Aw-kward!
You know you’ve had too much to drink when you lay down on the floor–and you have to hold on. ~ Merle Haggard
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What I witnessed at the Qwik-E Mart this evening is enough to make a grown man cry. Every man who has ever tried to make conversation with a pretty young lady will tell you–it ain’t easy. Believe me.
However, you do yourself no favours when you handicap yourself by having a few dozen cocktails before you enter the game. Such was the case with the dude sporting the mullet (‘Business in the front–party in the back!’) at the Stop-n-Rob as he swayed back and forth ever so gently like a sheet on the clothes line and talked to the increasingly bothered lady behind the counter. (It was plain for all to see that she was praying for the floor in front of the lottery tickets to open up and swallow the guy.)
As I was leaving with my six-pack of refreshing, cold beverage, it was obvious that the Well of Wit had grown dry. The best he could do to try and keep the conversation going was to lean over the counter and, with a look of genuine interest and curiosity, ask whether the receipt machine was ’self-perforating’ or ‘do you havta tear ‘em yerself?’
The look he received made my blood run cold; his blood must have been at least .12, so I don’t think it affected him much.
Swing and a miss!
