I spent most of the day yesterday at the drugstore waiting at the end of a very long line to get my stuff rung up. After waiting for what it seems like eternity, I was finally next in line to purchase, but as soon as I was about to set my things down, the cashier lady quickly slammed a mustard yellow sign down that read:

CLOSED.

PLEASE GO TO THE NEXT CASHIER

Astonished, I turned around to see the reaction on other people’s face but nobody was behind me. I was the last person in line who waited the longest only to get rejected by a CLOSED sign. I stood there, just lifelessly, waiting for the cashier lady to say, “Oh I can take you since you’re the last person.”

…but no. In fact, she did the worse. She pretended I wasn’t there. I read the sign once more, then looked around to see if anybody was laughing at me, and looked at her again. No eye contact whatsoever, she was staring at the monitor.

Before the situation could get even more awkward, I quickly got over it and followed what the sign had ordered me to do: go to the next cashier.

The line wasn’t long compared to the first one since there were two people already before me. And boy, did it take forever…again. The customer who was at the beginning of the line had a shit ton of items and I believe one of their stuff needed a price check. The second customer, the one right in front me, holy shit, didn’t know how to count change or something, so he was standing there, all fucking afternoon, counting change over and over again.

As I was waiting, looking fidgety as ever ’cause I was tempted to count the change for him, the same cashier lady decided to wake up and be a freakin’ blowjob.  That’s right, she’s a gaddamn blowjob and I don’t like her.  What she did was she removed her hideous mustard barf yellow sign and said to the man waiting behind me, “You know what, I can take one more person, why don’t I take care of your stuff sir.”

I swear Ima kill somebody.

Feeling aggravated and a little hurt, I mumbled to myself, “Ughh…you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

The slow-counting change guy turns around and gives me a stubborn look as he’s counting the numbers quietly.  He then looks at the first half of his change and combines it with the other half.  Then I realized what I had mumbled had disrupted his concentration which lead him to start all over again.

Perfect.

My house is getting renovated and I can’t use the main bathrooms during the day. So yesterday I was using the bathroom in my backyard while the workers were having a smoke break there.  Took a shit and all, unlocked the door, and the knob wasn’t turning. I laughed, assuming it’ll open eventually, and tried to turn it some more.

Nothing.

Instead of turning the knob, I wiggled it, then turn and push, wiggled, then turn and push.

Nope.

Still, finding it rather entertaining to be stuck in a bathroom, I unleashed the MacGyver within me by trying other various clever of ways to get the knob to turn thus opening the door.

Nothing worked, and that’s when I knew I was really stuck in the bathroom…and I wasn’t MacGyver.

Since I knew the guys who were working on our house was right outside of my bathroom, I was debating for two minutes whether I should cry out for help or not. I really wanted to but I was too embarrassed, I also didn’t want to disrupt their conversation. Yes, I know, I guess I’d rather be stuck inside of a bathroom (which mind you is about the size of a port-o-potty, possibly smaller) sniffing what smells like ass all day, then to disrupt their break.

Sweat started to bead on my forehead and my heart began to race as I shook, yanked, and pushed the door knob. Five excruciating long minutes began to pass and progress has not been made.

I could feel the blood leave my face as I braced for what was to come: Slowly suffocating in my own after-shit smell while the workers were smoking and chit-chatting just a few feet away from me. I went delusional, the thought of simply knocking on the door and then saying, “Hey guys, I’m stuck in this bathroom, can you please try to open it? kthx” was still out of the question, my composure and patience were entirely thrown out the window, and I started to attack the door with ruthless abandon.

I was grunting and moaning while ramming into the door repeatedly with the side of my arms. Few minutes later, tears started to blur my vision; I decided to give my arms a rest by switching over to my legs, and while all of this is happening, I can hear the workers talking about where to eat for lunch. Being trapped in a small, windowless bathroom is one of the most terrifying things I have ever experienced. To me, it felt like I was in a coffin standing upright which happend to have a toilet in it. Eventually everything, especially hearing them talk about lunch, was just unbearable for me so I surrendered and gave out a loud and boisterous, “YEEELLPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!”

Someone on the other side of the door ask, “Are you…are you stuck?”

“Yes.”

He opens the door like any other door that doesn’t have a fucked up doorknob, and looks at me with caution as if he was expecting me to attack him and then steal his wallet.

“I was hearing stuff, but I thought it was…never mind,” he chuckles and then begins to study the doorknob.

I walked passed the rest of the guys and none of them were making eye contact with me. Probably thought I was a crazy person for air hugging the air after coming out of the bathroom.

Feeling a bit traumatized, I went to my mom right after and bitched about the door and how I was stuck inside for over ten minutes. You know what she did? She laughed. Not only did she laugh, but she ROFL’d in real life.

“Dude go away, your food sucks,” I pushed her away (rolled her away might be the more appropriate term) and she was still laughing at me. Meh, I love my mom, and I love air.

I just had one of the worst pouring gas experience, ever.

Last weekend I headed to the gas station which ended up getting a little bit packed. I parked behind some guy’s car, who was in the middle of pouring gas, but as soon as he was done, he decides to clean the inside of his car! He’s taking junk out and putting them into the trashcan. After waiting for an extra four minutes I realized the man has a shitload of shit to throw away and wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon, so I looked for another spot, and from where I was looking, it looked empty.

I drove to that spot only to find a fucking gawddamn car hogging up all the space because his car was parked exactly between two pumps sitting beside each other. I waited for a whole minute and a half, looked at the car’s owner, and he looked at me, but looked away as if nothing was wrong. Before I could ask him to scoot his car up a little further so I can pour some gawddamn gas, the man who was cleaning out his car was gone, and his spot was available.

I drove back to my original spot and finally was able to pour gas. As I was waiting, I noticed that it took a little bit longer than usual, two seconds later, the gasoline starts to overflow! And when I mean overflow, I mean there was fucking fuel shooting out of the pocket, and it was getting all over my legs and feet. Now this was pretty weird because when you’re pouring gas and the tank gets full, you should hear a click and everything automatically stops, right? But mine didn’t, it kept on going, and LOTS of it.

I’m not panicking at the moment, I took the nozzle out of the filling entry and it’s STILL running. Remember the scene in Zoolander where the guys were having a gasoline fight? Yeah it looked something like that. Except only one person was holding a running nozzle, and I did not have orange mocha frappuccino that day.

Turns out that the latch that locks your handle so it could run by itself, was jammed, and I wasn’t able to unlock it. At this point, I’m panicking like a little bitch. I drop the nozzle and run inside to get the cashier, as the running fuel continues to spread throughout the floor like a fucking disease.

“Dude my thing is overflowing, you gotta help me, there’s gasoline everywhere!” These weren’t my exact words, I was too nervous and too scared at the time to remember what had actually happen.

The cashier man looks at me with a blank face, then in his heavy Mexican accent he belches, “Wath do you think you’re thrying to pool aye? You theenk iz funny huh? You theenk iz real funny!”

Oh my gosh, he doesn’t believe me.

“No, no, no, it really is. You gotta check it out, my thing is overflowing! It’s everywhere on the floor!”

After a few desperate attempts of convincing the cashier that I got Old Faithful running right outside of the store, I’m like fuck it, I bolted out and noticed a man at my station, trying to turn off the nozzle which I had failed to stop.

When he finally got it to stop, he said, “You better go now, someone might drop a cigarette!”

Taking my savior’s advice, I sped off, fast, before a cigarette could even be lit. Hands were trembling like a leaf, feet reeked of gasoline, and couldn’t stop thinking about the terrorizing thought of pouring gas again.