Yep, today was payday, and that meant I had errands to run. The first stop is always the bank, and this morning was no different, except this time I was making deposits too (more checks in the mail for shirts!). After those transactions were done, I went outside to the drive up ATM and I noticed a scroungy looking dude lurking about.
As soon as I grabbed the money and my atm card, this dude came running up on me. He tried to block my truck and and was yelling at me to stop, but I floored it, swerving around him. I don't know if he was just begging, or was gonna try and pull something more serious, but I knew that he had seen me pull $400 out of the machine so I wasn't going to take any chances. He was lucky I was in my new truck and didn't want to mess up my grill and bumper. Because if he would've pulled that shiat while I was driving the ghetto sled, he'd be a lump on the pavement right now and I'd be spending the day down at Metro giving a statement.
Thinking about it for a few minutes after the fact, I don't think he was begging, because I see beggars all the time in this city. I caught eye contact with him as I was walking to my truck and I could tell he was up to no good. Sometimes you just know. So while doing my transaction, I kept my eye on him and I could tell that he was slowly shuffling towards the atm, looking down, but I could tell he was still watching me out of the side of his eye.
But my cat-like reflexes saved the day! Heh.
After that, I went down to the auto parts store to get another stick-on bubble mirror (still getting used to the new blind spots) and some air fresheners, when the thought occurred to me--Why are coconut scented air fresheners shaped like pine trees? Very misleading if you ask me.
I was also getting hungry, and decided to take myself out to breakfast. I really wanted to give that place Hash House A-Go Go a try, but I had no idea where it was. What do I do when that situation arises? Call my friends who are sitting around in an office all day and have 'em look it up. So I called Hoya, and I got her and Dane, but they weren't at work. The first thing Dane says to me is Hey Mikey, I'm looking at 25 beer taps right now, and I'm only on number 12!
I figured this conversation, although enjoyable, wasn't going to be much help. Apparently, Kelly and Dane were taking the afternoon off, and enjoying every minute of it. It was like a reverse-drunken call from Vegas. Here I was in Sin City, sober as a judge, calling them back in North Carolina, and they're the ones who've got a good buzz going on where everything is funny.
So, I decided to call Angy. I know she sits at a computer all day and is usually at my beck and call whenever I need help photoshopping something or with any other random technical issues. So I had her look up the address and mapquest it for me.
Turns out that the damn restaurant is waaaaaaaay the hell out on W. Sahara. Like almost to Durango. That's a long way away. Because after Durango, there ain't nothing until you get to Death Valley or the Pacific Ocean or something like that. Too far. The reason I was so hungry is that lately I've had kind of an upset stomach and haven't been able to keep much inside. And eating a big meal that far from a friendly Roscoe would just be tempting fate.
And that's a story I'd neither want to experience or share.
So, I made a drive out to East Tropicana to check out an apartment complex for a T2V'er who is planning on moving out here, and then made my way over to Blueberry Hill on GreenValley and Sunset.
I ordered some pigs-in-a-blanket and a side of hashbrowns, with coffee and juice, and let me tell you--it was just what the doctor ordered. First of all, it was excellent, and I couldn't finish it. Second of all, it seemed to cure whatever was ailing me. Well, if not cure, there were no ill effects. And as a secondary recommendation on how good of a breakfast spot it was, a contingent of Henderson cops showed up just after I did for their post-shift meal. Cops always seem to know where the good spots are to eat, so I can't think of higher praise for a good fairly-cheap breakfast.
The whole meal came to ten bucks exactly, but it was so good and the service was excellent, so the waitress earned herself a 40% tip.
Now I'm back at the house, finishing up yesterday's laundry and mentally preparing myself for another night in the green felt jungle.
But after this morning's adventure of dodging the Urban Outdoorsman bent on a little small-scale wealth redistribution, I'm pretty sure I can handle anything that comes my way.
Edited to add: I just looked up the location of the Hash House myself. It's not nearly as far west as I was lead to believe. It's just a mile west of NY Pizza and Pasta. Not too far at all. I guess this means that I'll have to give Angy a Mapquest tutorial next week...