A little entry to close the day...

Pharmacy work today from 3-8 was hectic but fun. I worked with the cool kids, bet one of the pharmacists I could eat a Classic Triple from Wendys (he doesn't believe I can do it, but for those who have seen it...you know I can) and then a large man came into the pharmacy.
"Sweetie, what kind of cologne do you like?" No one has ever asked me that before...but I immediatly came up with an answer, "Sir, I'm an old spice girl."
Old Spice...take a hint gentlemen (cough Braden cough)...this smell can make any woman melt. There's something empowering about Old Spice, that a real man wears this...Old Spice brings me back to the John "blue couch" days where I would go home and smell like him...it just was a little token from the night that said, "you done good kid."
The large man eventually took a black bottle of Dakkar (or whatever it was) and confided in me that he was meeting his Internet girlfriend for the first time. I wished him the best of luck, he seemed sweet and witty, so I thought he had a chance. Pharmacy work isn't just about telling stupid quilted coated ladies to calm down and that we're not the insurance company but I think it's about helping people do their best. I helped the fat man smell good. Score one for Emily and Grieb's pharmacy and maybe even, score one for the large man.
After he left, the store was quiet. No one but me, lizzie, lizzie's friend who was picking her up, and Sandy the pharmacist. I pulled an Old spice deodorant off the shelf and opened the cap and took a smell. Oh the smell of passion, the smell of unbridled foul play, the smell of a thousand car rides home thinking out loud, "now Emily, what just happened?" I comtemplated bringing the deodorant home with me, but I couldn't. It was a special smell and I think I don't deserve to smell it all the time. Old Spice just reminds me of part of a poem I wrote senior year aptly entitled, "No means No."

You smell the way a man should
A thick musty forest…
A boat gliding through the salty fog…
Lumberjacks with axes in flannel
Cutting down giant redwoods
And sweating profusely
Thinking of their Fried Chicken dinner
*
My shirts reek of what was
And what could have been
And what will never happen




Oh and on another evil note...crite sheets came back. Now I know Mark Lytle hates me, James Chace called my term paper a "disappointment" and Mark Lindeman told me I "tried too hard." Hmmm...and here I was happy with my grades...maybe I should think again. Though on the upside, Liz Frank still loves me. And maybe Pulitzer prize winners have superpowers to make everything bad go away. I bet she does have superpowers. And with her on my side, my moderation board doesn't stand a chance. Super Liz with Pulitzer Power! Up, up and away!