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Posts Tagged ‘orange juice’

I bought the fancy orange juice at the grocery store today, the one in the glass bottle that isn’t from concentrate.

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night to get my oj fix. Groggy, I reached into the fridge, reached for the glass bottle, and instead chugged down eight ounces of our month old white wine we keep for cooking. And yes, it was eight ounces before my half asleep self realized it wasn’t orange juice.

I shrugged. It’ll help me sleep.

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The Chicago Bears fight song was written in 1941 and is still played after every time the Bears score, even on safeties.

The composers second most remember song, “If I knew you were comin’, I’d a baked a cake.”

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I was telling Ellen that yesterday, I hadn’t eaten all day and I had to run a whole bunch of errands and didn’t have time to stop, and barely had any cash in my wallet and just needed something quick before work. There was a Taco Bell right next to where I work so I ducked inside. The had a plastic thing on the counter where you could donate money to some charity, but if you caught your donation on the little plastic circle, you’d win a free taco, drink, or meal, depending on if you caught a nickel, dime or quarter. I dropped my quarter in, and won myself a taco salad.

Ellen asked me, “Was it good?!”

I said, “No. It tasted like improv acting classes in 7th grade”

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i woke up early this morning and had some of the left over couscous for breakfast. the lawn mowers had started earlier than usual in the courtyard, which i suppose is a valid punishment for those, like me, with mondays off.

we still had orange juice and that’s big.

i read a few articles of last weeks economist and folded a few things.

when my jeremy finally got up around one, he went straight for the orange juice.

i said, “so you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“let’s get it over with,” he said.

“okay so maybe i lied. no bad news today.”

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I once had a job restocking shelves from 10 p.m. to sunrise.  At the end of each shift, my manager would ring a bell and shout, “Everything’s in stock, the only thing we’re out of is our mother fucking minds!” He’d be screaming this shaking his head with his jaw loose, always drooling a little. The bell was an old gold dinner bell and loud enough to be heard through all of the fluorescent aisles — not just heard, you’d have to plug your ears.  It always made the sunrise over the empty parking lot that much more enjoyable.

At Christmas time, we’d still have to listen to the same Sinatra jingles CD on loop, despite the lack of customers.  To this day, when I hear it, my knees get a little week and my finger-nails dig into my palms.

I’d run through conversations in my head about what would happen if one of the non-existent customers ever asked me a question about what isle the frozen dinners were in and I’d send her to the fruit and vegetable aisle. I loved doing that. I’d always send them to the fruit and vegetable aisle. Take that suckers, PEARS.

It’s times like this that lunch and dinner become something you used to do, when you reach for burnt coffee before you think to open your eyes, when you forget to have any relationships at all.  At the time I thought the only person I could trust was my manager and his bell, and he’d come through every time, smiling wiping the drool off his sleeve. I was too tired to be sad and too exhausted to think about changing anything.

There was one day I left and Carina was outside with a cup of coffee.  She said she couldn’t believe she had gotten up that early. I told her that I couldn’t believe it either. She took me to breakfast and it was weird to sit and eat, and order off a menu. I have to chose what I want? It required more thought than I had put into anything for a while.

She told me an omelette would do me good, that I could use the protein. She ordered for me and got me an orange juice, too.

I think I slept that night, and I don’t think I went back to work anymore.

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I was offered to switch my flight to the next day in exchange for a first class ticket, a free round trip ticket to anywhere, a night at a hotel, and a vegetable omelette. 

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In first class, they put a large napkin on my tray table before the meal, handed me a napkin for my lap, and then a hot towel for my face. SO MANY NAPKINS!

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In first class, they get PREMIUM ORANGE JUICE.

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Quiet now and someone left the lights on. Noticed it when I woke up for the bathroom. Maybe Andy had gotten up for some orange juice, left the light on again. She likes the sugar at night. I hate when the lights get left on. I like sleeping in places where I don’t know how many steps from bed to door, three steps out past the staircase and a right into the bathroom careful to miss the towel rack. I like it when I crash into things, makes me feel like I’m on vacation. But the lights are on now and here I am.

Summer park today and it was so hot I couldn’t focus. The temperature gets up there and suddenly it becomes the woman crying at the end of early color films. “But when will I ever see you again?” the trees say to me as I hold their lower back and they faint in my arms. 

“Andy?” I said as she was drinking out of the container. “Why are you up?”

“Needed a drink,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams. Too hot. Have a lot of things on my mind. Couldn’t sleep.”

And of all the ailments one could have, even a blend of everything that makes a night sleepless, I find myself with no excuses. It’s not that I can’t sleep, I can. It’s just that I am not currently sleeping.

“Why are you up?” She says.

“It’s always the transition that gets me.”

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