I have never learned to drink coffee. I think it has a taste akin to perhaps what a rat’s ass would taste like. I know that in the grand scheme of things, not liking coffee is a good thing, because you know, that shit will kill you. Seriously. What was that Johns Hopkins study where they found that you were like 50% more likely to keel over from a heart attack if you drink coffee or something like that? Remember that? Yikes, right? So I know that staying coffee-free is not a bad thing. Still, I admit that I do feel, well, kind of left out when it comes to coffee. Maybe it’s because I live in a coffee-crazed city, maybe it’s because everyone I know drinks coffee, maybe it’s because it smells so damn good. I don’t know what it is.
During breaks at work, all of my co-workers trek over to all the nearby cafes to get their coffee fix. I don’t need a coffee fix, but yet, I use my break time to trek over to a cafe too. Sometimes I buy a tea, sometimes I don’t buy anything. But I walk my ass over there. Just because I am caving to peer pressure, I guess. It just seems like the thing to do. A few months ago, as I was strolling down the sidewalk, I looked down and noticed this.
That’s a band-aid. A used band-aid, stuck to the sidewalk. Gross. I live in a pretty clean city. I mean, for a city. It’s not like the water running down the gutters is crystal clear and ready for bottling or anything, but compared to most cities, mine is quite trash-free. So the band-aid sort of stands out when you’re walking by it. I first noticed the band-aid a few months ago. MONTHS. And you know what? It’s still there. I walk by the band-aid every damn day, over and over again. I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to pick it up, unless someone has a HazMat suit they want to lend me. But someone. Please. Pick it up! It’s driving me crazy. Day after day with the band-aid! You’d think I have bigger things to worry about. Turns out, I don’t.
In non-band-aid news (there’s something you don’t say every day), I give you my long distance conversation with Nordic Boy last night.
Me: Hey, what are you doing?
Nordic Boy: Just waiting for my last appointment to show up.
Me: Ok, well call me when you get back to the hotel tonight.
Nordic Boy: What are you doing?
Me: …Actually, I’m not doing anything. Literally.
Nordic Boy: Not reading? Not watching tv?
Me: Nope. I was just sitting here. Thinking, I guess. But not really. Just spacing out.
Nordic Boy: In a good way?
Me: No, in a bored way.
Nordic Boy: Aw. That’s not good. When I call you when I get back to the hotel, have something figured out by then ok?
Me: Are you giving me an assignment?
Nordic Boy: Well, yeah. You’ve got about an hour. I’m going to call you back, and you’re going to be doing something, and you’re not going to be bored.
Me: Are you life-coaching me right now? I feel like I’m being life-coached.
Nordic Boy: Go do something!
I never came up with anything that exciting. Maybe I should have gone and said hello to the band-aid. So reliable, it is. Always there for me.
Kiss the rings, I’m out.