Tremendous disappointment! Aisle after aisle of mini-vans, mortgages, APRs, lawn-mowers, taxes, silky-hawaiian shirts, carpet samples, awkward small talk, collar tabs, prostate exams, AND an entire section devoted to going to bed early. Not... not what I had in mind.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
I don't handle disappointment very well. Not just my own, but yours too. Tell me that you crashed your car and I'll say "Whoa, that sucks." Tell me that you had a milkshake that you were totally looking forward to but then you dropped it in the parking lot and my heart will ache for you.
Along those line, minor aggravations that ruin my whole life, here's an event that happened recently.
I'm on the red couch at my mom's house watching The Bourne Supremacy while I wait for my laundry (the whites) to finish drying. I'm watching The Bourne Supremacy because it is the best thing I could find on the movie channels. I have received a new arrival from Netflix but it's not what I want. The disc is Sopranos Season 3 vol. 2, but I still need vol. 1. A quick check of my Netflix queue reveals an erroneous claim. They say that I have vol. 1. This is simply not true.
Matthew "Jason Bourne" Damon is racing through the streets of Moscow when suddenly I am stricken with a craving for spaghetti. A powerful craving at that. So much of a craving that I grow weak. I'm pretty sure I have spaghetti noodles and ragu at my apartment but I demand satisfaction now. Aha! A meatball sub from Subway will do the trick. I quickly gather my laundry and steal some cookie dough balls from the freezer and head out the door.
My choices are thus: I can go to the Subway on 9th or the one on Highland. They are both equal distance away, but the one on 9th is right next to a Blockbuster so I can get my sub and Sopranos Season 3 vol. 1 and only have to park once. I walk through the door of Subway at 9:55, five minutes before closing. As I wait in line I can practically taste the delicious meatball sammich. It's my turn to order and with great confidence I say "6-inch meatball."
The lad behind the counter says "We don't have any meatballs."
I'm shocked and saddened. I say, rather un-cool-ly, "Wha-huh? Serious?"
He says "Yeah."
Without a word I walk out shaking my head, crushed by the realization that it is now too late to go to the other Subway.
My trip to Blockbuster is without incident, though I do overhear a girl hold up a copy of The Fog and say "I heard this was really good." and I hear another guy say "David Blaine is freakin' tight."
Yeesh, speaking of disappointments, check this out: