Tag Archives: Lines

Repepepepepeat…..#1: Bad Mom Hates Santa

1 Dec

Being that it is December 1st I wanted to wish my readers a happy holiday season! I’d like you to know that I was ahead of the game this year and have already gotten the Chiquita’s picture taken with Santa! She was very afraid of “Ho-Ho” and didn’t want to get her picture taken with him unless Daddy and Mama were in the picture.

Enjoy our 2012 Santa picture and a repepepepepeat of my very first Bad Mom post from last Christmas when we attempted to get a picture taken with Santa at Bass Pro Shop. What a nightmare that was! Wishing you many blessings this Christmas!

Eva Santa

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Does it make me a bad mom if:  I’m muttering “Thank God we only have 9 more years of this Santa sh*t” as we leave Bass Pro Shop without a picture with Santa.

Santa: "At least you don't have smelly crying kids sitting on YOUR lap!"

Santa: “At least you don’t have smelly crying kids sitting on YOUR lap!”

Let me start off by saying I completely blame Bass Pro Shop for this ordeal.  I will never – and I mean never EVER – go to Bass Pro Shop again.  I don’t care that they’ve somehow managed to get the Santa Claus to come down from the North Pole.

We walk in, and I feel completely out of place.  This is worse than being dragged to The Home DePot!

For 1:  I almost barf while showing the Chiquita the enormous fish tank.  Those big nasty fish swimming around the tank are completely disgusting.  Torturing me would be throwing me into that tank.  I would literally have a heart attack.

I have a huge fear of fish – dead or alive.  I know it’s weird, and I have no idea where this came from.  I actually have nightmares about flying piranhas chasing me and backing me into a corner and then I wake up in a cold sweat.  It’s frightening.  A couple times I’ve even woken up crying.

For 2:  My husband insisted we go look at the firearms located on the 2nd level.  “Look,” he says, “There’s even a pink one!”

As if that’s a selling point on how I can somehow “fit in” at Bass Pro Shop.  Sorry, honey, it’s never gonna happen.

I said, “There’s a reason they don’t let people like me own firearms,” which in hindsight is quite hilarious because on our drive home 3 short hours later, I remember thinking that if I had a pink firearm I would have blown his brains out.

So it all started with me promising the Chiquita that we would go see Santa that Saturday.  Now I see why parents don’t promise things to their children.  You just never know what might happen.

What’s weird is the Chiquita is 17 months old but she already knows who Santa is.  I don’t think she understands the concept of Santa bringing presents, but I’ve already started telling her she better behave or Santa won’t come.  That always stops her dead in her tracks.  The Santa threat is pretty powerful, and I’m sort of sad I won’t be able to use it anymore in 3 days.  I’ll have to go back to telling her I’m going to sell her to the gypsies, I guess.

Anyways, two and a half hours later we are driving to Bass Pro Shop, which is about 20 minutes from our house.  My friend called my cell to tell me that she was there with her three kiddos and it was a madhouse.  She wanted to prepare me.  She knows I hate crowds and ugly people.

She explained they were passing out “time tickets” because of the amount of people, so you go there, get your time, and then come back to get your picture with Santa.

Fair enough – I’m a reasonable person.  We get our time and leave to do some Christmas shopping.  We arrive back at 3:40 pm to get in line for our 4 pm picture. (They told us we could start lining up at 3:45 pm).

We can tell we’re starting to lose the Chiquita, but we’re desperately trying to push through.  This kid will see Santa today because I promised!

The line is extremely long.  I look at my watch – 3:45 pm.  What is going on?  How could so many people be in line already?

“Are you here for the 4 pm time?” I ask the woman in front of me.

She nods.

My patience is starting to wear very thin…

A Bass Pro Shop employee spots my time ticket (apparently they are different colors) and says, “You’re here for the 4 pm picture?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Ohh…you’re supposed to be in this line over here,” she tells us.  She points to another, not as long, but still long enough, line.

Wtf is this?  Are you joking me?

I look at the associate, take a deep breath and move over to the 4 pm line.

My husband and I are standing in the 4 pm line, Chiquita is starting to whine (poor kid is a trooper; she hadn’t had a diaper change since like noon), 3 kids about take me out running through the crowd (umm…where are your parents…oh probably in line), and I realize after standing there for 15 minutes – with the 3:30 line barely moving – that between my anxiety and my bad temper I need to get the f*ck out of here.  Right now.

I say to my husband, “This is ridiculous!  We’re leaving.  I’m not standing in this f*cking line one second longer.”

And I don’t think I was quiet about it.  Or nice about it.  I continue on, “These people are dumb to wait in this long line” as I grab the Chiquita and drag her out of there.

I realize this is not setting a great example for my daughter (nor was it being very nice in general), but, you do realize I would have been standing in that line for at least 90 minutes right?  So why didn’t you [Bass Pro Shop] give me a time ticket for a picture at 5:30 pm?

Here’s my beef – If you’re going to hand out time tickets for people to come back for a specific picture time you need to better anticipate the amount of time per family to take a photo plus any breaks for Santa.  Instead of handing out, say, 100 tickets maybe you only hand out 50.  It’s common sense, really.  You have people dealing with very small children who have very small attention spans!

And I’m not implying that I should have gotten my picture taken at 4:01 pm, but let’s be somewhat close to the time you gave me, like within 20 minutes!

Maybe this is just another silly Jlee rant; as even my mom looked at me like I am a complete spaz when I tried to explain the day to her.  But, sorry I’m not sorry if I’m the only one who thinks waiting 90+ minutes for a picture with Santa – when my child may or may not be crying – is ridiculous.  And sorry I’m not sorry that I feel management should have better managed people’s expectations.

All this waiting for a picture that might turn out like this….

I know some people had very good experiences at Bass Pro Shop, and to that, I say how wonderful for you.  But, for me, I will never go there again.  Not that I shop there anyways.

And we ended up getting a nice enough free picture with Santa the next day and with no wait in our neighborhood.  It’s not like the Chiquita knows the difference or really gave a sh*t so as far as I’m concerned that’s #winning. :)

The Chiquita finally got her picture with Santa. It may not be as beautiful as Bass Pro Shop, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine with it.

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Ramblings of a Single Mama

8 Mar

Last weekend my husband and his brother took a guy’s trip to spend time with my father-in-law who was recently widowed.  I have to admit I was sort of excited that he was leaving.  The house all to myself.  I can watch Pretty Little Liars without his “this show is so stupid” in my ear.  Yayyy

I guess I didn’t have the house all to myself though, I mean, obvi I had the Chiquita.  It’s not like I got rid of her for the weekend.  I was sort of excited to spend some quality time just me and my girl, but I have to be honest that I was also a bit nervous about it.

I’m very fortunate that my husband is very helpful with our daughter and around the house.  I often complain very dramatically, “Do I have to do everything around here???”  And while some days it does feel that way (who does the laundry, feeds the cats, packs the Chiquita’s diaper bag, etc.) I do know that I’m very lucky.  I do know that some men come home from work, sit their asses on the couch and don’t do shit all night expecting their wives to serve them dinner on a silver platter.

I’ll tell you one thing.  That shit ain’t happening in my house.  While I do take care of my husband in some ways (I always have his clean clothes folded neatly on the bed) I certainly expect that he helps me around the house and with the baby, as I work full time, too, and am also tired after a long day at the office.

So hubs leaves Friday afternoon.  I pick up the Chiquita after work, and I make plans with my bonus daughters to come over for pizza and girl talk.  After the girls leave I decide to stay up late on the couch watching TV. I never do this.  I always go to bed early and in my bed.  I ended up falling asleep on the couch and waking up at 2 am freezing, a cat’s ass in my face and a serious kink in my neck.

The Chiquita is up at 6 am, which like never happens.  Seriously?  I make her lay in bed until 7 because there is no way I’m getting up at work time on a Saturday.  Sorry girl!  I could hear her talking to herself in her crib so I laid in bed for another hour, fighting a pounding headache and a runny nose.

Not sure if I was hung over or if I was fighting a cold, but I get girlfriend up at 7.  I give her a bottle and jump in shower hoping that she’ll sit on the couch and watch TV quietly.  No such luck, she’s in the bathroom on top of me for the entire time I’m trying to get ready – Bad Mom post on that coming later.

My mom shows up at 9:50 am. We had planned to go the mall, and I wanted to get there nice and early so we could get a coffee, get a good parking spot and tire out the Chiquita so she’d take a nice long afternoon nap.  When my mom showed up I felt terrible because I wasn’t ready.  For one I had the Chiquita up my ass since 7 am and for two I hadn’t had my iced coffee yet so I was moving in turtle time.

We finally get to the mall and the Easter bunny is there.  I’ve always hated the Easter bunny.  I don’t know why, I just have.  He’s like a wannabe Santa Claus or something, and as a kid I was just like, the Easter bunny is soooo gayyy. I also hated looking for eggs.  I thought it was the dumbest thing ever.  My mom’s all excited, “We have to get Eva’s picture taken with the Easter bunny!”

I say, “Mom, I just don’t feel that today is the day.  I mean, look at us.  I look like a mess, Eva looks like a mess.  We’re just not our best selves today.”

We finally get our coffee from Dunkin Donuts (yes, there’s one in the mall!), and I start sipping that sucker down like it’s a vodka/soda on a [childless] Saturday night.

“You have to get over this perfection thing,” my mom says. “Who cares if Eva isn’t her normal cute self?  This is what she looks like today, that’s what matters.  You’ll look back on the picture some day and remember what that day was.”

I know she is right so I agree to the picture.  Of course there’s noooo line. This is probably the only time EVER in the history of Jlee’s Blog that I’ve hoped for just a small line to have a second to regroup.  We walk up, and I am like so flustered because I have to pick my picture package, fix Chiquita’s hair, I’m trying to drink my coffee, my purse is falling off my shoulder….I’m totally a mess right now, and my mom is grabbing the stroller as I’m dancing around the bunny’s lair like an idiot.

“Move your hand, mom!” They tell me, while we’re trying to get girlfriend to smile, and she just was not having it.  Then the tears came.  I would have let her sit there crying and had them snap a picture, but my mom is like, “You better go get her!” [with a like-duhhhh tone]

Geez…she’s not going to die!

I reluctantly go grab her and as we’re reviewing the pictures I’m bummed she’s not looking [at the camera] in any of them.  I don’t want to pay $20 for a picture of the side of her head.  They say I can throw her back on the bunny’s lap.  But as we’re approaching the bunny she was like, Oh hell no.  So, enjoy this picture of me, Chiquita and the Easter bunny:

Chiquita looks less than thrilled

The next day we had brunch with my dad, my stepmom and my siblings for my stepmom’s birthday, and of course I wait until the last minute to get my stepmom a birthday gift.  Chiquita is again up at 6 am, wtf, she usually sleeps until 7:30 on weekends!, and I again shower and get ready for the day with her up my ass and no coffee.

I’m about to DIE.  We get to Dunkin Donuts at 9:50 am so I order an iced coffee, and I give in and buy a munchkin for the Chiquita.  I hand it over to her and she f’ing drops it on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I yell.

She looks at me like she’s completely devastated, but I can also tell she’s sort of blaming me, which I’m like, sorry sister, you’re the one with the slippery fingers.

I’m aggravated now telling her, “We gotta get to Walmart, and all I want to do is drink my iced coffee, but now I gotta pull over to pick up your damn donut!”  Yes, I said damn.  I told you, I need coffee in the morning.

She’s mumbling back at me, probably telling me to STFU and pick up her GD donut.  Yeah, she’s a piece of work.  We pull over at the gas station, and I’m getting eyed by a brother in an old school maroon Cadillac.  I laugh to myself thinking doesn’t he see that I’m the frazzled “single” mom here??? I’m just not appreciating it right now even though normally I don’t care if it’s an 80 year old with a cane; I’m still like suh-weet, someone thinks I’m HOT! :D

So we [finally] make it to Walmart, and I just hate this place.  Hell for me would be being sent to Walmart during rush hour because that place is a friggin’ panic attack waiting to happen.  I’ve almost rammed people with my shopping cart in that place B.C. [before Chiquita], and I actually stopped shopping there for many years.  But, my stepmom loves Walmart so I figure at the very least I can pick up a gift card and she’ll be really happy.

I finally settle on a gift – and some nail polish for me – and we head out of the store.  This is a rare instance when I’m actually going to be on time for something.  I’m getting my bags and Chiquita out of the cart (this was a bad decision because I nearly dropped Chiquita, my coffee, and the present trying to get to the car). Part of her present I wrapped in the car (a candle) and the other part (a big picture) she got in the Walmart shopping bag. Classy.

As we’re walking out of the store a man is waving at us, and I look at him like wtf are you looking at but say to Chiquita, “Wave to the man.”

Side note, am I supposed to do that or should I be teaching her stranger-danger??  The man waves back and must see that I’m eyeing him because he says, “It’s OK, I know your daughter.”

What?!?  How does the Chiquita even know people at Walmart? She’s 1!

I text my mom and say, “Do u know some Indian dude who works at Walmart, cuz he says he knows Eva.”

My mom responds, “What?  No.”

We are the first to arrive at Baker’s Square for my stepmom’s b-day brunch, and did you know that BS serves booze?  I totes didn’t, but when I found out I ordered a mimosa.

Side note, I know it sounds like I’m an alcoholic, but I’m really not.  I just use alcohol as a coping mechanism for managing my stress.  And don’t feel you need to comment on it because that’s what I pay my counselor for, but thank you for your concern.

Brunch is wonderful and we head home around 2 pm, both of us taking 3 hour naps.  We both took 3 hours naps the day before as well.

Hubs usually drops the Chiquita off with my stepmom on Monday morning.  My stepmom lives a little further than my mom so I was worried about getting us both out the door and getting myself to work on time.  I was 8 minutes late, but I made it in one piece and in a decent mood actually sort of excited to be at work.  It’s like I do less work at work.

Hubs was supposed to be heading home Monday afternoon, and I’m getting the feeling he’s up in the air on leaving his dad.  I’m definitely supportive of him spending time with his dad and his bro, but I was sick with a cold, PMSing – or PMDDing really – and was just about at my wit’s end over this whole single mom business.  Truth be told I was exhausted.  And I needed him.  And I missed him, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

At the time I was ready to have a breakdown.  I didn’t think I could handle another night of being a single mom.  I know I only have one kid.  I know several of my friend’s husbands often travel for a week at a time.  I have friends who are single moms.  I don’t know what to say.  At the end I was ashamed that I was about to have a breakdown over this.  I know other people have it so much harder.  I knew I needed to be strong, but I was feeling like I couldn’t do it.

I finally put on my BGP – have I ever mentioned BGP in my blog before?  It’s a phrase my friends and I say to each other when life gets tough.  BGP = Big Girl Pants.  (For instance, my friend texted me that she had anxiety about going to a new yoga class.  I responded, “You can do it, BGP.”)

I finally put on BGP and made it through the night just fine.  I proved to myself that I could survive my weekend as a single mama.  Yayyy

Major props to all you single peeps out there, whether it’s being a single mom/dad or having a traveling hubby.  It sure is tough, so remember BGP, pat yourself on the back and have a glass of wine (or two) to survive manage the stress. :D

P.S. While I write this I’m eating lunch made for me by my wonderful hubby! I had to put that in because if he reads this he’ll say I make him look like an ass who doesn’t do anything around the house. Haha

More pics of weekend fun:

Chiquita riding the train at the mall

Hamming it up at brunch at Bakers Square

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#1: Bad Mom Hates Santa

22 Dec

Santa: “At least you don’t have smelly crying kids sitting on YOUR lap!”

Does it make me a bad mom if:  I’m muttering “Thank God we only have 9 more years of this Santa sh*t” as we leave Bass Pro Shop without a picture with Santa.

Let me start off by saying I completely blame Bass Pro Shop for this ordeal.  I will never – and I mean never EVER – go to Bass Pro Shop again.  I don’t care that they’ve somehow managed to get the Santa Claus to come down from the North Pole.

We walk in, and I feel completely out of place.  This is worse than being dragged to The Home DePot!

For 1:  I almost barf while showing the Chiquita the enormous fish tank.  Those big nasty fish swimming around the tank are completely disgusting.  Torturing me would be throwing me into that tank.  I would literally have a heart attack. 

I have a huge fear of fish – dead or alive.  I know it’s weird, and I have no idea where this came from.  I actually have nightmares about flying piranhas chasing me and backing me into a corner and then I wake up in a cold sweat.  It’s frightening.  A couple times I’ve even woken up crying.

For 2:  My husband insisted we go look at the firearms located on the 2nd level.  “Look,” he says, “There’s even a pink one!”

As if that’s a selling point on how I can somehow “fit in” at Bass Pro Shop.  Sorry, honey, it’s never gonna happen.

I said, “There’s a reason they don’t let people like me own firearms,” which in hindsight is quite hilarious because on our drive home 3 short hours later, I remember thinking that if I had a pink firearm I would have blown his brains out.

So it all started with me promising the Chiquita that we would go see Santa that Saturday.  Now I see why parents don’t promise things to their children.  You just never know what might happen. 

What’s weird is the Chiquita is 17 months old but she already knows who Santa is.  I don’t think she understands the concept of Santa bringing presents, but I’ve already started telling her she better behave or Santa won’t come.  That always stops her dead in her tracks.  The Santa threat is pretty powerful, and I’m sort of sad I won’t be able to use it anymore in 3 days.  I’ll have to go back to telling her I’m going to sell her to the gypsies, I guess. 

Anyways, two and a half hours later we are driving to Bass Pro Shop, which is about 20 minutes from our house.  My friend called my cell to tell me that she was there with her three kiddos and it was a madhouse.  She wanted to prepare me.  She knows I hate crowds and ugly people. 

She explained they were passing out “time tickets” because of the amount of people, so you go there, get your time, and then come back to get your picture with Santa.

Fair enough – I’m a reasonable person.  We get our time and leave to do some Christmas shopping.  We arrive back at 3:40 pm to get in line for our 4 pm picture. (They told us we could start lining up at 3:45 pm).

We can tell we’re starting to lose the Chiquita, but we’re desperately trying to push through.  This kid will see Santa today because I promised! 

The line is extremely long.  I look at my watch – 3:45 pm.  What is going on?  How could so many people be in line already?

“Are you here for the 4 pm time?” I ask the woman in front of me.

She nods.

My patience is starting to wear very thin…

A Bass Pro Shop employee spots my time ticket (apparently they are different colors) and says, “You’re here for the 4 pm picture?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Ohh…you’re supposed to be in this line over here,” she tells us.  She points to another, not as long, but still long enough, line.

Wtf is this?  Are you joking me?

I look at the associate, take a deep breath and move over to the 4 pm line.

My husband and I are standing in the 4 pm line, Chiquita is starting to whine (poor kid is a trooper; she hadn’t had a diaper change since like noon), 3 kids about take me out running through the crowd (umm…where are your parents…oh probably in line), and I realize after standing there for 15 minutes – with the 3:30 line barely moving – that between my anxiety and my bad temper I need to get the f*ck out of here.  Right now.

I say to my husband, “This is ridiculous!  We’re leaving.  I’m not standing in this f*cking line one second longer.”

And I don’t think I was quiet about it.  Or nice about it.  I continue on, “These people are dumb to wait in this long line” as I grab the Chiquita and drag her out of there.

I realize this is not setting a great example for my daughter (nor was it being very nice in general), but, you do realize I would have been standing in that line for at least 90 minutes right?  So why didn’t you [Bass Pro Shop] give me a time ticket for a picture at 5:30 pm?

Here’s my beef – If you’re going to hand out time tickets for people to come back for a specific picture time you need to better anticipate the amount of time per family to take a photo plus any breaks for Santa.  Instead of handing out, say, 100 tickets maybe you only hand out 50.  It’s common sense, really.  You have people dealing with very small children who have very small attention spans!

And I’m not implying that I should have gotten my picture taken at 4:01 pm, but let’s be somewhat close to the time you gave me, like within 20 minutes!

Maybe this is just another silly Jlee rant; as even my mom looked at me like I am a complete spaz when I tried to explain the day to her.  But, sorry I’m not sorry if I’m the only one who thinks waiting 90+ minutes for a picture with Santa – when my child may or may not be crying – is ridiculous.  And sorry I’m not sorry that I feel management should have better managed people’s expectations.

All this waiting for a picture that might turn out like this….

I know some people had very good experiences at Bass Pro Shop, and to that, I say how wonderful for you.  But, for me, I will never go there again.  Not that I shop there anyways.

And we ended up getting a nice enough free picture with Santa the next day and with no wait in our neighborhood.  It’s not like the Chiquita knows the difference or really gave a sh*t so as far as I’m concerned that’s #winning. :)  

The Chiquita finally got her picture with Santa. It may not be as beautiful as Bass Pro Shop, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine with it.

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There’s a Line for a Reason Dumb Ass!

23 Mar

So yesterday I had the uber annoying task of dropping off my company’s HD Comcast box at the drop-off location in Lisle, IL.  I don’t even have Comcast service personally because I find Comcast to be one hell of an annoying company to deal with. 

My company, on the other hand, does pay for Comcast service.  We had HD Cable Service at our model home in Plainfield.  And as the company’s office manager, my boss asked me to cancel the service, which I did, and it was requested that we return our HD box immediately.  I wouldn’t think my bosses would want to be charged a $300 fee for not returning the box, right?  So, I ask my boss to take off ten minutes early so I can stop at the Lisle store front on the way home from my office in Naperville. 

My annoyance started right off the bat with my boss who must have had a problem with my asking to leave ten minutes early.  WTF, who cares?  My sentiments exactly.  My boss’s sarcastic answer – “You just want to leave early because it’s nice out” left me speechless.  

Seriously?  Do you really expect me to stand in line with a bunch of smelly weirdos while waiting at Comcast on my own personal time????? I think NOT.  And nice out?  Well, that was stretching it on a blistery Chicago afternoon with the temperature barely breaking 50-degrees and the winds strong enough to knock me down. 

Sure enough when I arrive at Comcast there is a line out the door.  I look around and it doesn’t appear there are any weirdos to deal with so that eases my mind for about five minutes.  We all stand in this line deep in our own thoughts – mine being “I want to get the f*ck out of here!” and quietly and patiently wait for our turns. 

And then it happens.  

A grizzly man of 6 feet tall with Santa Claus hair and a scraggly Santa beard walks in – “His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!”  Not exactly, more like Bad Santa complete with the smell of booze reeking off him.  He exclaims aloud – as if any of us actually care – “Well I’m just here to pay a bill!”  I look at his dirty jeans and dirty face.  He has a wad of cash in his hand.  He walks right up to the window and yells, “I’m here to pay my bill.” 

WTF? For one, there is a sign on the window that says in bold, clear English “Please wait to be called to the window by a representative.”  And two, did you happen to miss the line of twenty people ahead of you? 

Bad Santa cuts off the Asian man who was next in line.  I stand there holding my HD box with my baby belly starting to peak out from underneath my tee thinking, “Come on Asian!  Have some balls.  Tell him to move his ass to the back of the line!” 

But he says nothing.  

And do I blame him?  I don’t know.  That’s just the question I’m proposing.  On the one hand, does the Asian really want to get pummeled and possibly shot at 4:45 p.m. at Comcast for trying to “teach” Bad Santa a lesson of which he obviously is NEVER going to get?  Is it worth it to possibly suffer a black eye and/or other bodily harm all in the name of “Well, I’m no sucker!” than just waiting a whole two minutes longer and letting Bad Santa pay his f*cking bill and leave so the rest of us could continue to wait in our peaceful (and non-smelling) line? 

Yet on the other hand, what’s plaguing me is that me, the preggers 5’2” 110 lbs. chick (OK, 120 lbs. with my added baby weight) wanted to yell out “Hey!  Bad Santa!  Get your ass to the back of the line, f*cker!”  But, I didn’t.  Why should I fight Bad Santa when there are 19 other people in this line – all men besides me and one other woman?  Why should I raise my – and the bambino’s – blood pressure when no one else will? 

And this is what the world has come to.  No one wants to say anything to anyone anymore.  Everyone is afraid to stand up for themselves.  Or they simply just don’t care.  I was annoyed that no one stood up to Bad Santa – myself included.  In the old days, back when I was really crazy, I would have been in this guy’s face giving him a piece of my mind.  Now… not so much.  What’s happened to me?  I’ve been pussified.  Is that a word?  I’ve lost my spunk.  I’ve matured.  It’s sad. 

I still have my temper – don’t get me wrong.  I guess I just choose to let it flair under different circumstances.  Obviously there is no point in wasting my breath – and my precious sanity – on a dumb ass hillbilly who lacks manners and common sense. 

Instead of standing up for Americans; for me and the Asian and the 19 other fools in the Comcast line that day, I stood quietly and watched another clueless moron go about his day.  Then I left and did what most others do now-a-days….I Facebooked about it. 

Photo courtesy of http://www.fandango.com

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