Chapter 28: Mason Jars (9/8)
Moar Memez
Now harvest has come and gone and all these people who were farming on their balconies have piles and piles of vegetables to pack away.
As I try to explain this to people, one desperate young woman says: “Can you please call the other store and see if they have any?” (As I’m imagining piles and piles of corn in her modern kitchen island).
“Sure, I’ll give them a call.”
Travis is the manager at our Back Bay Boston location, so I call over.
“Hi Travis, I have a young lady here that needs some jars for pickling and while I know you’re out, she requested I call anyway.”
Travis, who has a very dry personality to begin with (and is probably also a Satanist), sighs and says with a lisp:
“David, dear… The whole world is pickling right now.”
Funny enough, pickling supplies (at least from TrueValue) would be sparse and limited from now … on.
It’s almost as if someone is trying to keep people from making their own food.
Addendum: Speaking of “polyamory,” a year later or so, (which I might amend this entire story if people are interested) I looked up an old crush.
She and I never had a date or anything but we were close friends and I had figured that she might have woken up from this madness. She had always seemed reasonable plus some of my other relations had, and I thought maybe she had—and maybe there was a chance I could tempt her to come live here in the free-lands.
She used to be my barber.
Anyway, I was optimistic.
My hopes were dashed and splintered to the wind when I went and looked her up, months later, on the interzone.
She still had her nice face in her profile pic, and she still living in the Big Bad Blue City, but, alas, she has now become, a…
wait for it…
“Polyamorous Relationship Counselor”
???
My jaw dropped.
To be clear: This is her job now.
I can almost certainly guarantee that there were “Polyamorous Relationship Counselors” in Genesis 19.
Next week, we run out of Drano for the 1000th time (because the mask makes you lose your hair … OBVIOUSLY).
