When I’m at the grocery store sometimes, when putting my food up on the cashier’s conveyor, I don’t put the divider stick between my food and that of the person in front of me to see how they’ll react.
Dividers are great. They let the cashier know when one load of groceries ends and the next begins…nothing else, really. When the division between my order and the one in front of me gets close to the cashier I put the divider up but sometimes the person in front puts it up first. What’s really funny is when they get their nose out of joint or are clearly in a panic to get the divider in place….as if I want to pay for their effing potatoes!
It’s been in effect for a while but had you considered that with the penny being taken out of circulation, the cost of using a wishing well went up five-fold? Sure, prices have been low for a looooong time, but what a jump!
I was reading about a fellow on an online forum trying his hand at hand scraping and made me think of my own hand scraping experience:
I was an apprentice welder in a machine shop, which made me the resident cave-man, but did a little delicate work sometimes. I remember doing some hand scraping exercises(läppen) and submitting a small standard to the machinist for inspection. I spent a couple hours on it and agonized about how accurate it was…made sure it LOOKED good too… He looked at if for 0.5 seconds, said, “OK,” and handed it back….no detailed critique…no, “‘atta boy!”
Pass…get back to work. It ended up in the scrap bin.
This exchange has occurred a few times over the years when The Boy™ is watching Mythbusters:
Me: So…..are you looking at Kari’s bum?
The Boy™: NO!
Me: So you’re looking at Jamie’s bum.
The Boy™: NO!
Me: What’s wrong with you, boy? One of them ought to have a bum you’d like to look at!
A woman recently commented on how my work boots looked expensive. I don’t have expensive boots….I spend as little as I can. The thing about my boots is that I POLISH them once in a while. It was one of my chores as a boy and it was clear from an early age what magic a little elbow grease could do.
I was reminiscing about Royal Mint candy bars at work recently. My experience with them was when they came in rations. I would gobble them down happily and later would sometimes think about those strange candy bars that I ate at work but never saw in stores….
Until….A friend and I ran into some for the first time while buying gasoline in Vancouver and nostalgia compelled us to buy a pile and pig out. “It’s the chocolate from the IMP’s!” we squealed and gobbled down bar after bar of that waxy nastiness. Very quickly the reality of that nastiness and a belly ache set in: We weren’t out in the bush and exhausted…we were in a city with choices…and when given choices, Royal Mint didn’t make the short list.