(27 ramadhan 1426), serial times, pt 8

The Pkg

(continued from before...)

A few minutes later, I was in the checkout line. I had a pizza, a box of ice cream bars, a can of Pringle's potato chips, and two bottles of Sunkist orange soda. I didn't have the nail clippers, but it wasn’t my fault. After I’d gotten over the shock of exerting so much energy to bend down, I saw that the two empty spaces that had been the object of my curiosity were labeled as being where toenail and fingernail clippers normally resided—when they were in stock. For the spaces to be empty meant two things—they were all sold out and I wasn’t as crazy as I’d thought I was.
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I avoided the strange looks from the cashier at my pkg, paid for my munchies, and walked outside into a phenomenon that had obviously started while I’d been inside Ralph's—rain.
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Rain. At one of the worst times I could remember.
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In one hand, I had a bag of food and, in the other, a box of something illegal and valuable, neither of which contained contents conducive to being drenched by a 10-minute walk in the rain.
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However, I didn't have JUST a bag of food or JUST something valuable and illegal, I had meltable food in one hand (and a mighty large case of the munchies) and a half pound of ganja that I wanted to mail overseas to my future self in the other hand (I was beginning to think, though, that it wasn’t my destiny to smoke overseas and that I was going to have to leave it for my friend for her to enjoy after I left).

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I had a dilemma to solve, a choice to make: immediate hunger and future tokin’ vs. laziness and apathy.

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As the reader can no doubt surmise, since the entire object of this tale is the pkg of ganja, hunger and tokin’ won out, so I stepped out into the rain and hurried to my friend’s apartment as quickly as I could.
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Amazingly, fortunately, unbelievably, about halfway to the apartment, the rain rescinded into a light rain, which meant that I wasn’t going to be soaking wet and all the contents in my hands were still going to be dry and in the running for potential enjoyment when i reached the friendly confines of the flat.
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A few moments later, I walked into the apartment and put the pkg on the table for later dealing with. I preheated the oven, put the ice cream bars and one bottle of Sunkist in the freezer, washed my hands and face, put the pizza in the oven, then grabbed the other bottle of Sunkist and the can of Pringle's before walking over to the television and sitting down to watch some late morning baseball of an afternoon game on the East Coast and wait for my pizza to cook.

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I lay on my stomach in front of the television, munching my potato chips and watching baseball when it dawned on me how impossible my endeavor to get my pkg abroad really was. My munchies had led me to a state of serious rumination for more smoke while just as seriously contemplating that the task before me was a futile one.

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There was no way I was ever going to be able to eat and then walk to the private postal box center that a quick check of the business section of the local phone book revealed to be nearby. I was too damned tired and wanted nothing more than to bake myself into oblivion. Again, I was thinking of my present state instead of thinking what my future euphoria could be like.

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At that point, however, I didn't give a red damn about the future because I thought I was too tired even to make it to the future.

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(to be continued...)