Tuesday, March 29, 2005
The Human Torch was Denied a Bank Loan
I talked to Jack on Sunday, and we arranged to meet up last night at 23 Boston Ave. Upon walking in the door, Jacko presented me with a golf club. It was a sand wedge. As I inspected it more, I realized it was a left-handed club.
"Is this for me?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I got a good deal on it."
"But I already have a sand wedge."
"You told me last night that you didn't."
"I told you last night that I did."
That makes two miscommunication mishaps in a month for me. The other, of course, occured when Hufton and I tried to coordinate travel dates for meeting in Paris. That resulted in me having to sleep at the airport in Paris by myself until the day after Hufton and company had already left France. I would like to blame Jack and Hufton for these mistakes -- and I may -- though I can't help but notice that I'm the common denominator here.
After trying to sort out the golf club confusion, Jack and I went to the Outback Steakhouse for dinner. We then ate until we had reached a level of uncomfortable fullness that so often accompanies a trip to the Outback. Jack discussed his disdain towards the Outback holiday jingles and their poor rhyme schemes, citing this as one reason why he rarely visits his local Outback Steakhouse. He also speculated that an Outback waiter/waitress with a legitimate Australian accent could probably negotiate a higher pay rate than those without.
We finished the night hanging out with Brendan and Sheri at Boston Ave, then watching Anchorman until it was past everyone's bedtime. I'm feeling surprisingly awake today, considering.
Here, here...try this.
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"Is this for me?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I got a good deal on it."
"But I already have a sand wedge."
"You told me last night that you didn't."
"I told you last night that I did."
That makes two miscommunication mishaps in a month for me. The other, of course, occured when Hufton and I tried to coordinate travel dates for meeting in Paris. That resulted in me having to sleep at the airport in Paris by myself until the day after Hufton and company had already left France. I would like to blame Jack and Hufton for these mistakes -- and I may -- though I can't help but notice that I'm the common denominator here.
After trying to sort out the golf club confusion, Jack and I went to the Outback Steakhouse for dinner. We then ate until we had reached a level of uncomfortable fullness that so often accompanies a trip to the Outback. Jack discussed his disdain towards the Outback holiday jingles and their poor rhyme schemes, citing this as one reason why he rarely visits his local Outback Steakhouse. He also speculated that an Outback waiter/waitress with a legitimate Australian accent could probably negotiate a higher pay rate than those without.
We finished the night hanging out with Brendan and Sheri at Boston Ave, then watching Anchorman until it was past everyone's bedtime. I'm feeling surprisingly awake today, considering.
Here, here...try this.
|
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