There’s been way too much excitement regarding the nationwide release of pumpkin favored products. From coffee to motor oil, tampons to cakes, you can’t throw a rock in a crowded hospital without hitting something with pumpkin flavor in it. When did America lose its collective mind over a gourd? The only good thing you get from a pumpkin is when some hillbilly from Arkansas with a PhD in applied physics builds a trebuchet and launches pumpkins into Mississippi.
In fairness, pumpkin pie is pretty good but that is for Thanksgiving and a hungover breakfast the day after. Pumpkins need to go to the back of the bus with zucchini, condoms, Pontiac Aztecs, Rick Perry, sugar cookies, Comic Cons, NPR radio shows that call themselves podcasts but are really just recordings released as a podcast when they know God damn right that a real podcast is made in one’s mother’s basement, celery, no right turn on red signals, dogs at Home Depot, and ISIS.
And when did you have to bring your dog to Home Depot? I would argue that Home Depot is the last place you’d want to bring your pet considering that there isn’t an aisle that doesn’t have something that could kill even the heartiest dog, like a malamute or Cujo. It’s a travesty you can’t name dogs Cujo anymore. It’s like the name Adolph. The worst part of WWII is now you look like a jerk if you name your kid Adolph.
Let me paint a scenario: you’re heading into HD to get some 3” deck screws for a trebuchet you’re building with some guy name Jimbo. As you’re walking the aisle looking for a Home Depot associate who wasn’t born before Hitler invaded Poland, some monster in flip-flops is absently minded wandering the aisles with Snoopy. You know its only moments before the dog urinates in electrical or Lassie’s leash gets tethered around a shopping cart or you get bit and all you wanted were deck screws. Leave your dog at home. I love my dog more than you love your dog and I leave Shelly at home because I am not a narcissistic jackoff.
Speaking of jackoffs, I was filling the truck up this morning at a Maverick because it is adventure’s first stop. There was a car in front of me fueling up. Because I am a man with cash, I always prepay in the store. When I got out some woman, probably the kind that brings a dog to Home Depot, pulled up behind me waiting the fuel even though there was TWO open pumps on the over side. After I get done pumping, the guy in front of me decided now was the time to load up on beef jerky and Mountain Dew. I ask the woman behind me if she could move her truck so I could get to work and she said she was waiting to fill up. I told her she would still have to wait because I can’t go anywhere. She told me she would just wait.
This was a grown woman with children in her car. Life is miserable.
Not that you were asking, but here’s a tale from the club.
On Wednesday, yet another grown woman started at tab at bar for a Shirley Temple. I didn’t think anything of it until she came back at the end of the night to tab out. Instead of just saying her name and signing out, she insisted on telling me she knew the owner’s wife. I said something like, “Cool, I’ll make sure I tell them you swung by and had a good time.” She coyly looks at me and said that she should get a discount for coming in. I smirked. “You spent $2, I don’t know what other discount I could give you.” Instead of just laughing it off, she said she was going to tell my boss. I know have a shit-eating grin plastered across my face. “You should hope that I don’t tell [my boss’s wife] that you dropped her name and didn’t spend any money.” She looked flabbergasted at me and said she rather I didn’t say anything.
Don’t worry, Rebecca Peterson, I’ll make sure Rochelle doesn’t know what happened.
Ben Raskin is a bartender, podcaster, communication writer for a vitamin company and really enjoys tacos. Follow him on Twitter @BennyRaskin.