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Sound; "Don't make a sound or we'll take your baby down to the bottom of the bottomless pit." Name that band, I know you can.

Sight; Too much of the Misanthropic Bitch.

Taste;Turkey rollup with avocado.

May 24, 2000
I'm hard just thinking about it.

A few days ago I was in the Texaco down the street from my house, buying a pack of cigarettes. It was a hot day, most are now. There was two people ahead, 5 people back and the line wasn't moving. I, of course, hadn't showered and had thrown on my cutoffs a tank top and threw my hair up. I was not expecting a crowd.
A young hispanic boy, his ethnicity not supposed to be an issue, but I can't lie and say it wasn't, it obviously marred my thoughts on this after the fact, was at the counter trying to buy candy with a handful of change. Of course, just like I did at his age, he did not have enough money. Unlike myself at that age, he argued with the cashier. Money in hand, the cashier counted it in his face to prove his point.

At this point, I spoke up and asked how much he needed.

How much he needed. To hell with his, I still speak up to give money to a person, while I had just counted change out of my bowl at home to come to the store and buy water and smokes. This reaction I have bugs me, and I'll tell you why when the story is through. Once I had spoken, three other soccer moms, who you think would've spoken in the first place, hustled up and gave the cashier what they had to cover the candy cost. Young Mr. Nocash bought his candy, then reached up on the counter and tried to grab a StarBucks frappucrap and leave. The new cashier, a middle aged Haitian man, grabbed it back and said he hadn't paid for it. The boy pointed to the money in the cashiers hand and said, "There's the money right there."

It was obvious this boy was not an immigrant, his english was perfect and I could've sworn that I heard a southern accent. I would call his age near 11, old enough to know how to count, and there again, maybe I'm assuming too much already.

The women that were buying the candy for their kids sitting in the Ford Excursions outside bought it for him and he went off about his merry way.

When I was out of the store and driving home a few things ran through my mind.

1) Why was I the first to speak up, I didn't even have an extra penny, I knew the correct amount before I even entered the store, counted at home. I couldn't have helped if I wanted.

2) What provoked the mothers in the store to pay even though I had spoken?

3) It was a hot day, the boy deserved a cool drink, maybe he couldn't afford it, he was a person in need and he was helped, a good deed had just been committed.

4) Good deed my ass. It was a hot day, and that's why I was there buying WATER. He could've had water too. The boy pulled a fast one and didn't deserved to be helped.

5) He was a child, when I was his age, I reveled in buying as much candy as I could for a dollar. Every child that age should have candy sometimes.

6) Fuck that. Candy is a luxury. His age does not make him automatically exempt from the responsibilities of having the correct amount when you try to buy something, and even if his problem was that he could not count the money correctly to know he had enough...

We had just continued his cycle of being carried so he did not have to learn in the first place

He didn't say thank you either. The entire thing left me mentally exhausted. This isn't the type of interaction that should leave one analyzing, it must have just been my mood. I talked it over with Adam and got it off my mind.

Now, why does his being Hispanic matter? Because I felt knee-jerk guilty at most of my thoughts towards him. That guilt would have been nonexistent had he been caucasian. Cause you know, those little white bastards should know better anyhow.

Moving on...

I feel good, body wise. No more bleeding, yet still no lovin'. It could be much worse, in fact I surprised at my recovery time. I received my bill from the hospital, I need to pay around $18 total. Not bad. Would you be surprised if I told you I'll probably skip out on the bill? Didn't think you would, you know me too well.

Adam has decided that he's no longer working weekends. I was overjoyed, then he followed up telling me that, by telling me that he'll be helping his father build storage sheds on Saturdays during the summer. 60 to 0 in 5 seconds flat. I'll live. I had a much harder time with his being MIA during the weekends while I was pregnant, now it doesn't affect me so much.

Sid is home, sans sac, the poor little shit. When I took him out of his carrier he was covered in his own piss, then I had to turn around and head back to work, though no one wrinkled their nose at me so maybe the stench didn't carry too far. Maybe I made them think they had peed a little themselves.

I've decided to join the rest of my coworkers at the picnic this summer, though I won't be partaking in the waterpark revelry, thankee. I most likely won't be smoking anything with anyone there either. Maybe one beer, then I'll find a reason to leave. For some reason it just doesn't seem as fun as last year. Here's a nugget from last year's party...

Fat Mailroom Man: Hey Sarah, my sister wears a swimming suit just like that, but she wears another bottom underneath it... I know you're not because I can see everything.

This being the same freak that told me he was hard just looking at me during the last Christmas party. Oh, the pain of being me...

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