Mexican Existential Blues

Today I bought soup for lunch. As I paid, the teller asked me “Who are you today, sir?”

Lost in thought and out of it, I answered honestly with a shrug. “I actually don’t know.”

When I left I realized that she was asking me how I was doing. It was her accent that had thrown me off.

I often feel guilty (usually every day) for not taking Spanish in high school, but we were speaking English so I doubt it would have helped me in these circumstances.

P.S. I really enjoy this image from Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. A gang member has to explain 911. The catastrophe has never looked sexier.


4 Responses to “Mexican Existential Blues”

  1. Tucker Stone Says:

    Ahh! Good old Orwell, the kingpin of blowjob hands! We have to start trading that one off–only the worst can make it into the club. Tony Bedard, George Orwell? Maybe a musician next. Ideas?

  2. darknessatnoon Says:

    I nominate Bono.

  3. Tucker Stone Says:

    Agreed. Totally right, comment is in the wrong place. But the image of the explosion, hand gesture style, distracted me with it’s total awesomeness.

  4. darknessatnoon Says:

    Like it’s beckoning your comment to land where it did. I get it.

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