MTWTFSS?

Once you reach a certain age, you notice that the world is unsupervised, unregulated, and unknown! Furinstance. I have a pillbox for every day of the week. Every week like a ritual, I take pills from the different pill bottles and stick them into the little daily compartments marked for each day of the week. You would think this is a good way to stay organized, medicated and have a clue as to which day of the week it is.

My calendar has the days of each week, starting in January, and ending in December, all 52, with Sunday as the first day of the week. In the order of days, it starts with Sunday, ALWAYS! My pill dispenser starts with Monday! I can remember the workweek starting on Monday, but never the calendars. What does this have to do with the price of onions? I don’t know if I should start and stop, or stop and start! If it doesn’t seem annoying enough, when do I recognize the week starting, when do I refill the pillbox days, why is the manufacturer of the pillbox screwing up my daily routine? Don’t I have something else to complain about?

Look, I’m a creature of habit: I like order and routine to some degree. If I look at a calendar and it says: Monday, it means MONDAY. That means that I can rest assured that Sunday is in front of it, not at the end of the friggin week!

You must be thinking: “Gee meatball, there must be more important issues in your life to worry about?” Yes there are. Furinstance, there is my car and the gas station. Muhammed, and his brother Mohammad, pump gas at my local fuel up pump at Gas Is Us. Muhammed comes out, or should I say strolls out, cigarette in hand and looks at me. No: “Hullo” or “May I hup hew?” No, he just looks at me. Ok, we both know what we need to do, so I say: “fillerup” why mince words? He sticks the nozzle in the gas tank and disappears. I won’t see him until the next time I come to: “fillerup.” So I sit long after the tank is full, waiting for someone who isn’t smoking or chatting, and happens to be passing by to undo the nozzle and take my money.

Mohammad shows up, sticks his hand out and I feed him money. He removes his wad of bills and counts out my change, hands me the money and says: NOTHING! Not: “Dank hew” or “’Ave a goud day” or even “Poor Osama sure got his, huh?” Nothing.