So, part of the accepted vernacular down in the south that I will most definitely be adding to my vocabulary is the word, sug, short for sugar. People just call each other sug in a sort of endearing way or instead of saying the word hun, sweetie, man or sir. “Hey how you doin’ sug?” is a question I get asked every day at work. People use it for men and women. It’s what you would call a “genderless” word and I fucking love it.
This week I don’t have a long story for you. What I do have, is an assortment of small interactions I have had in the past few weeks that may make you laugh, cry or just plain shake your head. Here we go.
Pizza. It’s been an enemy to me since I’ve left New York. I’m chasing a unicorn. It’s the Lochness Monster. It’s Big Foot. It’s the threesome that doesn’t exist. I’ll never stop looking no matter how many people tell me that it’s not out there. I’ll find it. So, the other day we went out for some pizza. We had been at the bar for the Panthers game and decided to take a ride to the mall afterwards.
On our way home it was getting late and we didn’t want to cook dinner, so we stopped at this pizza place that the fiance has been wanting to try. We go in and I order us a large pie. The guy at the counter tells me it will take about 25 minutes. There’s not slices to go, so we have no choice but to wait. We sit there for 20 minutes…30 minutes…40 minutes.
I decide I will give them 5 more minutes and I’m losing my patience. I have that daytime hangover hitting hard. I’m tired, dehydrated, a headache rumbling and I’m starving. I walk up to the counter and I ask the guy, “hey, is my pizza ready yet?”
“When did you order it?” he asks me as if he hasn’t seen me before.
“I ordered it forty-five minutes ago.”
“Did you call it in?” he asks me. I’m completely shocked now because I ordered the pizza with this guy. I remind him that I ordered the pizza with him and he goes to the back to try and figure it out. When he comes back out he tells me that they had forgotten to make the pizza and that he was going to comp the pizza and make another one now. I had already waited almost an hour at this point and I don’t want this guy’s stupid pizza anymore. I ask him if it was his first day of work and tell him to refund my card and we leave, without any pizza.
Livid now obviously. My fiance doesn’t have a care in the world and she thinks its nuts that I’m even mad. But it’s not ABOUT the pizza it’s the principle. So, I text my friend Tom and ask him to call the restaurant and order three pizzas for pick up. Can always count on Tom to have my back. So, I don’t have an end to this story but I can tell you that I will NEVER know how that pizza tastes.
Ed the Dog Park guy
So, I thought I met this guy Ed at the dog park who was going to be my friend. We were bullshitting about golf and we both brought beer to the dog park, so it seemed like it was going well. We exchanged numbers saying we’ll go golfing or grab some beers the following weekend. He texts me about the course I should go to and tells me about some of the holes and why I should play there. The following weekend I text my friend Ed to watch the football game, and this motherfucker ghosts me. Same day the pizza guy fucked me. Classic Ed though.
The wacked out girl
One of my friends from college has a friend we hangout with every once in a while down here and she’s actually out of her mind. We went out for drinks a few weeks ago and we were sitting on a rooftop. As I’m drinking my beer she keeps telling me that I can’t be drinking out of glass and that I need to drink out of plastic because it’s a rule at the bar.
This girl doesn’t work there she just needed me to be following the rules. She goes up to the bartender and gets me a plastic cup to pour my beer and and starts telling me about how it will be better because it will stay colder in the plastic. I don’t know where she got that bullshit explanation.
We all go back to my apartment, have pizza, go out together. We were together for a solid 6-7 hours. Two weekends later, I go to meet up with them again. I see her in the bar when I’m looking for my friend and this girl has no recollection of me, my name or who I’m even friends with. She tells me to go outside and meet up with Anthony. I don’t even know an Anthony, my friends name is Jesse. Wacked out.
I’m out with my friend the other night and his roommate had some friends with her. One of the guys was from Venezuela. I only mention that because his quotes won’t make sense without thinking about his accent. We are sitting at this chill bar, not a place to be loud and I have my phone out casually with the Yankee game on just glancing at it here and there. This guy comes up to me and keeps telling me, “Chu watchin the Yankees mang, chu not going to get girls watchin the Yankees mang. Let’s get some girls tonight mang.”
Even if I wasn’t getting married next week, I’m not going to get girls with you man. Everyone know the guy who goes out looking to get girls is the guy who is constantly ruining the fun. This guy dressed like he’s headed down to the Jersey Shore except wearing lime green sneakers is not the ideal person I’m going out with. But hey, you get what you get.
This guy did end up getting a girl though. Last I saw him, him and the wackjob from the previous story were cutting up the dance floor wasted pretending they knew how to salsa. I don’t know if I believe he’s actually from Venezuela. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I imagine people from Venezuela are harder, maybe he was from Peru, a safer South American country.
Hit up Home Depot the other day. Went in for a $10 wire and some nails and walked out with a $200 rug for the living room. That place is worse than Target.
I’m walking out with this huge rug and I have my dog with me. So, I’m walking up to my car and this guy is outside his rape van smoking a cigarette next to my car. I open my back door and let the dog in and try to start stuffing the rug in the back seat.
“What kind of dog is that?” he asks me.
“She’s a cattle dog,” I respond.
He tells me, “that’s not a type of dog.”
What the fuck kind of response is that. Like even if it wasn’t a type of dog, why would that be your response. But it is a kind of a dog because it’s the kind of dog that I fucking have.
So I answer, “Oh, alright, it’s not a cattle dog.”
He responds, “I only deal with pit bulls.”
I’m still trying to fit the rug into my car and I answer back, “nice man, they’re good dogs too.”
Here we go again with this genius and he answers, “no they’re not they’re mean fuckin’ dogs man. “
Finally, I shut the door and have the rug in the car. I turn around to the guy, “okay guy, they’re mean fucking dogs.”
People are impossible to understand. I never cease to be amazed. Thanks for stopping by if you got this far. Fuck off until next week.