I'll omit the details of the familiar story, about how the store emblazoned with the cell phone company's brand name, with the special window sign "Authorized ACME Wireless Retailer", in fact could not (a) access my account to ensure nobody was using the missing phone, but instead had to dial a national number for me; and then (b) could not give me the deal the ACME phone representative told me to seek to mitigate the situation, because this would require not just an ACME store, but an ACME "direct" store.
I know I should froth at the mouth, explain how I ingloriously was less than perfectly peppy about this, tell of the cutting way I phrased my voice as I uttered my syllabic silky grandliloquence. But I'd rather not bother. I'm no better than any of us all at explaining the great American populist experience--in an age in which we are so automated and interconnected we can't get anything done for one another any more.
My father's birthday gift to me arrived tonight. It was one of my favorites ever. My mother always bought me an issue of an "upcoming season" sports magazine called "Arkansas Football". This tome covers not only the colleges, but every high school, down to the most rural. I began receiving this when I was 14 or so, and now my father sent me one for my 48th birthday. I'm thrilled he remembered. Also, he sent me a t-shirt from the daffodil festival I attended in the Spring. I will be the most dapper daffodil in the driveway.
My life is a whirl of activity right now, and I am a tilt-a-whirl of fighting spirit.
I sometimes think I am the best boxing near-pacifist I know, speaking in the metaphoric, of course.
Next stop: thursday!