The weekend starts here. My folks are coming down on my Sunday. We'll brunch, we'll live, we'll learn. I'm going to buy them some deli treats. Then they're off to Van City and then off to Tokyo. Wow. Wish I were going, but work and everything else got in the way of me stepping on a free plane ticket to the magnificent Orient. I'm not too worried, actually. I'm in no hurry right now to do anything except contact the student loan people and reason or plead with them. Right now, I can't afford to pay off the loan. Fine by me. Journalism sure as shit won't pay for it. In my case, anyways.
Someone returned a sandwich today because I didn't wear plastic gloves. Excuse me lady -- get this. I wash my hands in anti-bacterial soap with almost every sandwich I make. This lady puts her hands into her pockets, hands me a fistfull of money, gets other money from a cash register back, and then licks her fingers -- hello! That make any sense to you? I understand if you're neurotic, but c'mon -- request gloves. I'm more than happy to slip on a pair. When this lady goes to a restaurant, does she think that the chefs and busboys and servers and prep-cooks are all wearing gloves? Whatever. Go be a psycho, see if the world cares.
There's also this other regular, a bit of a nutter, who licks the back of her interac receipt as soon as a I hand it to her.