So the other day I almost lost my shit.
It was over three coincidences that happened over the course of two days. Well I'm here to say, it's still happening.
Those three occurred on Saturday and Sunday. On Monday I was on my way to work when my coworker texts me that we needed sprouts. I totally wan't driving, by the way... ... .... ....... and anyways I decided to stop by Harris Teeter because it was on the way.
I park behind a Juke, staring at it's ungainly attractiveness for a few moments, and then go inside. While picking my sprouts from the shelf, a lady comes up and starts rummaging through the variations of grass and dirt labeled "salads". As I turn to walk, so does she. I unintentionally follow her all the way to the registers, where we both helm a "Self Checkout" counter and get busy. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. No VIC card. I'm not a senior citizen. No, I don't have any coupons. No, you can't have my phone number for rewards and sweepstakes. I'll pay cash. No, I don't have any coins. No, I don't have anything else in my cart. Bill doesn't feed. Bill doesn't feed. Bill feeds. Bill doesn't feed. Bill feeds. Loading.. Loading.. Please take your receipt.
I shit you not, mine and dirty salad lady's receipts print in unison. Continuing the unintentionally choreographed checkout, we grab our bags and receipts, and she follows me out the door. She goes up the right of the lane of cars, and I go up the left. And then it happens. I walk around to the drivers side of my car and there she is: dirty salad lady standing by her Juke trying not to look terrified that I'm behind her. Look lady, I've had some scary shit going on. It's just next level Twilight Zone shit that I happened to park behind you.
Yesterday, I get a random 11:42 p.m. phonecall from a friend that I haven't spoken to in more than a week. Through the conversation I bring up how I had to visit the cesspool of death and disease that is a small town "Urgent Care" medical center because I woke up deaf in my right ear and felt like the spawn of Satan was trying to weasel it's way into my frontal lobe. He then asks me, "It wasn't a blockage, was it?" Well.. it was. He had gone the day before to have them clear out a earwax blockage from his right ear.
I don't like this. Don't. Like. This.