Oh, the collector.

"Give to me." She motioned towards the can.
He nodded his head, he hadn't finished it yet.

She tried to add a pause to her sentence, "Give... to me."
Still, he declined.
She changed her tone of voice, "Give to... me?"

"Listen lady, I'm not done drinking it. Come back in ten minutes."

"Give to me."

He wagged his finger. She stepped slightly out of his peripheral vision, though he knew she was watching him.

Can hunting is like looking for a parking spot in a crowded lot. You look until you find a car that seems like it is about to leave, and you wait.

You know that there might be a spot twenty feet ahead that is readily available, but you wait. Patience is the mentality of the can-collector.

She waited, and it made him slightly uneasy. Not that he feared this toothless old woman with a sun hat and a bag full of crushed cans, he just didn't appreciate being rushed. After all, consuming alcohol in public in the middle of the day is tedious as it is. He didn't want to be rushed. Unlike the can collector, patience isn't one of his strong points.

He turned to look at her, and raised his arms above his head.

She walked off to where another can collector had laid down her can collection at the moment, and began to rifle through it for the most desirable of crushed aluminum.

As he watched her, she looked over, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up.

He walked over, crushed the can, and handed it to her.
"Tank jew."
"You're welcome."
Thus concluding his interaction with this particular can collector, but there will be more. So many more.


Unrelated:

A simple diagram

Is all it really takes to prove to everyone around you that you are completely, utterly, incompetent.

I'm not mad, I'm not upset, I am just simply amazed at how difficult every day life must be for certain folk that cannot follow even the simplest of instructions. Instructions depicted through pictures (diagrams) should be easy to follow, one would think.

ONE WOULD HAVE THOUGHT WRONG!

There are so few possible combinations of the way you can insert your credit card into our ATM.

You attempted the same one, over, and over, and over, and over again, until you deemed it necessary to come inform me that our ATM was broken. When I told you to turn your card upside down, you still failed.

"The strip needs to be down, and on your right."
"Oh," followed by an attempted correction.
"No, face down, and on the right."
"Oh!" again, followed by, again, an attempted correction.

Congratulations, you have gone through every possible position your card could have been in to properly work the ATM, and you failed.

I hope, for your poor, poor, sake, that you win the lottery. Otherwise, you will fail miserably at everything you do, based on your display of how poor your ATM operating skills are.

I am so sorry, you poor thing.

I find

that the amount of times I refer to 'the tiger' at work is ever increasing.
I take orders with the tiger. The tiger holds my pen. I tell people that I wish I was the tiger. Not simply 'a' tiger, but 'the' tiger. The little plastic tiger on the counter at work.

There he is. Fear him, and give him your two dollars for a large cup of coffee.
He is a great subject of conversation, as he is always there, but never listening. He is made of plastic, so it is incredibly hard for him to do so.
He never gets offended, but he always takes people's money. He always holds the pen for me.

The tiger is my friend.

Happenings.

Sitting on the bench by myself, this crazy lady now knows that;
I don't like airplanes.
I have ice-skated in both San Jose and Tahoe, but not with a girlfriend.
My favorite coffee is Society Blend.
I don't have any coffee shop experience.
I am just fine with taking out the trash.

That was the highlight of my day. Talking to a crazy lady on the bench and playing 20 fucking questions.


Really though, I am officially employed again and today was the first day of work. That was the highlight of my day.

Related; the front door of work before it was really work and just a place to sit.

Was he right?

As per a crazy old homeless man's requests; I will not be a cocksucker, but most certainly have made my way to hell. Eternal damnation, here I come.

The amount of resentment I have been receiving from customers regarding christian practice is getting to be ridiculous.
"I'm glad you have C.S. Lewis' books on christianity. Are you a Christian?"
"Nope."
The customer snatches her credit card and leaves in a hurry.

Listen; I don't care about christian literature, I like science fiction.
I'm sorry I don't know what day of the week Christmas falls on, I'm Jewish.
Self righteousness clearly knows no bounds, as the bookstore has lost two whole sales due to the fact that I am a heathen.
I'm not complaining about christianity in general, just these specific occurrences with a few raging assholes that happened to be raging christians. Imposing ideals on people and then refusing to communicate when they disagree is borderline disgusting, and it's bad for their entire argument in these specific cases.

The whole time before C.S. Lewis was brought up, I thought I was being hit on.



Oh, what a wonderful day.