I was riding in the passenger seat this morning when my mom pulled into the trusty Mobile station across from our temporary living accommodations. I, being a fantastically helpful daughter, hopped out of the car to fill 'er up (and test the limits of my new stoplight red down vest). I was about 5 gallons down, 7 to go, when a Mobile attendant bolted out the mini mart door and made his way towards me. "Excuse me, are you 17?" Who, me? In the stoplight red vest? Whose fingers are likely frozen to the damn gas nozzle because that contraption that's supposed to lock it in place is broken? Breathe. That's not his fault. Be civil. I replied. "Am I 17? [obviously shocked he could have dreamed up a number so low] I'm 24." He smiled goofily (I don't care that it's underlined, I'm declaring it a word), and said, "Ah, stay the way you are." Then he walked away. I was forced to relay the contents of our interaction to my mom and cousin sitting in the car. They thought it was a real hoot. Yeah, a reeeeal hoot.
Tonight I was reminded of the genius that is Dana Carvey (thanks, brother). Check out his political personality impressions here. Two thumbs up, holiday fun at its finest.
That's hilarious. But seriously Beth, are you old enough to be blogging?
ReplyDeleteThe other day I was asked by a bartender if I was over 21, and my response was the same as yours - "21? I'm 25!"
ReplyDeleteIn 20 years, we will appreciate it. So I'm told.