The Buffoon’s mom died. We all went to the funeral today. It was quite sad, as funerals tend to be. One of the pallbearers had his shirt untucked, a cell-phone holstered on his belt and sunglasses perched on his head. Predictably, his phone rang during the service. I wondered if the other side of the side of the family hated him as much as I did.
We had a couple of floaters fill in for us at the bank while we were all at the funeral. One of the floating tellers stayed on and worked the rest of the day, even after we got back. His name was Chris Cringle. Seriously. He was an old, white-haired man who appeared far too happy about being a 65-year-old, part-time bank teller. His lunch was in the break room. It was a PB & J on white bread and a lemon. Seeing the lemon made me laugh my ass off. I wasn’t just laughing at ‘ol Chris, but at all of us. That puny sandwich and lemon looked so pathetic sitting there in the fridge and it reminded me how pathetic our whole scene was at this boring hell-hole.
After C.C. ate lunch, I peaked in the trash can to see if there were any discarded lemon slices, but saw nothing. I also asked if anyone had seen the lemon used for water or tea. Nope. I think he ate the lemon as part of his lunch. He eats lemons. I’m still laughing.
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