cowbell lezbo seeks brain implant

(Illustration, courtesy of Naarski)

I have a story and feel compelled to share it.

I was out on my lunch break today buying some kick ass new champion sporty shoes and I decided to walk over to Great Harvest afterwards to treat myself to the best sammich in the wide world as we know it.

When I get there, there’s a crowd of people hovering over the sammich ordering console (for lack of a better term). Things were moving and shakin’. The energy was high. I was feeling excited and hungry. I squeeze through the crowd to grab my yellow sammich ordering form and start to peruse my choices. Smoked turkey? Good. Havarti? Good. Some veg? why not. Now for my bread choice. I checked the box that said “other” and started reading all the signs of the amply stocked bread shelves in search of whole grain. Clearly – they have whole grain. I’ve bought it here before and everybody has whole grain, right? There’s no sign of whole grain in site. So I make eye contact with the only person whose not hustling around doing stuff; this lesbian girl with a cammo hat on and a cowbell around her neck. Interesting choice of self-expression, but whatever. She was just standing there behind the counter looking well… anything but pretty. And she was rocking slowly from side to side in a nervous like trance. “Hey! I say… “you got whole grain bread?” The look on her face betrayed either one of two things. 1) she was absolutely stricken catatonic by my clearly radiating lesbian sensuality and good looks, or 2) she had mad cow disease. She then started to stutter and stammer. “uh. uh…” - looking around like in circles and finally got out… "uh. I don’t know” followed by a nervous croak – or was it a laugh? Okay. She doesn’t know if they have whole grain bread. Fine. I’m easy. Move to plan B. Okay… so my options are: honey whole wheat, rye, white poor boy and Dakota. “Excuse me. What’s Dakota bread?” I say to cowbell lezbo. “uh. uh. I think it’s like… like… whole wheat bread with a lot of little grains and seeds.” Sounds like f_ckin’ whole grain to me, genius. Back to my sammich pad. Bread = Dakota = check. Now that I have my virtual sammich assembled, I migrate back to the crowd in front of the sammich counter. As I look around, I realize that I am actually the ONLY one who has her sammich order ready and that everybody else is just hovered around making choices. It immediately reminds me of when I go to large wine tastings and the ultra-pretentious Bellevue assholes hover around the tasting table while they swirl and sip their wines so that nobody else can get through. But I push the anger back. Waaaay back. Instead I start to casually fan myself with my completed bright yellow sammich order in hopes that somebody will notice me and ask to take my order. Never mind that its 28 degrees outside. That’s not the point. Cowbell Lezbo is still staring at me. I glance over and reestablish eye contact and raise my brow. More awkward pauses. Finally I say…”sooo… can you help me out with this?” waiving my COMPLETED and ready to go sammich order at her. “uh. yah.” At this point I’m growing a little pissed. Why OH WHY are you just standing there not helping anybody out, rocking on your feet wearing a cow bell and butt ugly cammo hat and looking like a useless idiot? Can somebody fire you? Seriously. But she rings me up without any trouble. I let out an audible sigh of relief. An $8 sammich but totally worth it. So I sit down on the bench, pull out my blackberry and get busy while waiting for my sammich to be lovingly prepared. I’m distracted, however, with the fact that ALL OF THE people who have just placed their order with other sammich vending engineers are being offered slices of that wonderfully aromatic fresh out of the oven baked bread sitting on the counter. “would you like a slice of fresh bread while you wait, sir? Maa’m what about you? And you? You? You? One after the other. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Now I’m really pissed at cowbell girl. I want a slice of god-damn bread but nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, was I offered one? I got waited on by a mutant. At this point I kinda start to glare over at her and she’s honestly just still standing there, not helping anybody at all, eyes flickering back at me and then onto the ground. No words, just retarded twitches and small irrepressible gestures.

I have no clever ending for this. That's my story. My sammich is real good though.

snowy snowy seattle

nothing. and i mean NOTHING gets in the way of good fashion... even when it's colder than a witches tit outside.