Saturday, March 17, 2007

A Classy Post: The Booger Pickers of Minnesota

I discovered what has caused my illness. Today proved very enlightening for me at work as I got to the bottom of what it is that has caused my corpse to wither into oblivion.


Not once. Not twice. But three times today I witnessed a person digging for gold brazenly in public.

Incident #1:

I happened to be walking around my store fixing the one zillinth problem of the day when I zipped toward the front register. Just entering the sliding door was a middle aged woman. Upon crossing the threshold to the store, she instantly drove her index finger into her nose. This was not the subtle wipe. No, this was the palm-out-for-leverage dig. I instantly looked away for two reasons. One, common decency. Two, to prevent her the embarrassment of having to acknowledge me with her pointer in her nostril. Did my quick appearance humble this gold digger? Of course not. No, just as she was completing her task she bubbly offers a big hello. Proud as could be was she.

Incident #2:

Now, I don't consider this incident nearly as egregious and won't even try to present it as such. While waiting at the red light to enter onto Highway 100, a car pulls up beside me in the neighboring lane. We are completely side-by-side with clear views into one another's vehicles. This younger gentlemen decides that now that I have an unobstructed line of sight into his car, he should go to work. And he did. The light 21 minutes later turned green.

Incident #3:

This one is most infuriating. Whereas incident #1 is notorious for its brashness and incident #2 is pathetic for its direct assault, incident #3 is down right dangerous. On this same drive home, I have now exited Highway 100 and begun my homeward trek up Central Ave. The speed limit is 55 mph on Central, with most choosing to push 65. I'm cruising home, eager to read a public discussion of a private NCAA bracket contest, when I notice that the line of traffic isn't speeding up to the aforementioned speeds after a recent red light. In fact, the problem is the pick up truck directly ahead of me. The middle aged woman has decided that 45 mph is the speed of choice. It's become impossible to pass her as the line of cars in the left and only other lane is flying by at 20 mph faster with no openings, I must wait, disgruntled. Suddenly, the pick up begins veering onto the shoulder only to compensate back into the normal lane. Due to properly positioned mirror angles, I can actually see the woman using her side mirror. Of course, she's picking her nose. The lady has slowed traffic and begun swerving because of an obstruction in her nasal passage. Unfreakingbelievable.

Minnesota is an awful, disgusting place to live. This yellow fever/Asian bird flu that I've contracted unquestionably originated from these unsanitary folk. Would it kill any of them to use a tissue? I mean in incident #1, she was in a drug store and we've featured 120 pack Kleenex at 89 cents all week. I consider myself lucky that I did not also catch cholera, chicken pox, typhus, and all those other things people died from on that totally rad Oregon Trail game. While I'm slowly on the road to recovery (the remedy for which was 5 days rest and hunting buffalo), I blame the booger pickers of Minnesota for my pain and suffering.


Strider said...

Was just browsing and saw this post. An interesting title - it sounds almost like something Mark Twain would use as the name for one of his short stories.

Anyway, get well. I once got sick from something I ate and had 4 days of hell where I lost 7 kilograms.

dani said...

But how will you cross the river? Ferry, fording or waiting.

I bet you didn't even get enough supplies at the general store prior to your endevor. Perhaps those friendly native americans will spare you some salt so that your meat doesn't spoil. If your lucky you may find an abandoned wagon with supplies in it!

enough about that spectacular game, spray cleaning lysol all over the store. sanitize the place.

JR said...

Less than one month until I visit Minnesota. I will be picking my nose.