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| 8:26 p.m.-2003-08-21 Today was my Friday. I am so thankful I could get down on my knees and publically scream adulations to the god of your choice. This is especially profound, because by Tuesday, I thought it was Friday. *groan* We didn't do much today at work. August is always a slow month for us, because everyone's off on summer vacation, and if they get hurt, they wind up at some other ER and pharmacy. So we've had a student from the local pharmacy tech school. We get these every few months, as they come to work as a volunteer intern, to learn the ins and outs of community pharmacy. Our last student, a girl from the Phillipines, was a really good one, if a bit too soft spoken. She learned quickly, really only had to be shown something, no matter how complex, about three times, and she knew it by heart. She's patient, clean, tidy, and well mannered. She'll be great somewhere other than our store...we're a bunch of philistines. Sure, the customers get great service, but we're a pretty rough bunch to hang with. That said, it was her last day today, and so we decided that even though the owners were away on vacation, we would host the traditional 'goodbye technician student' party...which means cake, icecream, and something to drink other than tap water. Since the bosses weren't there to supply the provender, somehow /I/ got elected to go with Cinderella to the local grochery store bakery for said items. Okay, no problem...it was more interesting than eating my lunch alone AGAIN. So off to the grochery store we go...mind you, Cinderella is a devout Muslim...and dresses very conservatively. That said, I'm sure that we made an interesting pair trotting through the local Big Name Chain Grochery store, trying to find the bakery. Lost halfway through, she asks me in a stage whisper, "Should we ASK where the bakery is?" Like any good male worth his Y chromosome, I told her "Like hell." Which sent her into peals of hysterical laughter. She thinks my occasional bouts of profanity are hilarious...seems that in her cultural mileu, there isn't quite the..ah..taboo about using profanity that there was in MINE growing up. This is refreshing, but by the time she got done giggling, we'd found the bakery. The cakes were a sight...most of them were white, with dark navy blue daisies on them. Um. No. We'd've looked like Al Jolson in reverse if we ate THOSE...so we picked out a modestly decorated white sheet cake with some sprinkles and a hideous puce and chartruse 'confetti' scheme. Fortunately, at the last moment, Cinderella discovered a 'Black Forest Mousse Cake' in the refrigerated pie section. Eureka! Then it was off to find some ice cream....never never never go shopping with a young lady like Cindrella. Back and forth we went, trying to pick the best flavor to choose. Meanwhile, a few mullet wearing pseudo rednecks kept glaring at me...I know what they were thinking, and no...I didn't convert, no, I didn't have two more just like her at home, and no...I'm not unAmerican, thank you very much. As far as I'm concerned, Cinderella is what the U. S. of A. is all about! But I digress...by the time she'd picked out the icecream (Neapolitan, since she couldn't decide on just one flavor...and me, standing there, holding the topped with 6 inches and a dozen cherries mousse cake...) she'd decided we needed something ELSE to make it a party. So off to find the sparking grape juice we went. No one knew where the damned store it was...so up and down the aisles we searched, until we found it...predictably...between the grind it yourself coffee and the pre-packaged breakfast desserts. Go figure. Okay, so a long, pointless story, but the cake was good at least...though I dunno why they called it black forest...wasn't anything LIKE a black forest cake once we got it sliced up...unless you count the two wafer thin slices of chocolate cake in the middle. Still, it was tasty. And the bosses footed the bill, so it was even tastier. Cindarella, by the way, is on a Man Hunt. She wants to get married...she wants to get married in a BAD way. Her parents, being devout AND traditional, insist that she do it The Right Way. The Right Way consists of someone mentioning to one of her brothers that they know this Great Guy, who is looking to get married. This Great Guy is then contacted by her brothers, who size him up. If they don't object to him too much, the arrange a meeting or a phone call, so their sister can briefly speak to the Great Guy. If this goes well, then they arrange a go-between, who arranges questions to be answered, and eventually, arranges The Meeting. This is sort of like Meet The Parents, in Cindarella's case. Her folks have chased off at least a dozen men since I've known her...I've never met her parents, but...well. The very idea is intimidating. I think it probably worked a LOT better when everyone still lived in the same bloody village, and you pretty much knew everyone from birth ANYWAY. This interviewing complete strangers for the possibility of marriage is just...well. Too scary for me! I bring this up, because Cindarella is currently in the process of being courted again. This one, she likes a fair amount, and has apparently been chatting with occasionally on the phone. Today, to suppliment her knowledge of this potential mate, she brought in a copy of a Chinese Horoscope book. Apparently, her father is a great believer in Chinese Zodiac astrology. So she spent most of the day, in the dull points, figuring out her Chinese sign, and her potential beau's Chinese sign...and then everyone ELSE's Chinese sign...and figuring out how compatable we were with one another. Oddly...a lot of it sounded right. Seriously weird. I mean, seriously. A'right, so it wasn't the most entertaining day...it's been slow at work, darn it, with the Fat Cow out on vacation! More culturally aware than he was before, The Captain
the parrot complaining  The Internet's Mood: The Captain Recommends Dogcessorize 2006-08-13 - Movie Review: Monster House 2006-08-07 - Movie Review: The Descent 2006-06-09 - Movie Review: The Omen 2006-06-03 - She's here, She's here! 2006-05-22 - Blame the Cabin-Boy for playing 50 questions.
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