Whos and their 'tussin

My roommate collects ridiculous quotes from me. She has now started posting them on Tumblr. One of them is regarding the cold medicine preferences of Whos (the Dr. Suess story inhabitants) and goes a little something like this:

"Whos use that sissy-pansy non-narcotic Robitussin bullshit! [long pause followed by holding up two fingers less than an inch apart] 'Cuz they're so tiny!"

Some of you who have seen me suffering from a cold will have guessed that this little gem was uttered whilst on the 'Quil.

Hobby Hoedown: More Sim City 3000 nonsense. I started a town whose sole purpose was to earn money from selling electricity, water, and garbage incineration to neighboring cities. I charge my citizens no taxes and for the longest time gave them only the most basic of services. Then I reached the point where I had almost $200,000 (a lot in this game) and decided to give them two of everything. I still have an obscene surplus each year and no idea what to do with it.

I played tennis tonight! It was fun, but man am I rusty. Luckily my dad is equally rusty and 30 years older than me.

Last night I felt like writing some plot twists into my choose-your-own-adventure story; so I did. In about 1000 words someone turned out to be in disguise, someone was murdered, and there was an ambush/kidnapping. The story only seems to get more ridiculous as it goes along, which suits me perfectly.

Story Time: The Underwear Money Story

While working as a teller in Seattle I met a lovely woman named Mary. Mary carried all her most important items in a fanny pack concealed underneath her shirt to prevent theft. I am telling you right now that no one steals from someone who looks like Mary. She was old, mean, and looked like a bag lady despite not being homeless. She appeared to have nothing to steal other than her impressive collection of brightly colored fingerless gloves and vomit colored button down shirts.

Mary came into the branch and walked up to my window, reluctantly because I was a new face; however, her favorite teller was at lunch so I eventually convinced her that I could help her. She flipped her shirt up, partially exposing her impressively nauseating pale jiggly belly (and grey granny panties), and moved her fanny pack to the outside of her shirt. I put on my best forced grin and asked her how I could help her.

She ignored me. Instead of speaking to me she pulled out three stacks of small bills and placed them on my counter. Once her deposit slip was filled out and I saw that all the money was going into one account despite being in separate piles, I scooped up all the bills and began to count them.

Mary uttered a shout of dismay and scolded me severely for ruining her "system." I politely apologized, wondering what I had gotten myself into. The teller next to me was not doing a very good job hiding how pleased he was that he had been taking the deposit from Starbucks when Mary walked in.

Once the money was counted Mary shouted at me, "Make it darker!"

"Excuse me?" I asked, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"Make it darker!" Louder this time, because surely that will help what she is trying to tell me get through.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't understand. What would you like me to do?" As I ask this I prepare to drop the receipt into the antiquated thermal printer that bank used to use.

This seems to agitate Mary greatly. "Nonono! Make it darker!!"

Now I finally understand. I smile at her. "Ah, yes. You would like a duplicate receipt." The duplicate receipts printed significantly darker because they did not have the deposit slip in front of them.

Mary scowled at me, took her receipt, and shuffled on her way. After she was gone the other teller asked me how I had managed not to have her shout at me more and make a huge scene. Evidently she had gone on a ten minute tirade the first time she had come to his teller window.

He then proceeded to tell me (and his story was later corroborated by the rest of the staff) of an incident a couple months prior to this. It seems that Mary had left the house without her fanny pack. Thus, when it came time for the traditional flipping up of her shirt there was no fanny pack to pull out, only her grey granny panties. She reached inside her underwear and pulled out her three stacks of money!

The teller didn't even count it, he simply swept it into an envelope using the eraser of a pencil and marked it "MUTILATED" which means it is no longer fit for circulation. He then threw the pencil away.