Bubbles stares up at me from behind her desk, the top of her red head and eyes peer out above her monitor. She's amused, "Well I know I don't have any."
Well of course she doesn't have any, she's I don't know how pregnant at this point except she resembles a serious beer drinker with that gut of hers. What's her lack of medicinal pot have to do with anything? I'm in real trouble here and it's time to take grave action if I'm ever going to get right with the Great Gom, the fiendish little Karma imp that's wrecking my life at the moment.
"Well write me a script for it then."
"I'm not a physician."
AGAIN, what's that have to do with anything?!
"Well exactly what does that highfalutin degree of yours get you then if you can't write me a script for much needed medicinal marijuana? BILL HAS NEEDS!"
"Well I can get various certifications. I don't ever want to stop learning, my field changes all the time."
Super. She plans on learning new ways to destroy shunned, stinky Bill. I'm obviously going to have to think of a new way of appeasing the Great Gom. I had plans to build a temple in the basement, put on some Doors music, find a bong and commune with Jim Morrison. I figure he could help me break on through to the other side and I could get to the bottom of this Karmic nightmare once and for all.
Mentally wadding that idea up and tossing it in the metaphoric trashcan I realize I'm going to have to rethink this. It was a good plan too, darn it. The Great Gom has blocked access to direct contact through medicine and sixties music spirituality. He wants to kill me.
What I'm worried about is my black hole Karma is now effecting others, my dark aura enfolding others like Satan's smog. This is day two of frosty showers and many of us are bailing over to 'the big house.' AT Everest wants to also but she needs a ride forcing me to rip through the ABS routine the way Bubbles intended it as opposed to the Bill way of complaining about it and goofing off between each set. Her eyesight isn't that great and none of us are keen on having her brave the chilly October morn in her gym attire, she needs a ride, I offer one. Fool that I am.
So I take the lady gently by the elbow and steer her to my car and we chat about this and that before heading into the building off parking lot 6. The parking lot is well lit as I steer her for the doors and I'm about to make a particularly witty remark I'm certain when she suddenly vanishes.
Poof!
Oh no.
I look down and she's sprawled out on the sidewalk having tripped over a four inch lip that separates the parking lot from the sidewalk. It never occurred to me to call that obstacle out to her. I help her up apologizing the whole time. I feel beyond horrible. She's sporting a nice cut on her knee to boot. Great, just great.
I leave her by the elevators and grab some bandages and antiseptic wipes from the first aid station before dropping her off at the woman's locker.
I'm so sorry AT Everest! I hope your knee is OK!
So how do I get this Great Gom off my back?!
My time is running out. I sense, peripherally, my impending doom. If you're not part of the mob carrying pitchforks and torches you'll probably watch sadly as I'm actively hunted and brought down on the security cameras or uTube. Me, the Karmic monster, shunned stinky Bill.
No comments:
Post a Comment