Do not bark cry howl screech squawkscream or whine
I pulled a fourteen-hour shift the other day that was so mind numbingly dull I think a large number of brain cells simply committed suicide. Now there are some things I may never be able to do again. Like ballroom dancing. I’m not sure if I knew how to before, but its quite possible I did before my poor brain cells were crucified against the hard cross of mediocrity.
I stopped into Wal-Mart the other night to stock up on sub-fixings. Somewhere in the past month or so I suddenly lost all urges to cook. I just don’t feel like taking the time to make the crap, and then dealing with the dishes later. So I make subs. I buy the fixings, make about a dozen of them in one night, roll them up in tin foil until they look like something that a drug mule would shove up their ass, and then neatly stack them in my fridge. For lunch at work or dinner at home, I simply pull out another sub. Bachelor chow at it’s finest.
I usually do not get my lunchmeat at Wal-Mart, thinking perhaps that perfect sphere of smoked turkey they cut slices off of actually came from china and is made out of foam rubber, carboxymethyl cellulose, and dog assholes. But I was lazy and poor at the time, so Wal-Mart meat it was. I decided I would forego turkey and go for some ham. Black forest ham, to be precise. I patiently waited until the African-American girl behind the counter took the time off from chatting with her friend to notice me. She gave me a ‘whatchoo want’ look and I said “Black Forest Ham’.
She cocked her head to the side and made a ‘wha?’ noise that I think she completed in her head as ‘What did this white boy just say?’ So I said again, louder ‘Block Forest Ham!’ and pointed out the ham. Something in her brain clicked and the mild hostility left her eyes.
I got my Ham.
A white back there had been a rash of cat killings in Sanford as wild dogs roved around and chewed up whatever feline treat they might have come across.. Quick-witted city officials decided to solve this problem by reminding its residents that it is illegal for a cat to roam free. Thus they sent out a Seminole county animal law packet that came inexplicably in a rather large and neat plastic bag depicting cartoon cats and dogs. The bag baffled me for a while because it looks like the sort of thing charities give you when you want to put old clothes in them for them to come pick up at a later date. However, they did not ask for anything in return. I wonder if the bag was actually for you to stuff your dead dog-chewed cat in.
Section 20.19 of the animal laws amused me as it concerned noisy animals. It states “it shall be unlawful for any animal owner to permit either willfully or through failure to exercise due care and control, any animal, in a continuing or repeating manner, to bark, howl, screech, squawk, scream, whine or cause any other objectionable noises which disturb the comfort, peace, quiet or repose of any person residing in the vicinity.”
I somehow picture a bunch of lawyers sitting in a room and trying to think up all the sounds that an animal can make. Actually, the word ‘repose’ made me think a moment. The definitions of repose are:
Definitions of repose on the Web:
· put or confide something in a person or thing; "These philosophers reposed the law in the people"
· rest: be inherent or innate in;
· lie when dead; "Mao reposes in his mausoleum"
· rest: freedom from activity (work or strain or responsibility); "took his repose by the swimming pool"
· recumb: lean in a comfortable resting position; "He was reposing on the couch"
· peace: the absence of mental stress or anxiety
· lay: put in a horizontal position; "lay the books on the table"; "lay the patient carefully onto the bed"
· a disposition free from stress or emotion
· to put something (eg trust) in something; "The nation reposed its confidence in the King"
So I wonder if its technically illegal to have a dog barking (or squawking) next to a graveyard, and thus disturbing the dead folks repose. I suppose it is, but when I looked further into the law it stated you needed at least three people to sign a complaint form. I guess dead folks won’t be signing many forms.
Some Chinese girl at the buffet asked me if I dyed my hair. I said no. That made her giggle for some reason. Perhaps she thought I lied.
2026 Update
Setting the dial for February 2008, where Ed's brain cells are dying and his lunchmeat is suspicious.
Ah, 2008, when you could still shuffle into a big-box store and have a live deli employee look at you with justified disdain while slicing you questionable ham. Now the counter is a glorified vending machine, and "Black Forest Ham" is typed into a kiosk by a robot that will never judge your accent. You also embraced the fourteen-hour shift as "mind numbingly dull" like that was normal, whereas today we've turned exhaustion into a badge of honor and ordered it through an app while standing in the parking lot. Your dozen tin-foil subs, bachelor chow, hand-assembled economic survival kit: that whole self-reliant food ritual has been shredded by delivery platforms that will bring you one sandwich at a time for the price of a friendship. And the city warning about noisy animals came by cartoon plastic bag—today the same information arrives as a push notification that you'll ignore forever. Even the dead repose law hasn't improved; the dead still refuse to sign petitions, which I respect.
“2008 Ed, why did you think saying "Block Forest Ham!" louder would bridge the gap? Did your dying brain cells leave a note explaining that volume was the problem?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2008 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you'd think a man with half his brain cells gone would know better, but there you go. I have no clue what I was thinking. Maybe I figured the problem was that she couldn't hear me over the hum of the deli case, not that I was just some white boy speaking a foreign language. Yeah, volume doesn't fix stupid, but it does make it more emphatic. And honestly, my brain cells didn't leave a note; they just up and quit. Probably they were tired of me too. All I know is I got my ham, so maybe the universe rewarded my idiocy. Or maybe she just felt sorry for me. Either way, Black Forest ham sandwiches for days. Take that, brain cell suicide.
