Sounds of the season, revisited

So I was in Wal-Mart hell this evening, picking up cough drops, NyQuil (sweet nectar of the gods) and other drugs to kick this fucking case of typhoid, and I wandered into the clothing area. This guy came running into the area, looked around (but didn’t look in my direction, about five feet away), stopped dead in his tracks and emitted the loudest and nastiest expulsion of bodily fumes that one could imagine. Ick. I jerked my shopping cart and headed for the hills, and when he saw me, he jumped five feet and ran in the opposite direction. If I could have gotten through the barrier of methane, I would’ve pointed him toward the Gas X pills. *shudder*

I was working late tonight when I saw a strange car in the parking lot at work — the same car that’s always there late at night. And now that the office was broken into last night, I grabbed Angie and suggested we motor, so we could walk to our cars together. The person sat in his car for a long time, rustling around but not moving. I was brave enough to drive past and get his license plate, and I stopped a few feet away to leave a message for H.R. to tell her to run the plate. Of course, my phone kept vibrating in my hand, and I couldn’t make the call while the plate was still fresh in my mind, so I had to keep reciting the number till the phone stopped wiggling. I hope I recalled it correctly. *sigh* It’s bad enough that two cars have been stolen from the parking lot at my apartment (and I STILL have to park up the hill by the rental office ’cause there’s never a spot for me!); now I have to worry about being robbed at work … and, of course, being flatulated on at Wallyworld. Ugh.

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