box!"

My wife, ever cool, replies "Your lunch box? I don't know... where do you think it is?"

My son's busily looking around. It's not on the counter. It's not on the floor. It's not on the table! "No, Mom... I really can't find it!"

It's getting late. My wife isn't helping! This is odd. She looks... incredulous. Hmmm....

I glance down. He's carrying it! He's had it in his hand the entire time. And, no. He's not joking.

And it's my fault. I know it is. I passed on the gene. The Flake gene.

I know he's inherited the Flake gene from me, because when I was in high school, something similar happened. I had misplaced my pencil (in Journalism class, of all places), and I was asking if anyone had seen it. One girl, Jenny, started laughing. She was laughing so hard she could only vaguely point at me. Or, rather, behind me. I turned and looked. Nothing. She laughed harder and gesticulated at me more wildly! Not behind me, then... maybe... my ear? Yes. The darn thing was behind my ear.

So, it may be that my son is doomed to flakedom. On the bright side, he's also inherited a good sense of humor (probably from my wife). Once he spotted the lunch box in his own hand, he broke into this wonderful laughter that stayed with me all day.