// noon, a Monday //
Them: Hello, thanks for calling Groupon. How can I help you?
Me: I was wondering about available travel dates for the Costa Rica trip. I need to leave on May 18th or 19th from New York and-
Them: So sorry. The only departure date remaining is May 24th.
Me: Oh. Nothing for the 18th, huh?
Them: No. Definitely not. Absolutely not. I am obnoxiously certain there is not. Let me put you on hold for 53450 hours while I confirm that, though.
// the minutes tick by while I listen to music with birdsong playing loud loud loudly in the background //
Them: Well, I can confirm that there are no available departures for that day. The best I can do is get you there on the 18th for an extra [emphasis on the unpleasantness of this inevitability] fee. So sorry. Please consider Groupon for your next trip!
Me: Alright, well, that’s too bad. Thanks. How much is the extra fee, by the way?
Them: Fifteen dollars, ma’am.
You’d think they would actually try and sell these things, right?!
When we decide to halt the progress of the accumulating grit O’s bike carries in from the street, we have to call over to our friends across the courtyard. We don’t own a vacuum, people. I don’t think we qualify as real adults.
Driving, driving, driving to Ohio. We pass by a sign that says Scranton, PA, and decide to take a detour through the downtown area and check it out. I am a number one fan of The Office- have been since I first heard Michael explain how he grilled his own foot in a George Forman grill- and so Scranton is a Destination.
‘I can really see Michael Scott living here,’ I say. Continuing, ‘it really looks like a perfect place for him.’
‘Um, you do know he’s not real, right?’