You get up after a so-so night of sleep and do the usual routine of showering, shaving, looking outside for tanks surrounding your home, and pour a nice bowl a Sugar Corn Pops.
SportsCenter comes on and shockingly the first story isn't about the Yankees or Red Soxs (probably because they were busying giving up homers to 178 pound waifs with a grand total of one round-tripper before the game). You smile at USC's coach doing the hang loose sign, and pet the fat cat as he jumps up on the table to remind you to feed him before stumbling out the door.
Hopping into the car, your body notes that its getting cold, and bitching about the weather on your blog is coming soon. The wife turns on the radio to the K102 morning crew and some warbling country western guy sings about loading sixteen tons of something that annoys you.
As you near the workplace, the wife spots a gas station with prices 20 cents lower then the one near your domicile. "A nice sauage, egg, and cheese biscuit would be great" your stomach proclaims. Pointing out the price, your wife agrees to fuel up the gas sucking car. After the wife takes the job as pump jockey, you grab your wallet and hop inside to grab the pre-made grease brick under the heat lamp and the morning paper with the headlines about apples, Bush vs. Iran, and how "Grey's Anatomy" is a great show (I agree).
Since its near your work and you've visited the store many times in the past, you expect the geeky yet strangly attractive brunette in a She's All That pre-meeting-Freddy Prinze Jr.-sort-of-way (SUPER SIZE MY BALLS!) to ring up your purchase. Unfortunately its an Indian (dot not feather) who garbles something at you after sliding a finski his way. Because of your drowsy state, you don't acknowledge the broken English at first and become angry that geek-girl decided not to work thru the morning shift and that he is still clutching your change.
"What did you need sir?" you inquire
"I said, would you like your pennies from your change?" states the man with a head too big for his shoulders
I'm not miserly enough to care about pennies or even a couple of nickels as I usually drop them into whatever give-a-penny-take-a-penny jar or tray laying out. But why the fuck are you asking if I want my own money?
You walk away, head shaking, but sans pennies focusing on the lukewarm prize in your right hand.
Dejected despite the delicious sponge cake-like biscuit sandwich you run to your blog and chronical your vapid story.
Me in PA in two days, just say WHODEY!
Thanks for dropping by, now hit me with your best sarcastic remark for our penny-pinching clerk.