A Post To Satisfy The Restless

My week was fairly uneventful. I went on a second interview to a local hospital and they made me an offer on Thursday. The job wasn't exactly what I wanted, but the money was right, the benefits were good and The Girlfriend threaten to twist my teats off if I didn't get work. So, the bad news? They actually want to see my social security card on Monday. I haven't seen the damn thing in probably close to twenty years. They wouldn't accept a drivers license, birth certificate, or pass port. So Friday, I had to go to the social security office and mingle with the unwashed masses. Warning: What follows is unabashed snobbery. The place was packed with non-English speaking types and the homeless. A two hour wait while "Ramona" allowed her toddler to run freely while carrying a huge stinky load in his diapers. I lost count of how many times I had to stop the little ankle biter from sticking his fingers in the electrical socket that was next to me. The rest of my time was spent keeping an eye on "Roscoe" the homeless man. It was 21 degrees outside (I kid you not) so I understand him camping out in a government building trying to keep warm, but must he make a spectacle of himself? The sleeves were cut off of both of the jackets and the three shirts he was wearing. He had all manner of home made crap hanging off of his neck. Most of it looked like it was made with his own hair. On his wrists he had those athletic sweat bands like a tennis player might wear, but twisted into the bands were plastic dinner forks. Rather than sit down and enjoy the warmth, he insisted on shuffling around the entire lobby moving his considerable pile of junk from one location to the next, each one a little more inconvenient to everybody else than the last. When he wasn't moving all of his belongings, he was barging in front of the line, interrupting the person conducting business with some useless information about how he and his son had the same name and that was why he was having trouble getting benefits. My guess is that he was angling for a crazy check.

So after my two hours in line, it takes two minutes to turn in my form for a replacement card. The lady looks at me and says "You should get that in about two weeks, maybe longer with the holidays." I guess I won't get to start my job anytime soon.

Now that I was exhausted from dealing with so many nut jobs, generally stinky people, and bums with no jobs (I left just in time, I was starting to have family reunion flashbacks) I was looking forward to getting home and eating some leftover black bean soup that I had made. It was not to be. The cell rings and guess who? The Girlfriend. The conversation went something like this.

her: Where are you?
me : Driving home.
her: Well turn around and get on I-24.
me : Uh, why would I want to do that?
her: I locked my keys in my car.

So, I drove to a town 45 minutes away to bring her the spare key. She was contrite and offered me all kinds of sexual favors, but I was hungry and made her take me to lunch at The Chop House.

I'm sure that it is no surprise that the drinking began shortly after we got home, thus the Christmas music now on my blog. I blame it on the booze.

Are you happy now Jordan?