Asshole Pickups

I had a terrible time crawling out of bed this morning. I must have been in an incredibly deep sleep, because it took me nearly an hour to wake up. It was bad enough that I wonder if snoozing for a few more minutes might have helped. I made it to work, but Kim wasn’t there the entire morning. She showed up for duty and then was around in the afternoon, but she didn’t really have anything to say about where she was, other than looking for one of the boys’ lost backpack all over town.

It took me a little while to get focused, but eventually I hammered out a couple of software deployments. I should be able to try imaging one of the new computer lab machines by tomorrow morning. At least it’s quieter in the side room when the air handler above our office starts shaking and buffeting the air pressure against our heads.

It only took a couple miles to find my first asshole on the way home from work. Some guy in a big, red pickup ran up behind me at the end of our two-lane stretch of road and passed about eight of us, including a full logging truck, on a double-yellow on a blind curve/hill with oncoming traffic. It I had better signal out in the county, I would have called 911 to report it, but I didn’t trust my call would be comprehensible.

I fed the fish and grabbed a handful of stuff before going to the wash to see Summer. They were busy, so I just washed my car and went home to wait for her. On the way home, I saw another truck cut off two people downtown. Then he took a turn in front of oncoming traffic as the second light turned green. I’d have given anything to be a stealth cop today.

Once Summer got home, we went to my parents’ house for some bánh tôm chiên khoai lang, which is just a more difficult way to say and spell, “fried shrimp cake with sweet potato.” Eaddie came over to eat as well, once she was done with some band concert event.

We weren’t home for ten minutes after eating before Summer had to go back to work to help clean the lube. She said someone called in, and I just couldn’t comprehend why someone in her position would feel like she had to go in to cover it.

Little DNS, little code, little vCard

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *