Brad Brown

Drag Racing

I was stopped at a red light when a BMW station wagon pulled beside me in the left lane. Rather than stop completely, the driver kept slowly inching forward. People tend to think they can outrun Lil’ Pepe, particularly those driving luxury cars. However, I find that those people have no idea how to race, which is why I find great satisfaction in racing them. To prepare for this challenge, I shifted into first gear; even though I drive an automatic, I still like to go through the motions of shifting. The light turned green and I punched the accelerator, shifting from first, to second, to drive [remind me to tell you about the time I shifted from drive to neutral to reverse…good times]. I left the BMW driver in my virtual dust. The rush of adrenaline surging and my manliness evident, I turned into the Starbucks parking lot.
 

Starbucks

The sweet smell of coffee and marijuana greeted me as I walked in. About one out of every five times I go in, I smell marijuana. I’m assuming this why the lattes always taste burnt (never let a stoner operate a stopwatch). Still, it’s the most convenient coffee shop in the area, so I’m held captive. I prayed to a major deity that the little blond lesbian barista was working that day; she always gives me an extra shot for free. Unfortunately, the dreadlocked guy was on duty. I gave my order to the cashier - “Sugar-free triple vanilla grande latte” - which he promptly corrected - “Triple grande sugar free vanilla latte”. He then yelled the corrected version to the dreadlocked barista, who went to work on my latte like a stoned madman. Emasculated from my ordering faux pas, I waited patiently by the rack of Paul McCartney CDs, listening to the sturm und drang of the latte production process. Repeating my order for the fourth time, the cashier handed me the cup, which I gingerly held by the protective cardboard ring. “Later dudes,” I said, attempting to sound cool and eighteen. “Later guy,” the barista replied.
 

The Cleaners

There are two cleaners nearby. One, called “Swiss Cleaners” is run by an elderly Chinese couple (I assume they’re of Swiss origin). The other is owned by an elderly Chinese couple, but actually operated by young hotties. Therefore, I frequent the latter. My thought is that if they’re putting that much thought into marketing using sex, I might as well show my appreciation for their efforts. I hopped into my truck and drove down strip mall row (”Oh sweet, a new Target,” “Oh sweet, ninety-nine cent bread at CVS,” “Raylene’s Fabric Emporium…now open”). I pulled into the drive-thru at the cleaners. Sometimes, the dragon wins, because this time I was helped by the token unattractive girl. I picked up my fourteen Lands End dress shirts - the sweet smell of perchloroethylene mixing with the coffee aroma in my truck. I read where Einstein wore the same thing each day, so I try to emulate him by wearing the same Dockers khaki pant and white shirt combination every day of the week. So far it hasn’t worked.
 

The Grocery Store

After picking up my clothes, I stopped at Kroger for some badly needed coffee filters. I’m always amazed at the exotic foods that have started showing up at the grocery stores in this rather vanilla section of the country. Our store now has a little sushi stand, with a sign indicating “Prepared fresh daily by our Japanese sushi chef.” Given the underwhelming quality, I’m assuming “Japanese” means white male teenager. I skipped the sushi kiosk o’ death, picked up my coffee filters, salad, and burritos, and then headed for the cashier. Just as I started putting my food on the conveyor belt, I heard the bagger say “I’ve got to go to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back.” That’s not the kind of statement you want to hear from someone packing your food; I assumed the fecal contamination in my salad was already bad enough, and I didn’t want to add insult to injury by adding a Kroger employee’s “contribution” to the mix. I immediately started praying to all the major deities, hoping the cashier would get to my groceries before the bagger returned. Unfortunately, the mildly retarded (and I mean that literally, not figuratively) replacement bagger was slow (and I mean that both literally and figuratively). “Sir, do you have your Kroger Plus Card?” the cashier asked. “No, just charge me you would normally overcharge me,” I replied. “Dear Jesus, if you would spare me the stress of having my produce bagged by a person who didn’t wash their hands, I will go back to church on Sunday.” Luckily, my prayers were answered. Just as the bathroom-bound bagger returned, the young man put the last of my produce in the bag. Crisis averted!
 

The Dairy Queen

I thought I’d finish my trip off with a delicious Blizzard from our friends at Dairy Queen. “I’ll have a Blizzard with chocolate coated peanuts and Snickers,” barked BradBrown.com into the drive-thru speaker. “Wa wa wa wa,” replied the distorted loudspeaker. “What?” I asked back. “One…chocolate….one…vanilla…” replied Sanjib. “That’s one Blizzard with chocolate coated peanuts and Snickers,” I yelled back. “That’ll be seven dollars and thirteen cents,” replied Sanjib. It’s amazing how the price always comes through the speaker clearly. I pulled around and waited, and was thrilled to be handed a chocolate-dipped vanilla cone and a Reese’s Pieces Blizzard. There are times in life where you make a stand and demand satisfaction, and there are times you submit and roll the direction the avalanche of life is pushing you. “Thanks, that’s exactly what I wanted!” I said. The quicker I returned to the safety of the couch, the better.
 

Conclusion?

I think that the cocooned woman in the “Aliens” movie said it best: “Kill me…kill me!”

 

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