Whine and Cheese

On Thursday, a couple of co-workers and I went to Wendy's for lunch. I had a hanckering for chili. There are two near our office, one in St. Bernard and one in Hartwell. Normally, I go to St. Bernard, but this time I drove to Hartwell for some odd reason. "Odd" being a key word for what happened. Seriously, I think I took us into an experimental theater for lunch.

When we showed up, the only person working the counter was a little 5-foot tall, 70-something black woman. Incredibly slow and methodical, she was putting together an order for the one customer they had. It took her several minutes to complete the order. She apologized for the delay, stating that she was the only one at the counter. She was doing her best and I was wondering why there were so few people working.

Knowing the three of us were together, she took our orders together. It was taking a while, so I filled up my drink in the meanwhile. I walked past another lady in a Wendy's outfit and a horrible perm just chatting with a customer. By this time, there was a line of people waiting to order, stretching all the way to the door. I couldn't understand why this woman wasn't helping with serving folks and her attitude made me think he was the manager.

While we waited for our order, an elderly black man with apparent vitaligo sitting in a wheelchair scooted up to the counter to get "sweetener" as there wasn't any at the ketchup station. He was in PJ bottoms, a robe, a coat, and a baseball hat with three pairs of sunglasses sitting on top.

My co-workers and I finally got our food and sat down, just in time to see the suspect manager proclaim that she was going to take her break, walking past the line to the door. People were leaving the line to exit and others were arriving to take their place, not realizing the DMV-like hell they were walking into. One customer caught my attention, a gray bearded otter-type daddy with an incredible pelt of fur shown off by his white wife-beater shirt. The poor guy stayed in line the whole time. I felt sorry for him.

The wheelchair guy stopped by our table to ask the time and then ask us what we thought of Trump. He then wheeled himself outside where we saw him smoking with the manager lady on our way out.

Before we left, one gentleman in line who had just gotten his food turned to the line and loudly proclaimed that no matter how bad our lives were, there was always someone like his friend who had it worse. He added that he was allergic to three things -- prison, handcuffs, and bull$#!+.

We finished up and left, walking past the line that had barely moved. On the drive back, we discussed the scene we'd just left, the conclusion being that I was not allowed to pick where we went to lunch on Friday.

Whew... it's been a busy weekend. Some of it planned, some not.

• Saturday morning I got my run done, took a shower, grabbed a quick lunch, and drove out to Hillsboro, Ohio to attend the visitation service for my softball buddy Rob. Rob was one of the few straight guys on my team, a tall, blond guy with two small kids usually with him. His passing was a surprise as he was only 34. After the hour drive out there, I arrived at the church only to find I was the first softball team member there. I met with his wife and his sister and gave my condolences. The flower arrangement the team sent was there.
  
  The only thing that gnawed at me was his cause of death. I could find no record of it online, no one seemed to be discussing it, and the obit didn't mention anything. So I cornered the church minister who was sitting alone and quietly asked him. After we chatted a bit, he reluctantly told me that they suspected it was suicide and he asked me to keep that to myself so his kids didn't hear it. I never even considered that as the cause, to be honest, but it made sense after the lack of public info about his death. I promised him I would tell my softball team when we start the season in a few week and told him that we likely wouldn't see the kids again after today. My softball team captain and his partner showed up. They asked quietly if I knew anything and I told them I'd text them later. My captain discretely mouthed the word "suicide" and I nodded. It really is sad to lose a guy that young.



• I left the visitation before the formal service as I needed to drive back to Cincinnati, as I had scheduled a local moviebear event that evening. We finally saw "Kingsman: The Secret Service" as a group. I think the group enjoyed the movie overall. Some of us were seeing it for the second (and one guy, the fourth) time. It definitely is good mindless fun.
  
  After the movie, we walked to a local restaurant called "Mokka" for dinner and drinks. A few of us grabbed some coffee after dinner and such.



• So at the visitation, my softball captain's partner asked what was wrong with my eye. It had bugged me a bit, but I just thought I might have scratched it. I checked it in the car mirror when I got to my car and it was very red, but mainly in the corner. I worried it could be pink eye, but wasn't sure. I bought some Visine on the way to the movie and used it. It seemed to help, but the worry lingered in my mind, so I washed my hands and made an effort not to touch my face.
  
  So this morning, I went to an express care clinic where the nurse practitioner diagnosed me with pink eye. Yay... Strangely, I wasn't the only one. There was a teacher in the waiting room and I had overheard her tell the receptionist that she thought she had it. So I'm off work tomorrow, being contagious and all.

Here's a toon that expresses the way I feel about having pink eye (a la South Park):

After my morning run, mowing the yard, and lunch, I was running a few errands as usual for a Saturday.

I stopped by a gas station and on my way in I passed a popcorn stand manned by a grown bald man in a boy scout uniform. He was rather handsome. I couldn't figure why he was out here alone with no apparent scouts to help.

"Would you like to buy some popcorn and support the boy scouts?" he asked.

In that moment I severely wanted to unleash my inner Julia Sugarbaker on him, launching into a tight, Southern-tonged tirade about why a gay man like me would never support an bigoted organization like his. I'd mention that it would be sad if any of my money, tainted by the dreaded yet fabulously-colored gay cootie, should infect him or any of his little stooges, creating even more of the scourge that he and his ilk wanted gone from the planet. I would have ended my verbal blast with a promise to buy twice as many Girl Scout cookies this year as they are a kind, wonderful organization that his group could learn so much from.

Yet, in the moment where all of these thoughts surged through my head, I refrained. I honestly felt a bit sad for him to have to stand out here hawking that popcorn by himself.

"No thank you," I said instead.

He may have thought me to be a cheap guy or whatever. I was off to have fun. He was standing there in that goofy outfit trying to sell popcorn. That's revenge in itself.

Yesterday on the drive home from the gym, I saw a bumper sticker on a small car:

"Thespians Do It On Stage"

In my mind, I had to add... "but they fake it..."

There is an odd little game I play when I'm alone in my car sitting at a stop light. As the cars go by, I look at the driver and play "Yes... No... Maybe..." In this game, I see the drivers as they drive by and say "Yes" if I'd go for them (read whatever you want into this -- date, kiss, shag, etc.), "No" if I wouldn't, and "Maybe" if I felt I needed more than a few seconds glanzing to make the call.

In some cases, depending on mood, the game might become a bit more emphatic. A hot bear in a pickup truck might get a "Oh hell yeah!" while a toupeed guy in a Ford Pinto might illicit a "dear god no...!"

There are also times when the stoplight is nothing but soccer mom vans and little old ladies driving enormous land-roving vehicles. Slow moments at the stop lights, to be sure. The wheels in mind spin in odd ways, it goes back to the days when I was left to occupy myself without getting into trouble. This stop light game came from this and I find it generally passes the time.

Oh, and the guy with the bumper sticker? He was a no.