Miss Congeniality

What a great morning. Every morning I play a little game called Count the Garbage Left by Homeless People/Working Girls.
It's fun to play, but really, no one wins.
Here’s a list I’ve developed so far, and keep in mind, I’ve only played the game for a week:
• One left ankle boot, brown
• One blood trail, ending at top of steps
• Half dozen tiny Ziploc bags
• Three broken Bic lighters
• One bloody t-shirt looks to be size small. Logo on front endorses Bulldog Boxing. Angry bulldog
• Eight large Slurpie cups
• One, six-inch long PVC tube. Well used.
Again, it’s only been a week. This morning, I spotted an actual homeless person/working girl under the awning, and no, I’m not cruel enough to add her to my list. She was carrying what looked to be a piece of metal from a kid’s swing set and had her hair done up like Anne of Green Gables in Anne of Green Gables, The Sequel — you know, all puffy on top. Quite becoming actually.
She was crouched behind some shrubbery near the front door, and I looked over, surprised to see her, and said “Hello,” with a smile.
“Well hello Miss America,” she grumbled in return.
What a great morning.
Indeed, in this game no one wins. Not even Miss America.

Quick thinking

According to my resume I’m a great “problem solver," I can “think on my feet.”
Not true.
This morning I found I am not a great problem solver. In fact, I cannot think on my feet at any point, as evidenced by a rather distressing morning commute through the Tim Hortons drive thru.
Sigh.
As a treat, one day each week I’ll make the point of setting aside a couple of toonies for a coffee and a bagel — or if I’m feeling like a real risk taker, I’ll go for a breakfast sandwich. Mmmm breakfast sandwich.
This morning was one of those mornings. I got to the drive thru, which was, shock of shocks, virtually empty.
“This would be a grand morning indeed,” my freshly showered self thought to my freshly showered self.
When I got to the order microphone I verbalized my request for a coffee, with two cream one sugar, and a toasted everything bagel with plain cream cheese.
Delish.
But that’s where the good part of the story ends, and the plot twist begins.
Arriving at the window to accept the goodies in exchange for the coins, the order-taker girl hesitated, and with a bit of a gap-toothed stammer, said: “We’re all out of everything bagels, will an onion bagel do?”
Gack! No, of course an onion bagel won’t do! And though I screwed up my face in response to her statement, could I think of any other bagel flavour as a substitute? As the cars piled up behind me, could I even consider saying “no, cinnamon raison, please,” or “cheese please,” or even, “plain please?”
No, of course I couldn’t think of any of those equally delicious flavours. I couldn’t think of anything except how poor a substitute an onion bagel would be for an everything bagel. In fact, all I could think of was the fact that the onion in the everything bagel was the weakest link.
And so I said, “yeah, sure,” took my foul smelling bagel and drove off.
So, no, I cannot think on my feet, and I am not an adept problem solver. And now I have to rush out to the store to buy gum because my onion breath is killing me.
Happy friggin Monday.