As I approached the bus stop this morning, I noticed a plastic bottle standing upright on the sidewalk a ways ahead of me. These were my successive thoughts about it as I got closer to it:
- Some litterer was here!
- Is that bottle filled with bees?
- There isn't anything in it. There's a pine cone in front of it—resting up against it.
- Oh, there is something in it.
- Can't be bees; the lid's on the bottle.
- It's an empty bag of chips crumbled up in there.
- What kind of drink is that? That arbitrary line feed message doesn't work for me. The circled one was the one on the ground here.
- Seeing a flat piece of rubber, with three stubby prongs sticking up out of it nearby: What the hell is that? A piece of rubber from a laptop case or its strap?
- Oh, I think that's somebody's shoe heel.
- Somebody walked unevenly away from their trash.
Work on the Hillsborough Street re-design began this Monday, and it's already wreaking havoc with my commute. Half of the four-lane street has been closed off, leaving two lanes that used to be going in the same direction now each going in a different direction.
That wouldn't be so bad except for the fact then when I get off the bus now, I'm stuck in the middle of the road with nowhere, really, to go. The bus stops for my stop right where the white van is in this picture:
which means, I'm stuck right there up against that concrete barrier until I can cross. Now if that light right there is red when the bus stops, it's not bad. However, if it's green, the bus goes on, along with the traffic behind it, and there's traffic coming the other directions, so all I can do is stand there, essentially in the middle of the road, until the traffic ceases or the light turns red. Crazy.
I just noticed today that there's an article in the STC-Carolina's newsletter on my trip to China, about which I presented during their January Membership meeting.
The main story is here:
At the end of the article, there's a link to a more detailed regurgitation of my presentation:
And at the end of THAT, there are some links to what Paul Harvey would call "the rest of the story" (i.e., our official delegation blog, and my personal blog—where the REAL dirt is).
Mid-afternoon, I walked with my manager down Hillsborough Street to Reverie, a coffeehouse that now sports a logo decal of the HRC on its door and an outline of the state of NC filled in with the rainbow colors. Cool.
She kindly treated me to a cup of coffee, and we talked about whether a comment she made to me yesterday after that bi-monthly meeting that I take the minutes for offended me.
We had a good chat for it, and I told her what I appreciate the most about the whole thing is that she brought it up to talk about.
I went outside right at 5:30 to catch the 5:30 bus, which I'm quite sure has never arrived by 5:30, as it's actually supposed to be at the stop before mine at 5:30. Evidently today was a first, because when it got to be 5:55, I knew I'd missed it. That tells me that it didn't stop at that previous stop to sync with the schedule. Bastards.
Of course the 6:00 bus was back on its normal (read: late) schedule, and arrived at 6:10.
The bus ride home was uneventful, but I did notice that "Uppers" (from yesterday) was on the bus. He was alone today, so no stories of fired chefs or skimpy chili.
Casey got home at about 7:30 tonight, as he had dinner out with our mutual friend Sam and his family.
I diced up some of our leftover marinated chicken and added it to my salad tonight, and it was most delicious.
Later I ran to K-Mart to pick up a prescription, as I'd had a call that it was ready for pickup. There was confusion (to me) about which prescription (of my two) I was getting, it was only for 30 days instead of the 90 I usually get, and I didn't have a discount card with me that I wanted to use for this refill.
I'm just going on the record here to say, "I hate the state of health care in this country." Tomorrow I have to call my doctor's office about this, and it's going to be phone tag with the nurse, a hassle to get it straightened out for sure, and then I'll have to go back to the pharmacy. Hassle.
While I was out, I also ran by Food Lion to pick up something for breakfast for work tomorrow morning.
As I got out of my car, this rather tall girl with long, blond hair and noticeable breasts—even to me (hey, I'm gay, not blind)—had just finished talking to a girl who was walking by, whom I heard say, "No, I'm sorry I can't."
She then turned to me and said, "Excuse me, sir? Would you be able to help us out at all for some gas money?"
"No, I'm sorry I can't help you out," I said.
This girl so looked like she didn't need "gas money." However people who need gas money look.