I haven’t taken my lunch with me when leaving home in the morning since I was in sixth grade at Blackhawk Elementary Schule in Springfield, Illinwa (Illinoi if you prefer; Illinoise if you prefer instead; an Illinois by any other name is still cornbread country style). My recent part time salvation-circumstance is prompting reconsideration of a modus operandi I’ve owned for almost 50 freaking yiz.
My first few days were a happy “rat-ta-tat” of things to do. Since food more than once a day is a non-issue most of the time for a bloke in my income (b)racquet, I did okay with water in what appear to be waxed, three-ounce-capacity-to-brim Dixie Cups from a water cooler dispenser. There was a candy dish on the counter, and starting about noon, I’d savor three or four pieces of chocolate, and all was well in the tum-tum-tumerator. All I really missed from the comforts of ‘om’ (ooom, ooom, Hari Krishna, boo boop pa doop) were instant coffee (which I brought the third day) and iced tea (which I brought the fourth). Things went fine for me and my fresh iced tea, topped with a crust of ice cubes in a three-serving insulated jug) until a few days ago.
I was in a rush; measured stirred AND shook the requisite spoonfulls (as #43 might say) and spoonsfull (as many who are not babbling criminal war psychopaths might say) of mix and water and hurried to the “Blieu Goose” as I call mon DeSoto Meaculpa) (<– not its real name; not that it wouldn’t be a good one), When I arrived at work (WORK!!!) and reached for my trusty jug, it came too easily; noticeably lighter and giving ample evidence of why in the darker hue of the passenger-side carpet. When It had fallen over as I punched the brakes to avoid hitting an honest squirrel (at least he seemed so when I saw him) the contents had migrated through the poorly turned and loose lid, into the car. NOT a big deal; I would learn, and when I drank the last of the short shrift of tea later in the day, that cool (kewl if you’re younger than 40) water in 3 ounces-to-the-brim-capacity Dixie Cups was miiiiiighty tasty.
So today I was determined not to repeat the fluid faux pax of the earlier excursion. I measured the mix, stirred and shook it, and by GORRY, when I arrived at work (WORK!!!) there wasn’t a drop of wayfaring liquid in my car floor, or seat, as I reached for mon jug.
That’s because I had forgotten to take it with me.
Live long . . . . . . . . . and quaff like there hain’t no temerah.
