Apologies if what I am throwing your way seems more nonsensical than usual.
I didn’t get a license plate number, nor did I see if Ralph Cramden was driving, but I’m pretty sure I got hit by a bus Tuesday evening. My mishap occurred somewhere between the Publix pharmacy in Cruse Marketplace and the safety of home sweet home.
All week, I’ve been in a funky fog that has had me struggling to process day-to-day events that should be completely straightforward.
Like the low-hanging clouds that blanket us after a heat-lightning summer storm, things remain foggy from my office chair. I really do wish my MacBook would stay still as I type.
Despite feeling as if on a five-day Ambien bender where I’ve been slamming pills as if they were M&Ms, I swear I haven’t touched either.
Remember the Anacin commercials of days past? I recall a hammer playing the drum solo from “Wipe Out” on some poor sap’s noggin.
That’s your columnist as I write this. Instead of gobbling Tylenol, my addled brain is wondering if Anacin is still on the market and whether that guy’s skull ever broke that hammer?
Juan Valdez and I are now fast amigos. His rich Colombian coffee has been akin to Geritol for me this week.
And, by the way, I have no idea what Geritol is, other than that it is (or was) some type of speed for codgers like me. And its pitchman Willard Scott said “Adios” to us this past week.
We’re now some 250 words into this offering, I’d better purge my soul to you faithful readers who have made it this far.
I got my second jab this past week. I am now fully vaccinated and absolutely thrilled that I won’t be part and parcel to Joe’s patience wearing thin. It’s both hilarious and scary when Joe tries to be like Ward Cleaver when he scolds us.
A trip to the Apple store at Avalon was a buzzkill when I was commanded to put on a mask in order to wait three hours to get Greg’s iPhone, which didn’t do well in an encounter with the garage floor, repaired.
“But, but, but I’ve been vaccinated. Looky here at this official card that says so. I’m still waiting on my secret decoder ring,” I tried to reason with the scowling greeter at the door.
Her answer: “It’s Apple policy.”
It also must be a few of Apple’s policies to have its employees be walking advertisements for tattoo parlors, stand around in conversations while customers sit in comprehensive boredom, and wear jeans that consist of more holes than denim.
While waiting, a Goldberg’s corned beef sandwich beckoned. No such luck. The eatery was locked up tighter than Dick’s hatband.
No matter. The sandwiches at Summit’s Tavern are better anyway.
With time to kill, I spied a Peloton store. I avoided that place like the pandemic. No way was I walking through those doors and being yelled at to move my fat keister and go faster. The Peloton folks seemed to have the temperament of high school gym teachers.
I meandered to the Tesla showroom. I still don’t understand how the car works. They’re nice, that’s for sure. But the salesperson used terminology that I’m certain neither of us understood.
My Hyundai Tucson has enough bells and whistles and Elijah Saleemi, the great kid who sold me the car, continues to answer my many questions two months after I drove off the lot.
Twice jabbed, I’m curious about what’s going to happen when all the variants are spoken for when we go through the Greek alphabet?
Could this vaccine controversy be more polarizing? No right answers, except both sides believe they are right.
Some are calling for that little weasel Fauci to be prosecuted.
Not me. I’d like to see him pull a month of double shifts at a Wuhan wet market. He could oversee bats, rats, and leeches. It’s perfect for birds of a feather.
I received a $100 Amex card from my employer for getting jabbed, so my conscience is clear, even if my mind isn’t.
Joe can go take a nap. We both have done what we’ve been told. Although I’d sure like to know who is pulling his strings in Washington.
Mike Tasos’ column appears every other weekend. He is on Facebook and can be emailed at miketasos@earthlink.net.