A kid about three or four comes into the store with a bunch of much older relatives, including the dad. There is an exhausting ten minute period where she says "Daddy" about four billion times, even though he is regularly answering and fully engaging with her.

Eventually, she grows tired of telling him which comics he should buy.

Little Girl: "Daddy? Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?"

Dad: "Yes?"

LG: "It's time to go get cotton candy."

Dad: "In a minute. We're going to buy a gift for your cousin first."

LG: "Daddy, now."

Uncle: "Wow. She's so bossy. Just like her mom."

Dad: "No. Her mom communicates directly, in a helpful manner. When she's bossy, she's being like her obnoxious uncle."

Uncle: "Does this mean I'm not getting any cotton candy?"

Selina: "Human you are home! We have missed you and are starving!"

Me: "Your bowl is filled beyond capacity with food."

Selina: "We have missed you and are thirsty?"

Me: "Your water bowl is half full."

Selina: "We have missed you?"

Me: "Ok, let me go put my stuff down before I pet you."

Selina: "The thing is. I didn't think you were ever coming back."

Me: "Ok."

Selina: "But you did. Yay!"

Rubs head against shins.

Me: "What did you do when you thought I was never coming back?"

Selina: "Nothing. Nothing much."

Motherfucker meows sarcastically.

Selina: "Ok. I threw up on your bed."

Me: "SELINA!"

Selina: "But I felt bad about it. I remembered that you have left the house before, and always come back eventually. So I felt bad. About vomiting on your bed. So I knocked over your laundry bag and put a pile of socks over the vomit. To clean it up! "

Me: "Fucken cat."

Selina: "Look, I knocked over the paper towel roll first, but they don't work right. They got all torn up while I was trying to separate them. So. Socks."

Me: "You're the worst."

Selina: "Wait. Did I say *I* vomited? I meant The Dog did it."

Me: "He did not."

Selina: "He DID! And then I heroically covered his puke with your socks."

Me: "That is definitely cat food puke."

Selina: "HE'S BEEN EATING OUR FOOD?"

Me: "Nobody likes you."

Selina: "Motherfucker loves me."

Motherfucker coughs.
Selina: "I am glad you are back. You may pet me now."

My Dad: "I see you brought chicken broth. How much did you pay for it?"

Me: "I don't know."

My Dad: "Tomorrow is Black Friday. You could have gotten two boxes for $4."

Me: "Then I wouldn't have had it to make dinner with today."

My Dad: "We should pick some up tomorrow so you'll have them for next year."

​Me: "I'll pass."

Working on appropriate curses for the Boomers who come in and wax poetic about how glad they are the store still exits, but then leave without buying anything:


Me: "May all your credit cards be reported stolen the day after Thanksgiving and not be replaced until January."

​Coworker's variation: "May you lose your wallet, only to find out, a month later, that it was in your house the whole time."

I woke up annoyed. I know there are those of you who imagine I wake up annoyed every day, but you're wrong. Every other Thursday, I wake up Filled With Rage. And Saturdays are usually reserved for Confused Ire.

Out in the kitchen, my roommate was listening to an audiobook. I have to assume the book is called Detective Filesearcher And The Files From The FIle Cabinet. Here's the excerpt that I woke up to.

<<He opened the file cabinet to search for the file that would help him clear the case but the fie cabinet had been tampered with and the files were out of order. Someone didn't want him to find the file.

His search was taking too long. Any minute now someone would walk into the office and find him searching for the file, and the gig would be up. He had to find the file fast.

When he finally found the file, it seemed light. He should have held the file under his arm as he exited the office but the file was awkward. He worried someone would see him carrying the file out of the office. But no one did.

He drove to Danny's house. She answered the door in her robe. The belt of the robe was askew just enough to reveal the outline of her nightgown. It reminded him of how the file was slightly falling out of the file folder.

"What's that file?" Danny asked, questioningly.

"Nevermind the file." He said. "I'm hungry."

"Fine. I'll make eggs for you and your file." She said file-ingly.

While Danny cooked eggs, he went into the garage with the file. Parts of the file were missing. There were spreadsheets and TL-9 reports, and pictures, and paperwork, and newspaper articles but still there was something not in the file.

"Who had tampered with the file," he wondered "and what had they taken from the file?"
Suddenly, the garage door opened. It was the FBI.

"I'm Detective Persons. FBI." The FBI agent said. "I'm here for the file."

"What file?" He asked, putting the file on the hood of the car.

Danny opened the garage door. "What are you doing in my garage?" Danny asked. "Is this about the file?"

"Keep your mouth shut, Danny." He said.

"I'm from the FBI." The FBI agent said. "Go back into the house ma'am."

"This is my garage." Danny said while standing in her garage.

"Ma'am. I'm from the FBI and I'm going to need you to leave your garage."

"But it's my garage." Danny said to the FBI agent.

"Ma'am. This doesn't concern you. This is FBI business. I'm an FBI agent. I need you to leave."

Danny covered her nightgown with her robe. "You need me to leave my garage so you can talk about the file?" Danny asked.

"Yes ma'am." The FBI agent said.

"It's about the file." he said.

Danny left the garage, clutching her robe around her nightgown.

"Looks like I'm never going to get those eggs." He said.

"Is that the file on the hood of the car?" The FBI agent asked.
"What file?" He asked. He had brushed the file to the garage floor while FBI Agent Persons talked to Danny.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me." FBI Agent Persons said. "We have some questions about a missing file."

They walked out the garage door, the file still loose on the garage floor. He hoped Danny found it before the FBI agents got a search warrant. As he got into the car, he imagined Danny picking up the files in her bathrobe, the belt askew, revealing the outline of her nightgown. He filed that thought away.>>

Random Claude Caravan comes in.

Random Claude #1 tosses a copy of Black Panther Long Live The King at me.

RC 1: "How much?"

Me: "$14.99 plus tax."

RC 1: "I will give you ten dollars."

Me: "Thanks. I appreciate it. I'm not going to give you the book, though. That costs $14.99 plus tax."

RC 1: "Ten dollars."

Me: "Ten dollars!"

RC 1: "You'll do it?"

Me: "No."

He walks out of the store.

RC 2: "You'll have to excuse him. He's from Amsterdam."

Me: "Where, I bet, they also think he's a dick."

​She laughs, and the rest of the caravan chugs on out of the store, surprising no one, without buying anything.

​Today I got an e-mail asking me to fill out a survey for a local cookie store. What kind of cookies did I buy, how was the service, would I recommend the cookies to a friend, etc. There was also a section asking me to describe the service in two or three words.

For filling out the survey, I would get two free cookies.

I filled it out positively, got a coupon code, and ordered two cookies and a cookie sandwich (icing between two cookies) to pick up when I was done with work.

When I got there, there were about a half dozen Harvard frosh women. And the two Very Very Very Stoned but happy employees, neither of whom were the very stoned employees from my last trip, gave them a shit ton of free cookies.

At one point, a student asked if they had any peanut butter left. They had one.

Student: "How much is it?"

Very Stoned Dude #1: "I'll flip you for it. Heads, it's free. Tails, it's a dollar fifty."

It was heads.

Everyone giggled, they all eventually got their free cookies, and they left.

Me: "Hey. I'm Adam. I'm here to pick up an order."

VSD #1: "An order? Did you see an order?"

VSD #2: "Check by the computer."

VSD #1: "Is your phone background Kanye's dick?"

VSD #2: "Nah, that's his thumb."

VSD #1: "Whose thumb?"

VSD #2: "Kanye's."

VSD #1: "Oh, here's the order. Maaaaaaaaaaaaaan. OH SHIT."

VSD #2: "What?"

VSD #1: "This is the guy who wrote 'Entertainingly Stoned' in the 'How would you describe our service' box."

VSD #2 (to me): "FOR REAL?"

I shrugged.

VSD #2: "You are definitely not paying for cookies tonight. That shit KILLED ME."

VSD #1 (shouts to the back): "The entertainingly stoned guy is here."

VSD #3 comes out from the back. "You are getting a whole bowl of icing in your Bigwich."

Me: "Thanks."

VSD #3: "And make sure he gets big cookies, too. I don't care what he ordered. You give him the biggest cookies he wants. I laughed my ASS off when I saw that."

VSD #3 goes back to the back.

VSD #2: "The bad news is, we're completely out of all three cookies you ordered. So you're going to have to pick from what's left."

I pick some basic cookies, and two huge ones for the Bigwich.

VSD #2 puts the cookies in a box, and hands me an overstuffed giant cookie sandwich and a bowl of icing.

VSD #1: "Give him that box of oatmeal raisin cookies we got left, too."

Me: "Woah woah woah. I thought we were friends. Oatmeal Raisin? What did I do to you?"

We laughed, and I left with way too many cookies, none of which I'd paid for.

​On my way back to the store, I waited at the intersection with two women carrying salads from Sweetgreen's. I gave them each a cookie and the entire bowl of icing.

I just got half way to the bus stop to run some errands, and realized my boots felt weird. I thought one might be untied, but it turned out that I was wearing one boot and one sneaker.
I am debating just not even attempting to leave the house again until tomorrow.

Regular Customer sees the poster for the first night of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer Headcanon.

RC: "I forgot that Nick Cave is in Buffy The Vampire Slayer movie."

Me: "Huh? No, he's not."

​RC: "Sorry, not Nick Cave. Duh. Nick Cage."

Me: "No. He's not in it, either."

RC: "Yea, he is. He has that ridiculously long death scene."

Me: "That's not Nick Cage. That's Pee-Wee Herman."

RC: "What? No it isn't."

Me: "Yes it is. It's Paul Reubens. Pee-Wee Herman. The Spleen."

RC: "Pee-Wee Fucken Herman?"

Me: "Yea."

RC: "No way."

Me: "He's On The Poster. Look."

RC: "What the fuck? He's not Nick Cage?"

​Me: "No."