Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 108.

You are invited to a party that will be attended by many fascinating people you’ve never met. Would you want to go if you had to go by yourself?

I’m a go on this one.

My standard operating procedure, when meeting someone new, is to get that person to talk about himself. People love to talk about themselves and I really enjoy hearing other people’s stories. I think it’s interesting to watch the corresponding body language and facial expressions as someone shares a personal experience.

Sometimes the gestures tell half the story.

And I’m no different. I do like to talk about myself — here on my blog.

But I’m quite guarded in real life; I know I’ve told you that before. That’s part of what’s so wild about meeting another blogger in real life after establishing a friendship online.

Online my social mask has been strengthened. I’ve hidden behind the anonymity of my ponytail while openly sharing personal thoughts.

In person that social mask is not quite as sturdy so I mostly rely on filtering my thoughts and opinions. I suppose it’s like going to confession. There are two options in that booth — you can sit behind a screen that allows a bit more anonymity or you can sit across from the priest and look into his eyes.

If you’ve never gone to confession before, I can tell you it ain’t easy to sit in the hot seat, in full view, and share your most personal thoughts while waiting to be judged.

Although I’m realizing right now that it has never crossed my mind to sit behind the screen. It doesn’t feel like an option so I always sit face-to-face.

I don’t know what that means but it’s interesting nonetheless.

But in this scenario, at the fabuloso party with intriguing guests, I’d do just fine. The people would be engaging — as stated in the question — with incredible stories to tell. And I bet the appetizers would be fantastic.

Final answer: Hand me my lipstick and my sassiest low tops, I’ve got a party to attend.

I don’t know why this is, but recently the amount of spam I receive has increased dramatically. Usually I receive three to five each day, but yesterday I had 161 and today there were 45. Now the strangest part is that I actually am thrilled to receive it.

Of course if it were thrown in the Lounge that would change everything and I would be at war. But it sits quietly with my bouncer, Akismet until I stop in to check things out.

I do scan through all of it because I have a friend who comments sporadically, but every time he does his comment always ends up in the spam queue. I don’t know why that is, but it is.

So I do glance through to see who’s sending me these little love notes and I’m always surprised to see how few sexual items there are. They must know this is a family-friendly blog. On the other hand, I’m swimming
in
drugs, baby.
That’s probably 95%
of the
spam I receive. I’m swimming in drugs, baby. That’s probably 95% of the spam I receive.

I know, you’re all getting this stuff, too. But in a crazy way, it feels like my blog is sort of hitting the radar — there are more crazed telemarketers who know I’m here. Woo-hoo!

In a way, it’s sort of the like getting some minor attention from the paparazzi. I don’t think I can refer to them as the paps and issue statements to them like Jon and Kate have, until I’m receiving at least 150 per day, which brings me to a puzzling conclusion.

I do review my stats daily. I like to know how many folks stopped by. It’s not the full on obsession it once was and I feel I have made progress in that area, but don’t you think I would have seen a spike in visitors yesterday when receiving 161 pieces of spam?

I didn’t look that closely to see if the majority were from one person, but let’s just say that was the case. All of the comments were on different posts. That should mean my stat counter would indicate one visit with a huge amount of page views, since the posts were from many different months.

I like to drill into the details is all I’m saying and these details are not adding up.

I also find it wild that someone would make sending spam a full-time job. Is it possible to set up an email account to send these comments directly to the blog without visiting the blog? And if so, how does that email address differentiate between posts?

I’m just trying to understand the barometric pressure that sent these clouds in as I look for the silver lining, that’s all.

So Homeslice stopped by and dropped the Honest Scrap meme my way and I thought, ‘What the hell? I think it’s time you heard ten more things about me.’

Truth be told, she also made me feel good — it was sort of like being picked first for dodge ball.

I’m challenged with sharing ten honest things which makes me think I’m supposed to dig deep. But I’m not positive about that, so I’ll strap on my miner’s hat and pick up the shovel to see what we discover.

1. I hate being the person who is holding up the show. I rarely run late, but when you add kids into the mix the room for error increases. In those instances I will tell the folks who are waiting to just go ahead, we’ll meet up later.

I’d rather be the person waiting. And when I’m by myself, I really don’t mind the wait.

2. I’m curious to see what my hair is going to look like once it starts turning gray. And yet I think I’ll be bummed out for a while when it starts to become noticeable. I never have dyed it — it seems too high maintenance and too expensive — so I know I’ll just let it do its thing.

3. I used to have a lot of brand loyalty when it came to food and consumer products. I chose Coke over Pepsi, Colgate over Crest, Kraft Mayonnaise over Hellman’s — that sort of thing. As time went on I let a lot of that go mostly because it seemed frivolous.

Now there is but one lone product I’m holding onto and you will have to pry that from my cold dead fingers. That product is Kraft Mayonnaise. In my opinion, Hellman’s and Miracle Whip are not mayonnaise; they shouldn’t even be called mayonnaise. And if there’s no Kraft Mayo in the house I will gladly go without.

4. I really don’t think I have a special talent beyond speaking Aighi Paighi Pig Latin. I realized this the first time I saw “The Breakfast Club” and Molly Ringwald’s character revealed that she could put lipstick on without using her hands.

5. On summer vacation, sometimes I feel like my nine-year-old daughter is more like my friend and we’re just babysitting her two younger sisters.

6. I’ve always been a loner. I can fit in with the crowd well enough to get by, but I’ve never really been associated with a certain group. It was that way in high school and in the corporate world.

In retrospect, I think it was a way to protect myself from being vulnerable and dependent on another person’s friendship. Wow, that one’s heavy.

7. As a mother, I am struggling to remember what my hobbies were and am having a hard time trying to pick those things up again. It’s easy to lose yourself when taking care of small children. I’ve always enjoyed writing and journaling (blogging) but these days that seems to be my only hobby.

8. In the last few years I’ve been grinding my teeth at night, enough to wear off some edges and occasionally cause discomfort. That’s surprising to me. I don’t know what my definition of a grinder is but I never thought I’d be one.

9. I never used a lawn mower until my husband and I bought this house. Initially we had an electric mower and while that worked well enough I was happy to get a gas mower. Besides the fact that it mulches and eliminates bagging the grass, it makes me feel like a bad ass when I yank the cord to fire it up.

However, the mower is old and I have to spray the spark plugs with gas and yank five or six times to get it to start. So it takes about six yanks to get that bad ass feeling.

10. I have a really hard time saying no without giving some explanation as to why I am declining the offer. I need to work on simply saying, “No thank you.”

As is the case with these things, when I participate I don’t tag other people (I guess this is where I should say, “No thank you”). So if you’re feeling the funk ride that wave. If not, that’s cool too.

I’m coming off a long, long car trip and I’m feeling blocked today, so I thought I’d give you a few random haikus.

As you know, a haiku requires no rhyming, no sense and little thought. If you can write three sentences using five syllables, seven syllables and then five syllables you have yourself a haiku.

So this is what’s gone down in the last 24 hours.

Yes! We’re on the road
Psyche, we forgot the stuffed cat
Hi, we’re back again

McDonald’s play land
Is really over-rated
Because the food sucks

I remember when
A road trip meant adventure
Not tons of whining

So many miles
No juice left in her gameboy
Wish she had charged it

Back at McDonald’s
Chicken or burger this time?
Gah this food still sucks

Heard Kim Possible
Over and over again
Know the lines by heart

That Miley Cyrus
Really can carry a tune
The first hundred times

Hey, are we home yet?
Do not make me stop this car.
You are so rude Dad!

Mom, Dad is so rude!
Make Emily stop screaming
Why aren’t we home?!

This is our exit
Wonder if I have comments?
Time to check my blog

And another summer road trip has ended — with the kids already asking when we’re going back.

As you may know, I’m out of town celebrating this fine country’s Independence Day (chants “USA, USA!”) So I thought I’d give you a Cardiogirl repeat: a post you may have missed the first time around. This is from February 2008. Enjoy!

Recently I stopped by Burger King to indulge in a tasty cheeseburger and while I was there I suddenly remembered my short stint of working at Burger King when I was 17.

On my first day of work I had to sit in the back office and watch a couple of training videos with another person who had just started. So it was just me and this guy watching TV. We had never met before and it was a little awkward sitting silently in a polyester Burger King uniform, watching TV with a stranger, but not too bad.

So the first video finished and the guy stood up to push the button to stop the player and when he stood the pressure of moving caused him to rip wind in the loudest possible way.

I remember as soon as it happened he stood like a statue, in the position of half standing, half leaning forward to push the button on the tape machine. His hand was held in the air, pointer finger still extended.

We both looked at each other in the two seconds it took for us to comprehend what happened.

And then we both fell apart laughing. It was that contagious, embarrassed kind of laughing that had a whole lot of life to it. It then morphed into muffled laughter that could be set off by a quick look.

As I recall the gas was odorless which helped greatly since we were stuck together in a small room with the door shut.

But I have to say, I’d rather laugh about something like that than act like it never happened. Kudos to you 17-year-old dude who farted in my face almost 25 years ago. Way to own it! I wonder where that guy is today and if he even remembers that.

Okay, that was just a fun interlude, here’s the main incident I remember from my time with the Burger King Corporation.

When I worked there I was stationed at the broiler. That seemed like fun to me before the rush came in. The broiler, back then, was kind of like a long conveyor belt. At the very end, in the back of the kitchen was a freezer that held the frozen burgers.

There were two sizes of patties — some were smaller (for hamburgers, cheeseburgers and Jr. Whoppers) and some were larger (for Whoppers). So I had to choose which size patty was going through the broiler on top and then find the corresponding bun and send that through the toaster underneath the broiler.

Then I would run around to where the burgers and buns came out. Once the correct bun was assembled with the correct burger, the whole thing was set inside a warming container, so when an order came in, the guy further down the assembly line could dress the burger and wrap it in paper.

When it came to dressing the burgers there were two people, one on each side. One person simply handled burgers and cheeseburgers (no lettuce) and the other person handled those specialty sandwiches that required mayo, lettuce and tomato.

If you’re interested, the chicken sandwich was prepared on the side on a small island. Apparently, like
the
Montagues and
the Capulets of
Romeo and
Juliet, chicken and
hamburger shall never meet
at Burger King.Apparently, like the Montagues and the Capulets of Romeo and Juliet, chicken and hamburger shall never meet at Burger King.

So I manned the back of the broiler and assembled the hot burgers for that warming bin. That was my job.

One day a disgruntled customer came back to the front counter and insisted someone had taken a bite out of the Whopper that was in her hands. As in, she took her tray to the booth, sat down and opened her mouth-watering Whopper only to find a huge bite taken out of the heretofore pristine burger.

She was outraged.

The manager was called.

A new Whopper was issued.

But the inquisition that took place after that incident probably resulted in me receiving less hours on the schedule, now that I think about it more than 20 years later.

Let me first say, I didn’t do it. I swear on a stack of Bibles, I did not take a bite out of any burger that I ever worked on. But I was the new kid.

I remember the manager just going over and over it with me, wondering if a burger had been ripped when I used the tongs to pull it off the broiler.

Um, no.

Did you take a bite and then not remember?

Um, no. Not that I can recall.

Did you take a bite on a dare?

No. (At this point I felt like I was on the witness stand, hands folded in my lap as I leaned forward to the microphone to reply.)

Did you rip it in half by accident and then put it in the warming bin.

NO BETCH! It wasn’t me!

Alright, I didn’t say that to her. I wasn’t that rude and had not learned the phrase “betch” back then, but if I had that’s what I would have been thinking. It was not me, lady!

Now I wasn’t bold enough at 17 to throw this out to her, but here’s what I think all these years later.

Talk to the dude who assembled the Whopper, yeah that guy in front of the broiler, who put the mayo, lettuce and tomato on that bad boy. Do you really think he would have taken a burger, that had a bite out of it, and then put mustard and ketchup on it?

If you’re seeing teeth marks go through the lettuce, mayo and tomato how the hell was I supposed to have done that from behind the broiler. When the burger did not have dressings on it yet. I think the guy who made the Whopper took a bite to see what would happen. Then pointed the finger at me.

Yeah, there’s your smoking gun, sister.

It was soon after that incident that my hours were cut and I eventually quit. But I don’t hold it against the Burger King Corporation. I still enjoy a flame-broiled burger now and again.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 176.

Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say?

Sometimes. It depends on who I’m calling.

Family and friends? No, I’m wingin’ it. A business call? Yes, most of the time.

And while we’re on the phone here, let’s take a minute to talk about phone etiquette, eh? This is how your phone conversation should go 95%* of the time.

Phone rings, person one answers.

Person One: Hello?

You: Hello, this is (insert your name here, in today’s example we will use moi) Cardiogirl Smith I’m calling for Eugene Krabs.

Person One: I think you have the wrong number.

You: I’m so sorry; thank you for your time.

Aaaand scene.

*Of course there are always exceptions to the rule. There are two variations of that script based on who you are calling.

Variation One: If you are calling a co-worker at home and his or her spouse answers you need to say, “Hello, this is Cardiogirl Smith from ABC Corporation, I’m calling for Alvin Chipmunk.”

Because if you don’t identify yourself to the same sex person on the phone, she’s going to hear:

“I’m a woman you don’t know calling for your husband/significant other and if I didn’t tell you that we work for the same company you might go apeshit on your husband after this call thinking there’s some funny business going on outside of your house.” Or something. Um, individual results may vary.

Variation Two: If you grew up with the other person or you know that person very, very well — like your spouse, a significant other or a long time friend — you can go with, “Hey, it’s me.”

So there you go. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to answering yes or no — with a long, long side note. Thanks for shopping at the Cardiogirl Empire, your receipt is in the bag.

Has anyone here seen the movie “Eraserhead?” It’s a crazy, crazy movie from David Lynch that basically scarred me for life as I still have images floating around in my head from more than 20 years ago.

Side note: I just hit publish by accident and then immediately deleted this post. I can’t wait to see if it appears in my Google Reader. If so, I had an itchy trigger finger. Sorry about that.

Back to the movie. (Shudders.)

I was a freshman in college and my roommate Tonya (hey Tonya, how you doin’?) said there was a great movie playing on campus. I’m pretty sure each weekend there were free movies on campus in a lecture hall. You used your dorm meal card as your ticket. So one weekend “Erasherhead” was showing and Tonya insisted that it was something I had to see.

I think she was a David Lynch fan.

Anyway, we went to see it and it was mental overload for me. I seriously can’t remember all of the plot and I have no memory of Tonya’s review or explanation after the movie.

What I recall is that the movie was in black and white and the guy, Eraserhead, had crazy tall hair like Kramer from Seinfeld. This guy somehow got married to a chick who had a super freaky baby.

I don’t think he was the father of the baby but they got married anyway and that baby was like a crazy alien head with the body wrapped in mummy bandages.

The guy was afraid of the baby, like I was, but he had to take care of it. The baby cried and cried and I remember wanting to shoot the baby to make the crying stop.

You may recall, in high school and college I was not a fan of babies and I never wanted children. Ever. I told anyone who would listen that I wanted a hysterectomy for Christmas. And as you know, I now have three kids. You can’t run from karma, can you?

Eventually the guy in the movie used scissors to cut the bandages open and the baby bled and bled. Auugghhh! That’s what I remember.

I had to go to Wikipedia to see what the rest of the movie was about. It’s all crazy disjointed stuff and has a long plot summary.

The things I did not remember include the fact that the girlfriend was stressed and overly tired so she abandoned him and the baby. He had super bizarre experiences like watching a scary looking woman dancing in his radiator and a sexual tryst with a beautiful woman who lived across the hall.

Um, who babysat while he and the chick across the hall went at it?

Somewhere in all of this he dreamt his head fell off and it was used at a pencil factory to create pencil erasers. WTF?

Later he saw the neighbor in the hall returning home with another man. When she saw him she was terrified because she saw an image of the baby in Eraserhead’s face.

That’s when he went back and cut the baby’s bandages open and killed the baby. It bled and bled and the world exploded. Fade to black.

Okay, so since I had my first kid I have randomly had images of that crazy alien baby when looking at my own child swaddled in a receiving blanket. It’s a very disturbing image as you can imagine and it freaks me out.

I hated that movie, I don’t understand what it’s about and I wish David Lynch never made it.

Have you seen it? Can you explain the artistic vision to me or can you provide the Blue Pill from “The Matrix” so I can remove the images from my head once and for all?

Thanks for your help in this matter.

Well we haven’t gone back in time via my journal in a while, so let’s get to it. Today we’re going to June 23, 1983 and I was 15. Damn, too bad I didn’t write this last Tuesday — it would have been 26 years ago to the day.

(Staggers about with her hand on her heart.) Wow, that’s a long time. I’m pretty sure Cate, Heidi Klum version 2.0 and Liz hadn’t been born yet (cries a bit).

It’s 12:54 pm and I’m watching “I Love Lucy.” I have shorts and a T-shirt on. At 2:00 pm I have a “tennis date.” No, just with my friend Karen. Me and Karen are gonna start running at night (around 8:00 pm) not too late.

Yesterday was our first day, we walked about a quarter of a mile — then we ran a 1/4 of a mile. God, am I out of shape. I was practically dying!

Oh no! Guess what’s on TV?! Sonny Eliot and the One O’Clock Movie. He is the biggest jerk. I know! Why couldn’t HE move to Palm Beach and Bill Kennedy could be on five days a week.

Today Ma and Pa are picking Claire up at the airport. She’s coming in from Florida. Jack got an apartment in St. Louis and he’s getting a phone today.

I made bacon today and read a book. Well while I was reading I wasn’t paying attention and I thought I smelled burning bacon. I checked it five minutes later. I was right. It was as black as sin! So I had to throw it away and make more.

I need a book on clipping a bird’s nails.

As usual, so much to comment on, so much to explain.

“I Love Lucy” was on every weekday from 12:30 pm til 1:00 pm and I watched it relentlessly. I even watched it on my lunch hour from high school. We lived a block from the school so I had enough time to go home and watch the show while I ate lunch. I don’t think I ate lunch in the cafeteria at high school the entire four years that I was there.

But this was written during summer vacation as evidenced by that day’s wardrobe. I have no idea why I thought it was important to note the shorts and T-shirt that I was wearing, but now we know. I also find it amusing that I noted — to my journal — that it shouldn’t get excited thinking I had a real date with a boy. I was just using the term “tennis date” casually.

Great sentence construction on “Me and Karen are gonna start running at night…”

I did watch a lot of television growing up. And for a long time there was a standing movie at 1:00 pm on Channel 50. The original host, Bill Kennedy, was awesome. He must have been in his late 60s or early 70s by the time I was watching.

Anyway, he would give an intro into the movie (always a black and white movie and I loved that) and after the commercial breaks, but before the movie resumed, he would give some more commentary. He also was pretty frank about his thoughts on the movie in question. Sometimes he wasn’t thrilled with it, but worked with what he had regardless.

So he retired somewhere in 1983 and moved to sunny Palm Beach. I was pissed off. I did not understand why a 74-year-old man felt the need to retire. I remember thinking he could have easily hosted the show from Florida. Effer.

Enter Sonny Elliot. I hated him then, can’t stand him now. He was just super smarmy and he drove me nuts. I’m sure I stopped watching the movies soon after he started hosting it.

I also think it’s funny that it took me about six minutes to write the first two paragraphs.

Now the bacon. As we know, everyone loves bacon and I was no exception. I still love bacon but it has to be crunchy. I call it shatter bacon because if you dropped it on the floor it should shatter. That’s how I like it and that’s how I eat it.

I do NOT want to chew on bacon fat. The fat on the bacon should crunch. So I’m not very surprised that I fired up the pan and then started reading a book. I am surprised that I waited for five minutes after I smelled it burning to check on it.

“Black as sin” is totally a phrase I learned from my mother. I don’t think I’ve actually said that in a long time but as soon as I read it, it came back to me. I also recall my mom saying “Hell’s bells!” when extremely frustrated.

Yeah, we’re Catholic.

And my miserly ways must have started after I moved out of my parent’s house, since I had no qualms about throwing that bacon away.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy the end of that entry. You may recall our blue parakeet Bingo and his battle with the bathroom door. Sometime in his short life I must have wanted to clip his nails. I do remember reading something that said the blood line can be seen through the bird’s nails and one must make sure to clip beneath that to avoid excessive bleeding.

I’m quite certain I never trimmed his nails.

And that concludes our trip down memory lane today. I hope you had as much fun as I did.

TO: The refrigerator in my basement
FROM: Cardiogirl
RE: Your freezer compartment

Hey thanks for all you do, buddy. You have been loyal and true all of these years, just hanging out quietly in the basement keeping my extra coffee cream, milk, pop, etc. cold and ready. I appreciate that, I really do.

You know I’ve been your biggest fan since we signed the mortgage papers. Mr. C was ready to cart your ass to the curb. Remember? But I told him I thought you’d come in handy and he relented. Between you and me, a few years ago he did say he was really glad we kept you in the basement there.

Oh I know you’re getting up there in age. You look like you might have been born somewhere in the 50s — that plastic egg holder inside your door is so cute although you’ll never see me using that thing. I prefer my eggs in the carton front and center where I can see them.

And your freezer compartment — oh you know I love your freezer! Especially in the summer when we have popsicles coming out of our ears. So handy and such a part of our daily lives.

But you have one huge flaw that has been getting on my last nerve since the day we moved into this house. Your freezer is old school. It actually has to be defrosted. Gah! That is so annoying.

I know. If we’re going to live together I’m supposed to accept every part of you — flaws and all. I just talked about this with my therapist last week. I know I can’t change you, I have to learn to live with your foibles, just as you live with mine.

Dude, it
shouldn’t
snow in
the freezer when
I shove
a box of
chicken nuggets in there.Dude, it shouldn’t snow in the freezer when I shove a box of chicken nuggets in there. You’re like an expanding waist line that won’t accept with the worn notch on the belt. Why must you create snow and ice like the tundra of the North Pole.

It’s not endearing, that’s all I’m saying.

And I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to deal with this problem. I’m a child of the 70s. Growing up, I don’t ever remember our freezer growing glaciers. It just didn’t happen.

I’m nervous, just like you are, every time I hit the screw driver with the hammer to chip away at the ice. I know one wrong move means we’re both screwed. Am I supposed to leave the door open and let nature take its course?

Mr. C cleaned your clock last night by boiling pots of water and letting them sit inside with the door closed. And I just have to add that this is one of the instances where his neurotic, first-born tendencies really came in handy. That freezer compartment is stripped down, baby. No frost, much less ice, in there. Just shiny metal on each side.

You and I both know it wouldn’t look like that if I were doing the job.

So in short I appreciate your steadfast loyalty. Your refrigeration abilities are top notch — way to deliver. Yet your freezer compartment, while often used and greatly appreciated, leaves a lot to be desired.

Today we shall talk about The Bagel.

Last week I mentioned a coupon I received for a free bagel available on all of the Fridays of June. I clipped it out as soon as I received it and then let it sit on my refrigerator because I am a wuss.

Basically I was afraid of offending the person behind the register by only walking in to receive my free bagel. But after reading all of the comments in the VIP Lounge I decided this would be a very good assignment for me. Even though I was becoming more and more terrified of the prospect.

Before I go any further I must tell you that I realize this is completely lame. Alright, now that that’s out of the way, let’s continue.

As soon as I woke up on Friday morning I remembered I had to get that damn bagel. So I put the coupon on the front door so I wouldn’t forget it on the way to drop off the kids. When the drop off was over I slowly walked to the car because I didn’t want to go to the bagel place.

But I soldiered on.

I’m serious when I say my nerves were stretched taut as I drove closer and closer to the shop. And when I pulled into the parking lot I was really surprised to see how many people were there! I had to search for a spot to park.

When I had considered what this mission would be like I just assumed it would be me as the lone customer and the cashier. Just the two of us in the front of the store.

But that wasn’t the case at all. When I walked in on shaky legs the tables outside of the restaurant were filled and all of the tables inside were taken. And there were already five people in line. That did not figure into my plan and actually made the experience worse since I had to patiently wait for my full on panic attack.

But as I walked to my place in line I imagined all of my VIPers standing behind me cheering me on. I heard Les say, “Hey Betch, where the free bagels at?!”

If it had just been me and the cashier (like it was in my imagined scenario) I could have walked in and gotten it over with. Instead I had to stand there for a good five minutes anticipating the snarl of the chick behind the counter.

So I decided I was going for a salt bagel unless there was some restriction on the coupon that only allowed for a plain bagel. I had a plan, she said as she nodded her head knowingly. And I did notice a woman four people ahead of me who had the same coupon. But she also bought a cup of coffee.

No sister in solidarity there.

Finally it was my turn. I walked up to the counter, leaned in and said (apparently too quietly) “I have a coupon for a free bagel,” as I flashed the piece of paper.

“What?!” she barked.

I cleared my throat and spoke louder, “I have a coupon for a free bagel.”

“Whadda you want?”

“Salt?” I replied, still not sure if that was a trap. I thought maybe that would be considered a premium bagel which wasn’t covered under the restrictions of the coupon. I followed Natural’s advice and left my money in the car so I wasn’t tempted to fork over any cash. But my fear was for naught, the salt bagel was indeed free.

She snatched the bagel off the tray and handed it over.

I meekly said, “Thank you,” and walked over to the cashier, bypassing two paying customers who were waiting for their bagels with cream cheese.

Again, I told the chick behind the counter, “Um, I have this coupon?” as I handed it over. She grabbed it, wadded it up in a ball and she threw on the floor behind her as said, “Have a good day.”

She was clearly in a hurry trying to keep up with the flow of customers and did not give a rat’s ass about my coupon or my fears.

Next!

Once again I walked away on rubbery legs. My tunnel vision kicked in and I left with one goal in mind — make it to the car before I passed out. I did imagine all of you gathered on each side of my walk to the car, sort of like the crowds at the Boston Marathon, hootin’ and hollerin’ as I walked to victory, salt bagel in hand.

In my head I gave everyone a high five and said with attitude, “Damn straight I got my free bagel. Booyah!” But in reality I sort of half walked, half staggered to the car, hopped in and locked the door behind me.

Victory was (just narrowly) mine! And that salt bagel did taste great with the cream cheese and coffee that I provided, for free, back at my house. The best part was that I read a few more comments that came in between Thursday and Friday while I ate that victory bagel.

And I almost choked on said bagel when I read Natural’s last comment:

“cg, you had better be minus one coupon and there better be a bagel digesting in your stomach. i have 1/4 tank of gas and i can be there by morning.”

Yes, it was a good day last Friday and I have all of my Cardio peeps and Einstein Bros. Bagels to thank.

Thank you and peace out!