The Year Is Over, and I Am a Banana

While it was a wonderful year (in theory and summation, with a little, OK, a LOT left in the dark recesses of the hopefully forgotten), I can't help but be glad that its over. I think about life a lot. I should. I have every reason to- I have to drive in Augusta every day, and these people are more frightening behind the wheel than the smegma hidden in the folds of Ted Kennedy's neck fat. While absolutely horrifying while driving, I do have to give the people of this little place credit. They have character. Take, for instance, the woman that served me lunch today. I can't remember her real name, or even the first pseudonym we came up with while discussing her over lunch, so for now I'll just call her Cheryl.

Now, Cheryl was an interesting character. Sporting ambiguous and shoddy bicep tattoos, a row of gold teeth, thick, clumped eye makeup, and an ample bosom, Cheryl was a Carnie's wet dream. A nice, jovial type, she was very accommodating as she took down our orders and served up a Dos Equis my counterpart could have bathed in. Oh, she regaled us with such tales during our too-brief time together! Harrowing adventures of an ex-boyfriend that had his sixty-year-old mother arrested on New Years Eve, only to then be arrested himself! Such folly, says I! Such folly! Shortly after delivering our huge portions of tasty Mexican fare, Cheryl came over to our table with jacket and purse on her person and a cold drink in hand.

"I have to run to the IGA across the street to get some green beans for my beliefs. Ya know, how everyone has their beliefs and all. (Yes, Cheryl. Yes, I do.) So I've got to get some green beans, and I haven't taken a break all day. I'll be right back, but if you need anything, [insert other random server's name here] will help you out until I get back, okay?"

Okay, Cheryl. Go get your green beans for your beliefs. During her absence, we conducted science experiments. We tested static electricity and gravity, nigh pushing them to the limits of their boundaries. We designed a prophylactic for a salsa bottle. We discussed the pros and cons of a hooker-infested Atlanta extended-stay hotel. We dreamed. And we waited. Waited for our Cheryl to return to us. Our shining beacon of light in a dark and drear Mexican cantina.

She came back to us, green beans in hand. Oh, Cheryl.

This is just one stellar example of the many Augustans I've come in contact with this year alone. Perhaps next time I'll regale you with a tale of the Kroger on Deans Bridge Road, and the correct way to position your keys so that you can simultaneously stab someone while delivering a punch with your energy fist. Perhaps.

It was a good year. And this one will be even better. Because Cheryl got green beans.