Sunday, April 3, 2011

You failed, Hombre

I resolved this weekend not to leave the house...not even to leave my room...because I need to study.
But Saturday, running low on staying home supplies--for example, food and toilet paper--I was forced to break away from my studies and go to the grocery store.
I don't know if I've ever really gone into much depth about this, but readers, I derive A LOT of pleasure from the minutest of occurrences. --> For example, I love the smell of pollen and I once spent interrupted hourS looking for things to staple because I'd just purchased a stapler that looked like a piece of sushi.

Down the street from my apartment and on my way home from the grocery store is a diner.
This diner has a gumball machine selling Domo figurines (see picture at left if you don't know what Domo is: this is my ONE Domo figurine from said gumball machine scaling the top of my brother's candle bottle). For some reason, putting 50 cents into the machine and getting a little surprise Domo makes my day. What can I say? I'm a party animal.

Anyway, so on my way out, I reached into my coin bank, took out 50 cents and put it into my purse.
This is the ONLY actual cash I was carrying on me.
My trip to the grocery store was a success--I bought the new issue of Glamour and a lot of frozen vegetables I'm likely to never get around to actually eating--and was super excited about stopping by the diner to purchase my Domo. Then I got stuck at a red light.

Readers, when it comes to the homeless/impoverished, I'm usually Very generous.
So, when at the red light, a homeless fellow on crutches began limping beside the cars with his sign, I patted down my purse and cup holders looking for any loose cash. I felt pretty bad about not having any.

And then I realized... I did have cash: 50 cents.

I pouted and had an inner debate:

Good me: "Do I really have to?"
Bad me: "Of course you don't have to. That guy could be an alcoholic...a crack whore... You don't even know if he's really homeless."
Good me: "But if he IS really homeless and NOT a crack whore or alcoholic, this 50 cents will do him a lot more good than anything I've got planned for it. I am just about to waste this money on a toy that's just going to sit on my entertainment system and collect dust."
Bad me: "But you were looking forward to this! C'mon, Godzilla Domo is getting lonely..."
Good me: " I'm 23...nearly 24... do I really need another toy?"
Moderate me: "Will both of you please shut the fuck up? I'm trying to think! What if that guy doesn't even make it over here before the light changes? Technically then I haven't done anything wrong."
Bad me: "Brilliant."
Good me: "I don't know. This just feels like bad juju, holmes. What if God is testing you to see whether you're amazingly selfish?"
Moderate me: "Did you just call me holmes? & also, I seriously doubt God is testing me over 50 cents."
Bad me: "Look the lights changing! Yes! Brand new Domo is ours!"
Moderate me: "Yay?..."
Good me: "You're both going to Hell... at least purgatory."
Moderate me: "My mom's Jewish. There is no purgatory."
Bad me: "You sure?"
Moderate me: "No... Hey, shut up, shut up. Traffic's moving."

& so the three of us living inside my brain all got to drive through the light to the diner.
I parked.
I got out and tried not to skip to the front hall of the diner.
& once inside, I proudly pulled my 50 cents from my purse.

...and then realized the Domo machine was no longer there...

Good me: "What did I tell you? Karma."
Moderate me: "This sucks."
Bad me: "Yeah... this probably was a test; it's way too ironic to be coincidence. & on that note, you failed, hombre."
Moderate me: "Hey guys? Can we take it down a notch with all the nicknames from East LA? I feel like it's creating racial tension."
Good me: "Sorry."
Bad me: "Yeah, my b."

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