So I'm at work at the Local Grocery on Friday, and I am handing out samples of cheese to passing customers. This crazy-haired guy (picture Bob Ross from PBS, or any version of "nutty professor" that springs to mind) jumps back like I've offered him a plate of live rattlesnakes and goes
"No- I read in the paper that you shouldn't. Actually, it wasn't in the paper, but I read somewhere that it was no good."
"Uh... okay," I respond, backing away slowly.
"But you shouldn't listen to me anyway! Ha! Because I don't know anyth..."
I was already gone. Whoa.
On Saturday, I worked at the LG from 8am to 3 pm, then came home and got dressed in the b.h.'s suit, slicked my hair down, drew on a mustache, soul patch, and sideburns, and made my eyebrows much thicker and darker with the help of the same eye pencil, and headed off to work. I had fun and confused a few people and made money. Got home around midnight, and was surprised to find that I didn't feel all that bad after a fourteen hour day. Sunday I got to sleep in and didn't work until eleven. Came home to some lovely tomato soup (Note: Always use good sherry for cooking. Even at twenty bucks a bottle, a recipe is well worth it.) and various cheeses (my new favorite is an aged Gouda called "Ewephoria") with some crusty bread. Also had a couple Sierra Nevada Torpedos and then slept like a baby. Today I was up at ten, went for coffee while the b.h. had an interview, and ran into my friend Rob. We chatted for an hour or so, then the b.h. came back, and we left to find some lunch.
When we returned to our car, the meter had already expired, and there was a woman there writing us a ticket.
"You can just hand that right to me if you like," I said. I am all for rules and I have no trouble admitting when I am wrong. It's a point of pride for me, actually. I never give the people who have to write tickets a hard time because I am sure I wouldn't want that job.
Anyway, she turned to me, smiling, and said
"Oh! That's a terribly pessimistic attitude! Besides, I haven't printed it out yet," she turned the ticket-printing device toward me to demonstrate, "so you can just drive away."
"Really?"
"Really. Just go ahead."
"Thanks! Have a nice day!", I smiled. She smiled back and waved.

"What did she say?" asked the b.h., when I sat down. He had gotten straight into the car when we came out. I relayed the conversation to him, and he shook his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.
"Seriously?"

Yep, I think I like it here.