November 2005 Archives

I watch embarrassing things.

Here is my lovely recipe for cashew gravy. It is a delicious vegetarian alternative or addition to a meat-based gravy and super easy. No giblets involved.

Cashew gravy

6 T. raw, unsalted cashews ground to a fine powder/paste
1 ½ C. water
1 T. cornstarch
1-2 T. soy sauce (I prefer a milder organic kind)
squirt of lemon juice
seasonings to taste (I use freshly ground pepper and a little garlic salt)

Grind the nuts in a food processor or blender until a paste starts to stick to the sides. While the food processor or blender is on a low speed, slowly add the water. Transfer about a third of this mixture to a saucepan and add the cornstarch. Heat and stir constantly until gravy starts to thicken. Add rest of cashew mixture to pan and add soy sauce, lemon juice, and seasonings. At this point you can really tailor it to your tastes by adding more of whatever you like. Although adding giblets at this point would be very counterproductive.

Flipping through the latest issue of People the other day, I came across a section devoted to Memoirs of a Geisha, and all the paraphernalia being produced in the name of the movie. Like, you can purchase replicas of the jewelry worn by the geishas in the movie, and there’s a whole line of Memoirs of a Geisha cosmetics and candles that come in hat boxes. You can even go to Banana Republic and buy clothes from a line also dedicated to the movie. People decided to get in on the action by doing this little box:

Okay, am I the only one who thinks this is a bit…odd? I mean, yes, beauty and mystery and all that, but remember the whole indentured sex slave thing? Remember the REASON behind the beauty and mystery?

And while we’re on the topic of sex and paraphernalia, what is up with the Sex and the City DVD collection retailing for $300? Three huuuuunnnndred dollars. For this price, I’d expect it to come with a manicure, pedicure, massage, sex toy, and a couple of cosmopolitans. But no, just plain ol’ 94 episodes and some good extras. Who is buying this collection? And are they pairing it with Official Memoirs of a Geisha Sake Bath and Rice Shimmer Powder?

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As you may have surmised by my lack of Wednesday post, I did indeed get called in for jury duty. I didn’t actually get PICKED for jury duty, I simply had to sit around in a room all day ready to serve if they happened to call my name. Which they didn’t. We were informed early on by Ed Bradley in a video that we shouldn’t think of it as “just sitting around” but instead as “fulfilling our civic duty.” You can imagine how this changed my perception of things greatly. I brought a book and read a lot and ended up making a jury buddy with the girl sitting next to me. Let me tell you: if you ever have jury duty you should make a jury buddy. It makes the time pass much more swiftly if you are able to point out to another person that that guy has a comb over that starts at the base of the skull near his neck and sweeps up over the entire skull. There was a moment where we were afraid we’d have to come back on Friday (thus claiming another vacation day) and that was fun to bitch about, too. After lunch they started dismissing groups of people, but they made sure to wait until the very last group to include our names, which means we sat there until 4:00 fulfilling our civic duty. This would have been more tolerable if they gave any inkling that they were going to call more people to sit on juries, but they had called the last group of people for that about an hour before lunch, leaving us with the knowledge that they were just teasing us. For fun.

But anyway, dismissed is dismissed, so I’m done for another six years. I did some shopping at Macy’s to celebrate and got a cute jacket—originally priced at $100—for $5 (after some major discounts, sales, and a gift card) and a shirt and tie for J. Shirt and tie shopping is a lot harder than it sounds. Just finding the right size shirt is a chore when you’re trying to match up all the little numbers that make up a shirt size. Then there’s the colors and the patterns and corresponding tie colors and patterns. I almost went blind, let’s just leave it at that. But J looked right nice for Thanksgiving, so I guess it was worth it.

Mashed potatoes + cashew gravy + yams + orange cranberry sauce + cranberry muffins + grilled veggies + pumpkin cheesecake + apple pie + pecan pie + chai tea + family + even more wedding presents + nice train rides = Thanksgiving 2005.

I had brunch with Sweet Lucy this weekend and she mentioned that she always feels sorry for me when she reads my blog because my cats sound like such assholes. I thought maybe others had this impression, so I’d like to clarify that it is only Max who is a total asshole. He is the one who is at war with the cat in the back yard and scrambles and hisses at the window at all hours; he is the one who cannot be defeated by squirts of water; he is the one who repeatedly leaps up onto our high areas and kills nice figurines and artwork. Pinky is sugar and spice. Although, I will mention that she has recently decided to sleep with me at night. Being the insanely picky cat that she is, she will only sleep on a small patch of sheet that is right on the edge of the bed next to me. She starts off the night all compact, but as she gets deeper into sleep, she starts increasing her density and shifting her weight against my back until sometime in the middle of the night I will realize she has taken over my side of the bed completely and I am locked into position halfway across the bed. I can usually shift her over, but for a cat that will hide under the bed if you look at her funny any other time of the day, she becomes amazingly difficult to maneuver. Almost like she’s made of lead and is being held in place by a series of magnets aligned under the mattress.

Hogged beds, locked up breakables, constant vigilance, loss of sleep…aren’t these things supposed to be for couples with human babies? I think we’re getting the raw end of some deal.

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Well it turns out my resolve to give up the Zicam only lasted until I started feeling sick again. At which point I took more and felt much better. So I guess what I’m saying is I’d rather not smell or taste than be sick, or at least that’s the decisions my brain makes when it’s all backed up with mucus. So far, no further problems with smelling or tasting, which is good, because even a sick me could tell that would be a serious handicap come Thanksgiving.

This weekend was jammed full of stuff, including Krista’s party (lotsa food, lotsa tequila, maybe some drunken body shots), a city rendezvous with my old friend from middle school, Briana, and her husband, and trips to Train World. There was even a second party in the mix that we were just too exhausted to make it to. Maybe it’s just the general festiveness in the air, but I always feel like this time of year gets filled up so quickly with Things To Do. Yes, most of these things are pleasant and involve food, gathering, or shopping, but there is always a tinge of remorse linked to giving up lots of open weekends.

Why does Paris Hilton have a monkey? She has officially jumped the shark. The end.

So if I have jury duty tomorrow, this will be my last entry for the week, as No Internet At Home is in full operation and anyway: Thanksgiving, etc. Are you reading blogs on Thanksgiving? Shouldn’t you be getting tipsy, eating too much, then going to see a movie, then coming home for seconds, then watching more television?

The weather here is dark and stormy, which makes for excellent sleeping. The cats don’t know what to do with themselves, so just turn on sleep mode and lay low until the sun comes out again and confirms it is actually the morning. This means hours of uninterrupted sleeping for me and lots of drawn out crazy dreams with recurring characters and plot development. I love long, involved dreams, I really do. Waking up, I always feel like I’ve just come back from a very strange vacation.

Okay seriously: who’s going to get me a puggle?

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I’ve been taken in by the advertisements for Zicam that promise to head off or shorten a cold. Homeopathic, proven to work…sign me up! I’ve been feeling that pre-winter sniffle coming on, so I stopped off at a convenience store and surveyed my choices. There were a lot of the nose sprays and nose swabs (?) but I went the more traditional medicinal route and bought the slow dissolve tablets. The packaging has them labeled as “Cherry” but they don’t mention that the overall effect is more “Afrin-tinged post nasal drip” than “fruit.” I sucked on a few for a couple days and any impending cold seemed held at bay. I decided to Google Zicam to find out more about it. Okay, when you google the name of the medication you’re taking? And what comes up are pages and pages about lawsuits? I don’t think that’s a good sign. It turns out the nasal swap version of this stuff has supposedly resulted in a lot of people’s loss of smell. Sometimes permanently. Okay, that freaked me out a little, but I figured, nasal swaps sound terrifying and I’m taking the tablets. Plus, they wouldn’t sell this over the counter at Duane Reade if it actually hurt people.

Fast forward to later in the afternoon. I grabbed an apple out of the fridge. I had made a special trip to the farmer’s market for these apples, the beloved Honey Crisps that everyone raves about. I’d had a delicious one the day before, but as I took a bite of this one, I was overcome with disappointment. The texture was right. It was juicy. But it tasted like nothing with a hint of sour. My coworker thought that was weird, as she’d also been regaled with stories of the heavenly Honey Crisp. She took a bite declared that it was completely delicious.

Then I freaked out. I went nuts on Google (o friend of the overly anxious and neurotic) and turned up all these message boards about people taking all kinds of Zicam and permanently losing smell AND taste! The hell?! My coworker dutifully pulled out a handful of Lush products and I went through them all and was relieved to find everything in working order. I didn’t get another chance to eat anything until much later, but everything was FINE. (You can ease back into your chairs, now.) I did, however, decide that I was sufficiently scared into not using my slow dissolve tablets anymore.

It’s Krista’s birthday! Happy Krista Day!

Google searches also turned up the following:

I want…

to Be A Paleontologist
an average Joe
the earth plus 5%
golf
to live
to whistle
to vote
to embrace Islam
the OPML Editor to open my .opml files
it that way
you to invade Iraq
to be a Long Neck, too
More time in the UK as a student
You for the galactic empire

I don’t want…

to talk about it
to miss a thing
to get off on a rant here
people think I'm sucking up to Mr Gaiman
them coming back
to read your blog
to work in a big city
my mom to be in the delivery room
my foot on the ladder
no trouble
to be a Hilton
to be prompted by a password
her to be my baby’s godmother
to see your toes

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Happy Lost night everyone! Whoo! I’ll restrict my Lost talking to Warm Glow, so you can stop with the worrying about spoilers. Let’s talk about shitty subways instead! Some days I just love my commute. It’s usually reasonably quiet and I can sit the whole way and catch up on my reading. Getting deep into a book for 45 minutes before and after my work day is a really nice transition from work world to real world. But of course, there are the days like yesterday, where it took me an hour and a half to get home. There were crowded platforms and angry people and signal malfunctions and waiting on the bridge for 15 minutes. There are days when I don’t get to sit at all and have to stand sideways pressed against a stranger while some lady’s bag jabs me in the butt and I have to yell at people to let me off the car. Usually I think there is nothing worse than sitting in traffic in your car and I am grateful for the mass transit. But some days? I just want a car and my own air to breathe. Which is an expensive request in New York.

I don’t usually buy Trident gum, but every once in a while I’ll pick up a pack based on the nostalgia alone. There’s something about a pack of original flavored Trident that really takes me back. The bodega next to my work had a fancy new “Cool Burst” flavor, so I decided to give that a shot. A couple day of chewing went by and I didn’t notice anything strange, but today I realized there was something in my mouth that had an odd texture. It was no bigger than a grain of couscous, and had separated from the main wad of gum. I spit it into my palm and examined what appeared to be a tiny, clear, rubbery, inner tube-shaped bit. Further searching with my tongue pulled up a couple others. I can only conclude that this is where they hide the long-lasting, minty flavor in the gum. Who knew?

I was going through some old photos and found some from Memorial Day when we went to visit our friends up in Great Barrington. One afternoon the light was really nice and it made everything seem really dramatic. We took some pictures to prove our point.

Here is J reading an Eight Ball: dramatic!

Here is some melon: dramatic!

Finally we decided to see if it would work on some trash:

The glare off the metallic paper ruined it a little, but overall: pret-ty nice.

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Today I sat at work in fleece sweatpants and a wet shirt. This is mostly because the alternative to this outfit was a pair of khaki work pants onto which I spilled a whole cup of hot chocolate.* MONDAYS ARE AWESOME! Being at work wearing what are, for all intents and purposes, pajamas, is a strange feeling. It is not unlike the dreams you have where you are supposed to give a speech but don’t have anything prepared. It is also not unlike the time in high school where I, and other freshman members of the drama club, were hazed by being woken up at 4:00 a.m. and made to go to school in ridiculous costumes. I think the feeling I’m thinking of is “embarrassment.”

Jennie came in on Friday night and we had an old roommates get together with Kelly and Tom (and J as a supporter of us being old roommates). We went to a new restaurant in Park Slope, Futura, which has an unfortunate location directly next to a McDonalds. It is SO next to the McDonald’s that it is almost impossible to see until you are right up on it. The place itself was very cute, and because it is new, it had the likeable air of “trying especially hard to make a good impression.” I’m not sure if we demonstrated their ideal customer base (young people from the neighborhood who order lots of food and alcohol) or whether it was the combined blond knockouts of Kelly and Jennie, but we got a practically endless supply of bread with a yummy feta/tomato dip, a complimentary bottle of wine, and two free rounds of anise during dessert. Hello! J reported back that their bathrooms were completely bathed in yellow light. By that time I’d already had a couple glasses of wine, so my scheme to get Chris Martin into the restaurant and into the bathrooms, solely for the moment when he would emerge and you could say, “Hey, what was the bathroom like?” seemed really funny to me. That's probably why I'm not friends with more famous people.

Saturday night a lovely party at Abby and Zack’s. They went all autumn on us and built a fire pit and made some hot cider and rum. Abby made a slew of crazy, delicious appetizers including individual nachos on quarter-sized chips, edamame dip, and vegetarian pigs in a blanket. It was all very cozy and nice and made me glad for it to be fall.

*I had taken the lid off the cup of hot chocolate because the lids have been fitting weird lately and I was afraid I'd dribble onto my clothes.

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Worrying Did I tell you I got called for jury duty? On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving? They do it now so you get to call in the morning to see if you actually have to show up to the court house, so I’m hoping it will all just go away quickly and I won’t have to spend my extra vacation days holed up in a conference room somewhere. I don’t think I’d mind being on a jury, but there’s a limit to how many of my work-given days off I want to put towards the effort.

Reading
I’ve been reading Overheard in New York quite a bit lately. The blue really burns up my retinas though, so it’s only good for a few minutes at a time. I think some of them are made up. Obviously, not that you’d need to make up anything in the middle of all the weird shit people say in New York, but I still think some of them are fake. Maybe it is because I was ruined as a young girl when I realized that YM’s “Say Anything” section MIGHT be a little made up. (Some of those stories are really funny in retrospect, the way they play on girls’ inexperience with puberty to create really ridiculous scenarios. The one I remember most involved a girl who had a tampon string hanging out of her bathing suit. A guy (probably her CRUSH) noticed it and said, “Oh hey, you have a string hanging off your bathing suit,” and of course proceeded to rip her tampon out. I mean, really.)

Dreaming
I dreamt that I was doing internet research to find a really good dog name. Apparently I was getting a dog, and I was very worried that if I didn’t do the research I would end up naming the dog something really pedestrian, like Bowser.

Eating
You know what’s really good? M&M minis. I thought they would just taste like regular M&Ms, but I was wrong; something went very right when they made them all tiny. They’re like Sixlets, but more delicious.

Thinking
It’s become very cold very quickly. New York is hard in the winter because you have to spend more time outside and walking than you really want to. It’s also hard because why don’t I have any cute sweaters? Why are all of them bulky and shinky and itchy? My only hope is to wear all my awful old clothes and hope that someone gets me on some makeover show where they give you a whole new wardrobe. If you help me stage it, I promise to “happen” to buy a very cute pair of boots in your size.

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All I was doing yesterday day was waiting for yesterday night so that I could cozy up on the couch and veg out with ANTM and Lost. I don’t know if I was getting punished for canceling plans with my real life friends so that I might do this, but things started going swiftly downhill as soon as I left work. It was drizzling a bit, but I made a mad dash for the subway anyway, thinking if it got worse I could always have J come meet me in Brooklyn with an umbrella. This would have worked fine if the rain hadn’t decided to change from “light spray” to “ocean” halfway from the subway stop to our apartment. To make matters worse I was in my winter wool coat and clutching my work bag under my arm to make sure the digital camera I happened to have with me wouldn’t get soaked. This is not a fun way to proceed home. The only thing that kept me from freaking out entirely was the small part of me that was pretending I was running through a jungle trying to escape a robot monster.

It turns out J also got caught in the downpour, so the apartment quickly became filled with draped clothing and coats and we were already feeling a little grumpy. Not to be deterred, I got to work on dinner. The dish was grilled polenta with gorgonzola sauce and garlicky greens, which looked delicious in the cookbook and seemed relatively easy to pull together quickly. Unfortunately for everyone involved, there was a lot of little steps and things kept going wrong: J lost a metal shard in the beans, the sauce boiled up, the polenta wouldn’t brown. This meant that an hour later, we were just finishing up and ANTM was already starting.

I should have known things wouldn’t go well when J leaned over the sauce and said ominously, “I think they used a lot of this type of cheese in the cheese factory where I worked.” Which may as well have been translated to, “Your dinner makes me want to throw up.” Ha ha, I jest. But really, J hated dinner. Logically, I knew that he was simply saying this particular food in this particular makeup was not appealing to him, independently of the preparation or presentation of the food. Emotionally, I had just nearly drowned on the way home, immediately started cooking a semi-complicated dinner, worked hard for an hour, presented fancy nourishment to my husband, and utterly failed. Then it was only a matter of time before I started crying. The kind of crying where you know you are frustrated and tired and wish you weren’t crying and know that you’re just upsetting the person next to you who thinks you’re furious at them when really you’re just hungry and exhausted and sad that something that was supposed to be nice turned out not nice. Especially when what you really want to be doing is watching a wannabe model pee in a diaper on national television because she is feeling a bit jealous.

J didn’t even get to see the peeing in a diaper because he thought I was angry at him and needed some space, which made me cry more and I made him come out and watch the finale where Tyra pulled a reverse Apprentice move and fired—er—dismissed NO people. Luckily, things were pretty much smoothed over for Lost and we ate delicious peanut butter cookies and milk to wash away dinner thoughts.

Phew! My lesson learned is: if you really want to make a night of lounging on the couch and hope to fully enjoy seeing models peeing on themselves, you should just order pizza.

Don't forget to check out Warm Glow for those in the know about Lost.

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I have to preface this by noting that J was in Manhattan all day at meetings yesterday and didn't even have a chance to look at a computer. Yet, when I got home, he had a wonderful surprise waiting:

Ha! My non-buying-socks streak continues. Also: best husband ever. (Maybe asking for socks instead of Coach bags and diamonds makes me the best wife ever. [Not that I have anything against Coach bags. Or diamonds for that matter.])

We made a pasta salad that called for fresh sage, and let me tell you: fresh sage is some intense shit. I started picking it off after awhile because it was, like, burning my brain.

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I woke up about twenty minutes early this morning so I could get the voting out of the way before work. I didn’t even need to set an alarm because Max’s autumn routine involves meowing at 6:10, being locked out of the bedroom for an hour, and meowing to be let back in at 7:10. (awesome.) I was already feeling on the groggy side as we were up late last night looking at the voter guide so I could vote with confidence on the ballot questions. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a delicious little turn of irony for me, as my discombobulated state led to me leaving the booth having forgotten to actually vote on any of the ballots. Which I feel a bit stupid about, thank you very much.

Since my morning was already swinging in action mode, I decided to keep the momentum going by finishing up some weekly grocery shopping at the Whole Foods near work. Ever since J and I moved and FreshDirect has forsaken us, we’ve been at the mercy of Sunset Park’s grocery stores, which are stocked as much on whim as necessity. After several struggling weeks of last minute dinners consisting of scraps found in the house and bike trips down to Park Slope, we decided we needed to make a bigger effort to go real grocery shopping again and have a kitchen stocked with real supplies for real meals. So we begrudgingly began to make up menus for the week and compiled shopping lists and actually went shopping over the weekend. This usually works out to mean getting basics in Sunset Park and getting “fancier” stuff (unwilted cilantro, blue cheese, raw cashews—I know, it’s like we’re freakin’ ROYALTY) at Whole Foods. Whenever I’m at Whole Foods, I feel like I’ve been sucking on a sticky rootbeer candy my whole life and someone’s just thrown the doors of the Hershey factory open for me. I just want to set up a tent and live in the store, foraging for organic pastas and carob-coated almonds and never setting foot in another Key Food again.

I have holes in all my socks and I keep whining to J about them. Finally he asked me why I don’t just go buy some more socks, which is a logical question. It occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I bought socks for myself. Often they turn up in Christmas stockings, and once—best present ever—I got a million fancy dress socks for a birthday. I guess I’ve gotten so used to them coming from some outside source that it didn’t immediately occur to me that if I needed more, I should go buy more. I’ve been spoiled by socks.

Also! I was invited to join the television-obsessed blog, Warm Glow, run by the people who brought you Ultimate Blogger. You’ll be able to catch my TV-related rants thataway.

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We learned that we are living in the future and that people can now purchase recent television shows on iTunes and play them on your computer. This is extremely handy if you were having a work happy hour last night and are regretting missing the satisfaction of seeing Randall MARKUS (crazy weirdo MARKUS. Not nice, going-to-totally-win Randall. Thanks Abby!) fired. OR if you, say, watched all of season one of Lost and now need to catch up on season two so far so you can watch the new episode next Wednesday that Real Girl said is supposed to be REALLY GOOD. I love the future. By the end of the weekend, I should be all caught up on my Lost and can rejoin society as a normal person, instead of one living in fear of spoilers.

Willow writing about “The Graduate” on her blog reminded me that she and I kept acting out the last scene when we were in the back of the limo on the way to take pictures for the wedding. The very back of the limo had a seat that faced forward and we were sitting side by side on it. How often are you sitting side by side with a bride in a vehicle? Anyway, it was too much to resist, so we got everyone’s attention and did the very excited faces fading to normal/“Was this a mistake?” faces and made everyone guess what movie we were doing. We had to actually go back to the pounding on the glass part before people got it, but needless to say, it was hilarious. To us.

And since we are talking about “The Graduate,” I will tell you something embarrassing. Sometimes I tell people this thinking they will commiserate or also think it is embarrassing but a little funny in retrospect, but instead they are aghast and seem to actually think less of me from that moment on. So, I’m telling you this in the hopes that you will be more of the former camp. When I first saw “The Graduate,” it wasn’t until some time in college. (It was with Ahe in the French House, so I guess that makes it Junior year.) The movie ended—the glorious, famous ending—and I believe my exact words were, “What was that look all about? That’s it? That’s the end?” And everyone in the room shot fiery hate at my ignorance and someone had to explain that it was a Very Meaningful ending. I will now embarrass myself a second time by reminding you that upon viewing “Rocky” for the first time, very recently, my reaction was much the same (with the added insult that couldn’t believe he’d lost the fight).

I get a lot of grief from J about these, especially “Rocky,” and because I have since come around and very much love the nuances of the endings now, I have been thinking about what it was that made me react this way towards these movies. The only conclusive thing I can come up with is that both were movies I had heard so much about, and that are really an ingrained part of pop culture, that by the time I actually saw the movies, I had already made up what I thought the movie would be like. In doing so, I grossly oversimplified them and underestimated their impact, so just wasn’t prepared for anything outside the “classic” mold I had kept them in. So much so, that it hindered my ability to enjoy them fully.

Hmm, defensive much? ANYWAY, who else is going abroad? Jennie and Tom just came back from Prague and Frankfurt, Kelly’s possibly heading off in the same direction, Krista’s going to Beijing, and Abby’s going to Taiwan. All these jetsetters!

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This week’s off to a slow start. I’m trying to do the million and one things I need to do, but I my feet are dragging. I’m having the kind of week where it seems really tedious to do all the routine things that need doing to make my life move along in an orderly fashion. Have you ever been in the shower and think, “Now I’m shampooing my hair. Then I will have to use conditioner. Then I will have to wash my body.” Usually, I really enjoy my showers, and routine just kinda does its routine thing and makes up the background structure for the day. But all at once, it just seemed so boring. Walking home: boring. Food shopping: boring. Sleeping: boring. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I need to do something outrageously fun to shake the autumn malaise out of me.

On an up note, it turns out we’ll be going to Denver for Christmas after all. There was a surprise deposit that was returned and it was for the exact amount of two plane tickets outta here, so it was DESTINY!

The pumpkin carving party was a lot of fun, though I ended up spending fifteen minutes carving what amounted to a seven-year-old’s first go at a jack o’ lantern. Abby was nice and said it was “cute,” but really it was really suck town. It wasn’t a freakin’ Jesus pumpkin, that’s for sure. Krista’s was the hit of the party, for sure. On Halloween, J and I stayed home and finished up our Lost dvds. I bought three bags of candy in case any stray trick-or-treaters wandered past, but it turns out all the kids in Brooklyn just go to the neighborhood stores for trick-or-treating. There’s something a little sad about getting all your candy from neon-lit pizza places and crappy dollar stores instead of people’s houses, but I guess you work with what you have.

Speaking of sad, I was in a Hallmark store yesterday, in line behind an older woman, who had this conversation with the cashier:

Lady: Heeeey!
Cashier: Hi there. So what day you coming in?
Lady: Pshw! The same day I always come in. Thursday! You know that.
Cashier: Right, right. Okay, just these? [takes stack of five or so cards from lady and puts them in a bag]. Okay, how do you spell your name again?
Lady: G-A-Y-E
Cashier: [writing name on bag] Okay.
Lady: I have to come Thursday, because I don’t get paid until then.
Cashier: Alright, well these will be waiting for you.
Lady: I won’t come in the morning! I’ll come in the evening, around this time, like I always do. When you’re working.
Cashier: Okay, they’ll be here.

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