My Own Private Hell ... in 24 hours

Some say hell is a different experience for everyone. Some even conjecture that hell is a place each individual makes for themselves. I don’t what the truth is but I know that I visited my own private little piece of hell last night selling paper at a fundraiser bingo. I think I repented my entire existence between the hours of 8:00 and 8:45 last night as I lamely circled the players in a weak attempt to sell additional games. It was like something out of a Stephen King book the way the room got smaller each time I circled it. By the fourth rotation people were giggling at me. By the sixth it wasn’t so humorous to them anymore and somewhere around the ninth or tenth I became downright annoying. So I opted to start parking myself for a few minutes in between rotations alas to no avail. At 8:45, having pissed off nearly everyone, including myself, I cashed out having sold a grand total of 4 games and took my tired butt home. At the end of last evening I was told that Wednesday nights are always slow and that tonight and the weekend will be a lot better. Oh God, please let that be true because I’ve sentenced myself to doing it again tonight and both weekend days.

I spent lunchtime alone (because seriously I would not wish me on my worst enemy today) and I went to Jack in the Box (because I no longer trust Carl’s Jr to give me the food I ordered). I know everyone bags on Jack but he has SUPER salads and ciabatta sandwiches. Afterwards I went next door to fuel up. It’s hot today but while I was pumping the gas I was kind of taking the time to absorb some lunchtime “atmosphere” – ya’ know, grab some calming influence -- appreciate the warmth of the sun, the colors of the flowers, the leaves of the trees when in pulls a behemoth SUV the size of a 747 bumping rap music loud enough to break the sound barrier. It’s not the music I object to. I like rap. It’s the arrogance of the individual playing the music that bugs me. Yo partner, I appreciate you spend a lot of scrilla every month on your ride and that your rims cost you a grip and yet you could still afford to bounce up in Tower Records and buy a CD but HEY! I’m appreciating flowers here and I don’t need E40 as a soundtrack for that. Who died and made YOU the world’s DJ.

And the best part is that I’m doing Bingo again tonight.

I’m sure glad tomorrow is Friday.