1776

So there I was at CVS picking up a few small items. Nothing out of the ordinary until the cashier told me the total amount -- seventeen dollars and seventy six cents.

Yep, 1776.

I was a tad stunned -- one of those randomly inexplicable life moments.

"Did you say 1776?" I asked the salesgirl. She looked to be in her twenties, wearing one of those  blue scrubs that the folks in the pharmacy section of the store wear. 

She looked surprised and checked out the register.

"Yes, it's 17 dollars and 76 cents." 

"Wow!" I said. "What are the odds of that number popping up as a sale?"

"What do you mean?" 

"You know, 1776." The girl stood silent as stone. It dawned on me that she might not know anything about the number in terms of its historical reference.

"Do you know what 1776 means?" 

The girl shook her head. "No, I don't. Is it a game of some sort?"

Again, I was stunned. I could not help myself. "Are you an American citizen?" I asked her. Hey, in Miami the likelihood of finding many people from other countries is incredibly high.

She nodded her head. "And you don't know what 1776 is?" At this point the chick looked really confused. I grabbed my small parcel and turned around, making my way towards the door.

"You might want to Google it, sweetheart. It's an important number for all Americans."

I wondered if the girl would bother to look up the number. I wondered where the girl had gone to school -- and how that school had not managed to embed that figure into her head. Let's not even consider how someone lives in the United States for over two decades and has no clue as to the birthday -- birth year actually -- of the land in which he or she lives.

Amen, and pass the mustard. 

Sundays Suck

I hate Sunday nights.

People squawk about Mondays being the worst day of the week, especially those who don't like their jobs. Hell, that has happened to me and I get it. On Monday you get up from a bed that seems more comfortable than it ever is -- and crawl out to begin the grind all over again.

But it's not Monday that provides the worst kind of weekday hell -- it's Sunday night. On Sunday nights you are forced to look down the barrel of Monday -- it's coming people, and you can't stop it. 


Sunday evenings are like when you are about to throw up and know for certain, no matter how much you pray to everything you consider holy, that barfing is in the cards. Drive that porcelain bus!

There's nothing you can do to fix Sunday evenings. TV stations take advantage and schedule major shows on those nights. Game of Thrones ruled Sunday nights. So did Sex and the City. And The Sopranos.

We all sat in front of the tubes because the networks played up to our collective ennui and made a bundle of money off each and every one of their viewers. Hell, a good TV show was way better than lying in bed trying to avoid sleep so that Monday would not arrive.

And in truth, Monday sneaks up on you and because you are befuddled you stumble around and somehow get yourself to where you are supposed to go because that is what Mondays bring out in all of us.

But Sunday nights are something else. We are told it's supposed to be a relaxing time, a period to recharge our batteries and get ready for the week. But come on, people, who are we fooling?

So let's admit it -- folks, Sundays nights stink. They are the worst part of the week. 

Amen, and pass the mustard,  it's Sunday night AGAIN.