There are times, however, when I can’t help but cringe, e.g., the woman I just helped at work who, in leaving the store, managed to set off the door chime twice while walking through it. She was pleasant enough of a woman to work with, but I can’t help but be amused that the door sensor detected her as two people.

I think that might make me a bad person.

Instead, I ate another. It was just as strange as the first, and made my face pucker slightly. It almost stung, or rather tingled as if there were an active ingredient other than flavor. Picture me standing there, in front of the cupboard, asking with each chip just why I was subjecting myself to this. They were horrible! And yet I ate. Abominable! I had another. Each bite was accompanied by a silent questioning of my very existence. Why was I doing this to myself? Oh god, oh god.

Ten chips in and I realized that existentialism tastes like a salt and vinegar potato chip. I’ve yet to come to terms with this.

Skritch. Tap tap. Skritch.

I glance over and see nothing until I drop my eyes to the ground. There, paws pressed against the glass, is a 1 to 2 year old calico named Bijou. It turns out she was one of the neighbor’s cats, which meant I got to play with a well-behaved kitten for a little bit before walking her back over. Being allergic this probably wasn’t the brightest of things for me to do, but c’mon. Kittens. They’re like tiny little cynical, yet curious people with fur.

• There are individuals who do not know how to address a letter for mailing. I’m talking about people who have lived here their whole lives and regularly complain about foreigners, and not members of the sizable immigrant population.
• The number of genuinely crazy religious nuts per square mile is far higher than casual observation would predict. Mana from heaven.
• Do not Google the regulars. You’ll end up discovering that some of them run BBW appreciation and escort sites on the side.
• Certify or register all important mail. I’m in San Diego, and our store has received bills and letters bearing out of state addresses.
• People are psychic. This is the only explanation for why some people come in to hold up a piece of paper and point at it, expecting me to just know that it’s to be photocopied, notarized, and overnighted to rural Texas.

I’m tired of talking about the store so much, but I’m here for something like 34 hours a week while pursuing real jobs. It’s only natural that one’s job becomes a point of conversation, as depressing as it might be. Maybe I should just take a few weeks off and drive to New Mexico or something.

Then she started bringing cards up to the register, one by one, and read them to me.

She was making copies of a fitness article for her husband and we ended up talking about health in general, how little decisions every day can add up. There was an earnestness to her that unnerved me, though. She seemed to be almost too single-minded, devoting everything she had in that head of hers to the conversation. Eyes a little too wide. Leaning in just a bit too close. It wasn’t until she started fixating on just how young she thought I looked that those tiny little warning flags began to rise. She leaned in and with an unnecessary intensity emphasized to me how, in the end, it was faith in our lord Jesus who is also the Christ that can keep us healthy.

I guess Jesus provides a good cardiovascular workout, but the only way I can imagine somebody being responsible for said workout is a bit blasphemous.