Big Day. Biiiig day.
I went to grab some groceries during my lunch hour and was recruited to buy new lithium batteries for our panic buttons at work.
Yeah, I work where we have a network of panic buttons. So after a quick grocery stop I head to the hardware store where there are no sales associates to assist me, as per usual and I'm wandering around aimlessly and staring at the wrenches and finally, traipsing through Guam I find Quentin from Lumber who calls Duane from Electric and all three of us discern that the batteries they have are not the right ones. Walmart it is.
I'm in Walmart where I become more lost by the second, also a typical thing, and wander into electronics where I find the right batteries. I walk to the register and wait behind two non-English speakers who were really into buying only a case of Poland Spring and the cashier tells me I can't buy my batteries tax exempt without a "little gray card." The card can be apprehended at the Service Desk, about a half-mile away. I reach it and wait for the hipster couple to return some used clothing and am told that my agency already has a "little gray card" but they can make the sale without it in a moment.
That moment the earth moved a 5.8 scaled quake.
I thought I was passing out from the strenuous contact with consumer culture, but sure enough when I looked up everyone was as bewildered as I was, though no one said a thing. A minute later someone said,
"Was that me?"
And everyone spoke at once, about how it must have been the building, they thought they were getting dizzy, they thought they had touched the counter wrong, etcetcetc. I get my change and blink into the parking lot, people are milling around like a disturbed ant colony and walk to my car and, just before opening the door, A tiny old lady appears and says
"They've really gotta stop moving my car on me while I'm in there!"
Ladies and gentlemen: Perfection.
I followed the fire trucks to State Street and felt very small.
I went to grab some groceries during my lunch hour and was recruited to buy new lithium batteries for our panic buttons at work.
Yeah, I work where we have a network of panic buttons. So after a quick grocery stop I head to the hardware store where there are no sales associates to assist me, as per usual and I'm wandering around aimlessly and staring at the wrenches and finally, traipsing through Guam I find Quentin from Lumber who calls Duane from Electric and all three of us discern that the batteries they have are not the right ones. Walmart it is.
I'm in Walmart where I become more lost by the second, also a typical thing, and wander into electronics where I find the right batteries. I walk to the register and wait behind two non-English speakers who were really into buying only a case of Poland Spring and the cashier tells me I can't buy my batteries tax exempt without a "little gray card." The card can be apprehended at the Service Desk, about a half-mile away. I reach it and wait for the hipster couple to return some used clothing and am told that my agency already has a "little gray card" but they can make the sale without it in a moment.
That moment the earth moved a 5.8 scaled quake.
I thought I was passing out from the strenuous contact with consumer culture, but sure enough when I looked up everyone was as bewildered as I was, though no one said a thing. A minute later someone said,
"Was that me?"
And everyone spoke at once, about how it must have been the building, they thought they were getting dizzy, they thought they had touched the counter wrong, etcetcetc. I get my change and blink into the parking lot, people are milling around like a disturbed ant colony and walk to my car and, just before opening the door, A tiny old lady appears and says
"They've really gotta stop moving my car on me while I'm in there!"
Ladies and gentlemen: Perfection.
I followed the fire trucks to State Street and felt very small.
After work I packed up my life as I knew it and picked up Cricket, the best thing that's ever happened to me.
