So, I woke up to interesting text messages from an old coworker at Whole Foods, where I was a cashier until three months ago when my dad died and I broke my foot. I had only worked there for a couple months but I apparently made more friends there than I even realized, including an amazing older Syrian man named Sam. He used to come through my line, almost daily, with the most positive attitude in the world and always asking me about my life, my boyfriend, and also for 50% off his bill, and then cracked up at his own jokes for at least a minute straight while his combed-over little hairs on his empty head would bounce around.
Here's what Ed told me.
"So this customer named Sam comes in and asks about you today. I told him you went back to Ann Arbor and he got so mad. Then he asked about your boyfriend, and I told him you guys broke up and he was like, 'she is such a nice girl, I wish I had the chance to know her.' Then he said you should have cooked for Tymm. 'She should know that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach not PUSSY JUICE.' When he said pussy juice I almost just died. Also he said you were gonna invite him to your birthday party..."
Only that old foreign man would say pussy juice thinking it's socially acceptable. Reason #41,000 I miss that job. I'm gonna go find this 60 year old Sam, tell him I love him and his charmingly innocent/vulgar brain, and invite him to my birthday party at the beach.