SETTING: My house, at around 4:15 a.m. after I’ve spent the past twenty minutes being repeatedly awakened by our cat D.J. who is loudly meowing to be let out, or be fed, or because it’s too pleasant and dry inside our warm, non-rain-soaked home. He only pauses in his meowing to wait exactly the amount of time it takes for me to return to slumber before giving it another round. Add to this Maya, our St. Bernard, who has awakened me twice already to go to the bathroom and has now chosen the cat’s latest squall volley to whine and loudly shake her ears to alert me a third potty requirement.
ME: (RISING FROM BED, QUIETLY FURIOUS) That is it. I’m murdering everyone.
MY WIFE: (STILL HALF-ASLEEP) Don’t murder me. I’m on your side.
ME: That’s right. You are. Okay. I won’t murder you.
She now has no memory of saying this.
SETTING: Super K-Mart in Beckley, W.Va. I have enter and approach the service desk clutching a bag containing a defective bubble gun in one hand and my receipt in the other. This was a bubble gun I had purchased during a tour of multiple Beckley-based retail outlets the previous week, which I was hoping to use for the play I’m directing (“Fish Schticks” by Brett Hersey), which requires bubbles and lots of them. As previously noted, the gun refused to fire.
CLERK– Hello, sir. May I help you?
ME– (Setting the bag upon the counter) Yes. I bought this bubble gun here last week. It doesn’t work even a little bit.
CLERK– (Looks down at my bag. Allows a pregnant pause.) Um, sir, this is from Magic Mart.
(I look down at the bag, from which I had pulled my receipt mere moments beforehand. Both the bag and the receipt have Magic Mart logos prominently printed on their surfaces.)
ME– Oh. You are correct. Sorry about that.
CLERK– Oh, no problem.
(I then gather up my bag and my receipt and flee the building.)
TAMMY– Thank you for calling LOCAL Animal Hospital, this is Tammy.
MY WIFE– Hi, Tammy. My name is Ashley Fritzius and I’d like to call and schedule for our dog Maya to be spayed, probably some time this week, if you can.
TAMMY– Oh, very well. We can get that scheduled for you. (LOOKS UP RECORDS) How does…. next Thursday morning sound?
MY WIFE– That will be great. How much will it cost?
TAMMY– How much does she weigh?
MY WIFE– (LONG PAUSE) You spay by the pound?
TAMMY– (ANGRY) No, we don’t spay by the pound!
(Tammy then snippily told my wife that weight was a factor in the amount of anesthesia they would have to use and that we would have to pay for. The wife plans to apologize after bringing the dog in tomorrow.)