Pain, Suffering, Banana Pancakes

The other day, I was in Target browsing for new boxers and socks. Pretty much the entire time I was there, I was on the phone with my friend Micah. I was conscience of the fact that I was that guy on the cell phone, but I hadn't talked to Micah in a while, and the store was pretty much empty, so I didn't really care if people thought I was an asshole or not (which is no different from my day-to-day attitude, really).

While yapping away, I had been pushing a cart around for twenty minutes or so, and it contained a couple pairs of boxers and my latte that I had just bought at Clementine. I was really enjoying talking on the phone and drinking the latte, so what happened next naturally put me in a rotten mood.

I abandoned the basket for probably about five minutes, and when I say abandoned, I mean I walked fifteen feet away from it to go look at Target's butt ugly jeans. Well, when I was done deciding that every pair of jeans in Target was indeed butt ugly, I started walking back to my cart, but I noticed it wasn't there.

I began wandering around to hunt for the cart, and before I knew it, I had scoured the entire store to no avail. Every single department was investigated; every aisle scrutinized. I was coming up empty, so I decided to ask one of the poor clocked-in saps for help.

I walked over to the nearest employee, a girl with two hideous lip rings with matching dye job, and I reluctantly requested of her to ask if anyone had turned in a cart containing boxers and an iced latte. She did so, and came back with nothing.
I said, "Shit, I guess someone walked off with it", to which she replied, "Hey, that's life."

I didn't want to dwell on what was probably the least helpful thing an employee of a department store can say to a customer, so I just furrowed my brow, turned around and walked away. My basket was gone, and nobody cared but me. Soon, it set in that I didn't really care either. The latte was already half done, and I ended up buying different shorts anyway, so I didn't really lose anything of value.

But who the fuck stole my basket and why? And at what age do people stop picking on you?



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Also, here is a clip from my most recent feature weekend at the Velveeta Room. It's new stuff.