Overheard in Deli Line

Deli worker: Does anyone have a number lower than 25?
Older woman with short, curly, old woman hair: [smiles, then raises her hand] I have 26.

I think she should forfeit her spot in line. At least she was still able to distinguish numbers under 100. I just hope she got dropped off by a geriatric shuttle.

Dream: Crushed

Dangerous Animals–Primates (HB 4801/PA 96‐1219): Prohibits a person from having in his or her possession any primate, except at a properly designated facility.

--http://downersgrove.patch.com/articles/nearly-200-state-laws-take-effect-jan-1

If you're going to defecate on my dream, the least you could do is have the decency to fling it at my face.

I don't want to live in a society where I can't own a monkey. This is America. And if I want to have a pet monkey to fetch me drinks and occasionally wear a butler outfit, that's my right. It's in the Constitution. Or Bill of Rights. One of those important texts. Magna Carta? Federalist papers? Someone help me out here.

Boston Itinerary

I will be spending 45 hours in Boston, before hopping on a bus down to New York. It has been argued by some in my office that I won't be able to see all of the below places. We shall check the ledger after I return.

Planned destinations:

• Fenway
• Freedom Trail
• Boston Massacre Site
• Faneuil Hall
• Paul Revere House
• Bunker Hill
• Sam Adams Tour
• JFK's Birthplace
• Mike's for cannolis

Am I missing anything?

Complimentary Strangers

A quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog. I like to eat pecan pie, oranges, pasta and guacamole.

I scribbled the above sentences last night on an unlined, blank white piece of paper as part of a lecture on handwriting analysis. My penmanship leaves a lot to be desired. I print and my signature has become more of a scrawl. I've always appreciated the field as a science and give it its due credibility. But if there were any doubts among the 30 or so gathered, they were quickly dismissed after the samples were analyzed.

Looking around the room as the lecturer highlighted areas (stem size, pressure, angle, dots above i's, how t's are crossed) to analyze in individual samples it was easy to pick out whose handwriting she held in her hand. Some would bow their head while taking better notes and others would nudge their spouse in the adjacent chair.

Equally enjoyable was when an area of analysis was discussed and the lecturer posed a question to the crowd. All of a sudden everyone was an expert. Loopy stems meant someone was arrogant to some in attendance. Shortly after that suggestion someone would perk up and contest the assertion. Likely the person who supplied that sample.

When discussing pen pressure the expert of the pen had picked up my piece of paper as an example along with a few others. As she looked at it in her vast wisdom, she commented that the person was very intelligent and was probably a very good student. It was at this exact moment that I confirmed she was a sage.

After the 90 minute lecture, I went to thank the woman for her time and sharing her expertise and to get a bit more flattery. Can we ever really have enough? Even though handwriting analysis is a science, it felt as though a psychic was reading your fortune. Upon further review she said that I'm analytical, a good manager, very good at explaining technical things to others, older/more mature than my age, caring and "have a bright future" ahead of me. She left out humble.

All this from a simple sentence about a fleet fox.

Enemies & Disowned Family Calling Plans

Waiting for my phone to be repaired, I completed level after level of Angry Birds on a sample phone at the local U.S. Cellular store. The repair had been needed for nearly a year, but I never found the time until today when an unforeseen interwebs outage at work resulted in a freebie afternoon to run wild. Some spent the free time sleeping or shopping. I spent my bonus three hours getting the stubborn bird diarrhea washed off the roof of my vehicle and getting my phone fixed. Lesson: Don't park under trees.

A mother and daughter entered the store and the mother disgustedly told the employee that her daughter lost her phone. "No, she lost it," she repeated. At this point I really wanted to ask if they tried calling it, but I was engrossed in my game and another man's story.

While I was developing a clinical addiction to the cell phone game phenomenon, a gentleman who looked to be in his early forties entered the store. Being the nosy multi-tasker I am, I eavesdropped to hear about his dilemma as I fought off kids from using the phone.

"I need to change the password on my account," he explained to one of the representatives.

"I purchased two phones and gave one to a friend...a roommate of mine," he corrected himself. "He has since moved out and I gifted the phone to my uncle."

The uncle apparently isn't living with him. I was disappointed that the man couldn't use the word "bequeath" in this context. I didn't get the impression this was an amicable parting of ways. It seemed like a "you took my CDs jerk face" sort of situation.

Truthfully, I was surprised the roommate didn't yoink the phone. Maybe it was a flip phone. It musn't have had Angry Birds installed on it. I'd stay in a relationship, no matter how intolerable, solely to continue playing that game. The roommate disappoints me. Based on the large amount I know about this partnership, it seems his subtle va te faire foutre was to not write down the four-digit password for the voicemail box. The poor uncle now has no idea why people wanted to reach him. What if he won a time share in Florida? What if a radio station was trying to reach him about a contest he won? A long-lost Nigerian royal relative perhaps is trying desperately to contact him.

If I have learned one thing from daytime television it is to never, ever give a cell phone to a friend or family member. Sure. It seems like a great idea. Maybe it costs you $10 and you split minutes you'll never use. Win-win. You look like a big shot UNTIL you decide to rescind your gift and all your Joni Mitchell albums are missing.

The repair person called my name and gave me my fixed phone.

There are times I wonder what I miss while toiling away at the office. Then there are moments like these when I'm reminded how great it can be to spend an hour in the wild.