A Really Bad Day Because I Made a Scene at Ronald’s Family Diner

    So after I drove home from community college in my fifteen passenger van today I was really excited because my mom said that for dinner tonight we were being treated to Ronald’s Family Diner because Aunt Lorraine won at Bingo so we had a little extra quiche to blow around…or throw around I can’t remember the exact saying.

    Only I had to use a pay phone to call my mother to tell her I would be late because I parked my van in the visitor lot for just a minute because I needed to run in and ask about a parking ticket that I got. It said electrician vans are not allowed to park in commuter lots and so I had to go in and explain I was not an electrician doing wiring but a student with a big van. While I was in there I guess the ski team got confused and thought my van was the one driving them to their ski competition because when I went back to my car there were a lot of skiers just shooting the breeze in my van. I asked them to get out because I was late for Ronald’s Family Diner and they all scoffed at me and said, “Bus driver you don’t have time for Ronald’s Family Diner, our competition starts in 2 hours”. I explained to them they were very confused and this was not the recreational club bus but in fact my own personal vehicle.

    After I rid my van of the ski team I was on my way home and getting psyched for Ronald’s Family Diner. Finally after all the anticipation we were there sitting around the table and I couldn’t wait. I glanced up at the specials menu and there I saw it, shepherd pie! It’s my absolute favorite thing and it was a special tonight. It was fate that I needed to eat this shepherd’s pie. I ordered it and was really enjoying it…despite the fact that I found a blueberry and an orange rind. EXCEPT!  Then it happened…I found what I thought to be the hand of a mini, tiny man. I dug my fork into it and screamed bloody murder. Every other table just stared with their mouths gaped open as my face turned purple and I made the most dramatic gagging noises that I could.  How could they?! I can’t eat a food made from tiny men!! That, in America, is called mini cannibalism!

    I demanded that our waiter come and inspect my shepherd’s pie discovery and made a point to let it be known that I do not eat at restaurants that serve such ingredients! The waiter looked thoroughly confused and nauseous at the thought of me almost letting a small hand pass through my lips. The chef of Ronald’s, Ronald, was then called out to the calamity that was ensuing in the dining area.

    “Ronald!” I shrieked, “How dare you serve me a very tiny man! He could have had a very tiny family and did not deserve to end up in my shepherd’s pie like this.” Ronald then began to yell at me because he was really offended that I made the whole restaurant believe he served people. As the scream fest was taking place someone had called the local newspaper and WGLT our local news station to document the story on my tiny hand in the pie. “You are through Ronald, you are through!” I was so confident that I had uncovered a major story, I did some big bust and now I would be the town hero.

    Well….as it turns out that smallish hand was not a hand at all but an irregular piece of corn according to the DNA test results . In the end, I was forced to provide Ronald with 2 months worth of free help and go to counseling classes to work on my fib-telling, which was technically not a fib but an actual belief that it was a hand. Oh well, I have to stop writing now because Ronald needs me to shuck corn cobs.

The Day A Birthday Present Ruined My Life

    Normally, when people hit their 16th birthday they are just so psyched to get their new wheels. I, on the other hand, was cursed because I knew what was coming and was not having any of it....heck no. I was cursed because what I was getting was a big, white, awkwardly huge for just one person (because who wants to ride in one unless you are going to summer camp), fifteen passenger van. I think the kicker of it was though that this was not even for my sixteenth birthday, it was for my 20th birthday so until said point I was stuck waiting for my mom to bring me to my bi-weekly haircuts (my hair grows like a shaggy dogs and if I don’t get it cut it turns into a mullet), my job as a large costumed dog at PetCo, and baton practice, as well as bringing me back and forth to community college. WHY IN THE WORLD would they wait until I was 20 stinkin years old to give me a car…I looked like a major boob being dropped off in front of my mythology building by a minivan.

    So it happened…my parents thought they were doing a grand favor by giving me my own whip a.k.a social suicide on wheels. A fifteen passenger van just for me, you know the ones that kidnappers drive around in trying to lure in little kids with a free candy sign on the side, that’s currently what I was cruising around in. Every other person on the planet avoids even parking next to fifteen passenger vans because they are afraid of being coaxed in and sawed in half for your kidneys. Now everyone on the planet is going to think I am the darned kidney saw lady because of my vehicle.

    If that’s not horrifying enough for all of you…imagine this! I slide behind the wheel where my head looks so small because my van is so big, and as I am trying to run a simple errand like pick up cheese or milk, I can see people’s eyes scanning the body of my van searching for the number of my maid service or flower delivery company. No I do NOT know how to fix your leaky faucet; I am simply trying to rent a PG-13 movie at Blockbuster you insensitive jerks.

    Probably the roughest day after I got my “awesome” present was my first day at PetCo with the big, white, beast. I pulled in and went inside to put on the dog suit and resume my position of waving to cars and I bumped into my stupid frenemies, Meg Hicknose (that’s  not her real name but it’s what I call her anyways, aren’t I bad?) and Mollaria (kind of like malaria but even worse). Obviously they weren’t doing their darn jobs…they never do. Meg Hicknose is in charge of cleaning the fish tanks, which really consists of her drinking a Mr. Pibb and letting at least 1 chinchilla out of its cage per day so she can laugh at Manager Bob as he runs around sweating for 2 hours trying to catch the lightening fast softy guy. Now, here’s my question…has Manager Bob not flippin’ realized that everyday Meg Hicknose works he spends 2 hours a day chasing a chinchilla? Mollaria is supposed to clean all the cat poops but she gets out of that because like a miracle we got this Chihuahua a few weeks ago who really, really loves to eat cat poop so as Manager Bob chases the chinchilla around the store, Mollaria grabs the cat-poop-eating Chihuahua and throws it in with the cats. Meanwhile, I am standing on the side of the road in a dog outfit waving to people who are screaming vulgarities, throwing trash, and one time set me on fire with a lit cigarette.

    Anywho, back to my worst day…so obviously Meg Hicknose and Mollaria were NOT doing their jobs and trying to steal skittles from the egg machine and I was walking outside when they started talking to me, here is how the conversation went:

“Whose big white van is that in the parking lot?” – Meg Hicknose

“I don’t know but it’s really creepy. It’s probably like a puppy thief or something. We should call the police” – Mollaria

That’s when I felt my obligation to chime in. Nervous cough, “Haha, no that’s my van girls”.

Blank stares piercing my face for a long time.

“No seriously whose van is that?”

“Seriously it’s my van.”

“What? Well why is your van so large? Those are for like criminals and sports teams and stuff….and bachelor parties! Are you a criminal or something?”

“No, my mom just thought it would be good for when I have to…um….bring a lot of people to baton practice.”

Lie. I didn’t know one other person who twirled the baton in my town except a 6 year old girl whose mom was probably on one of those neighborhood watch programs and would call the police as soon as I pulled up in front of the house in my big white van. Those stupid lies were constantly flowing ever since I got that van.

    I guess it’s not all bad though, the other night I was really lost in the sketchy part of town after bringing my Aunt Lorraine home from Bingo. I had a revelation on the advantage of driving a large van. People are always talking about the creepiness of large vans, and all of a sudden I realized it! I am that creep! I am the person associated with the van that causes fear in others. At first I was afraid of what was going to happen to me being lost. Who was going to attack me? Where was I going to end up? Then it just popped into my head, no one was going to hurt me because when people see a big white van they cower in fear. I am the fear maker! Cops were probably on the horn monitoring my vans progress. I looked sketchy driving around lost, and they were probably making notes of my erroneous actions.

    “The van just pulled into the deserted supermarket parking lot for the 3^rd time and I think they are coming back down towards you Larry. Do you see any kid’s heads yet? Oh wait, wait, wait, the vans back towards me.  Yup, back in the parking lot. Something fishy is going on here.”

    Looking into my eyes covered by my Vogue glasses with the flowers on the rims, noting my berry-pink LL Bean raincoat, and cringing at my jaw movements chewing orbit gum with perceived anger and aggression, the people of the sketchy part of town would watch me making random movements and attempting illegal turns, pulling into random parking lots and driveways in my big white van and no one was going to do a thing about it. No one messes with a van of that nature. It was like a power trip. Finally instead of being mocked I was top dog. I had finally found my niche.