“Hey. How’s it goin?” Is rhetorical. We really don’t care.It’s 10:06 on Wednesday night and I’m sitting at the counter in my hovel with my laptop open, iTunes blaring Stricken by Disturbed through my headphones and with a Subway sandwich on my left side. At my right is a mostly-full Diet Coke and behind that is a bag of boysenberry almond granola. Why the granola? I don’t know. I guess I never put it away.
Let me start the story earlier this afternoon…
I started thinking about what topic the first one would be. Baseball playoffs are under way, but that didn’t sound right. Nor did football or the NHL. I started thinking about ways to make it easy to insert innuendo into the conversation, so I thought of, Best Female Athletes. I quickly scrapped that idea, since it’s hard to judge, considering the talents of the athletes are so different.
Then I thought, “What about the three hottest female athletes?” I like that one, so I started thinking. I pulled Jennie Finch right off the bat. But then I struggled. “Uh,” I thought. “Gina Carano.” She’s a MMA fighter and formerly of the recent version of American Gladiators. She often looks a little rough, but she cleans up pretty nice. And she sports a nice fake set of cans.
I couldn’t think of a third, so I said, “Jesus. It would be easier to come up with a list of ones I wouldn’t want to do, rather than find three hot ones.” Suddenly a light bulb appeared above my head and I immediately went to the show outline and added:
Three athletes I wouldn’t bone if they were the last chicks on earth.
1. Serena Williams (Venus comes as a package deal)
2. Anikka Sorenstam
3. Katie Smith (the WNBA chick who looks like Shawn White)
Bonus* Martin Navratilova
Three I would do:
1. Jennie Finch
2. Gina Carano
3.
I’m pretty classy, huh? Anyway. I Google’d “Sexy female athletes” and came up with a number of tennis players and an eerily large amount of gymnasts. That was a little creepy to see. I also found a couple of surfers and beach volleyball players. I started looking through the list and one popped out at me. Almost literally.
The picture at the top of the blog post is of Simona Halep. Ms. Halep is a professional tennis player, currently ranked #43 in the world. Until two years ago, she sported those bad boys. For the record, they were 34DD. After breast reduction surgery in 2009, they became a 34C. Still not a bad rack, by any means.
If you were a lesbian and playing this chick, I would guess that you might be a bit distracted every time she hit a ball. Or reached up to serve. Or moved at all. Or bent over to tie her shoe. Hell, if you were standing above her, all you’d have to do is look straight down. My point is that those are amazingly huge for any woman, let alone a tennis player.
I realized I still hadn’t put a #1 on the outline, so I quickly penciled in Simona. While I was sad to see the big guns go, I respect her reasons for doing so. If there is such a thing as Goddess of the WTA, please let her at least move into the Top 10. She sacrificed a lot in hopes of improving her game. Plus, if she’s in the Top 10, she’s on TV more. Her face could use a touch up (then again, so could mine), but she’s got a pretty rockin’ bod.
I was on a high and was hungry. I pulled in to Subway, which is where the conclusion to this gripping tale takes place.
I walk in the door and the kid behind the counter says, “Good evening sir. Welcome to Subway.” I hate being called, “Sir” because it makes me feel old and like I should be responsible, and lets be honest. Who wants that pressure, right? I blew off the, “Sir” thing, looked up and casually said, “Hey. Hows it goin?” Almost immediately, this guy starts telling me about his chem class. Like I give a shit.
He rambled on for about 30 seconds and finally paused for air. I immediately jumped in and changed the subject. “Dude,” I said. “Are you guys really open til midnight?” He told me they were and that he really didn’t like when it was busy late at night. He yammered on about people coming in late, then staying til closing and walking over freshly mopped floors. I think. I really wasn’t paying any attention.
“Wow,” I replied. “That fuckin blows.” The girl who was was, “Working” with my chatty friend, turned around and assured me that it really did suck. A lot. There was probably a joke or two I could have made about blowing and sucking late night at Subway, but she was mostly unattractive and I thought there was a 50/50 chance she was under 18, so I refrained.
The guy had taken the counter off and was wiping away all the crap that accumulates under there during the dinner rush and asked if I would mind waiting a moment until he finished cleaning. “Well I don’t want you making my sandwich on that thing,” I replied with a touch of sarcasm. He didn’t seem to understand that I was cool with it, so I simply assured him that I could wait.
He finally finished, washed his hands, and asked which of their, “Delicious freshly-baked breads” I would like this evening. I said I wanted the Italian herb and cheese, but he informed me they were out. So I took the jalapeno cheddar stuff instead. I told him I’d like a foot long spicy Italian and he noted (with a bit of sorrow) that my sandwich would have tasted great on Italian herb and cheese. No shit. That’s why I order it that way.
The more I looked at him, the more I think this kid has an obsession with both GLEE and Justin Bieber. He was creepy in a wanna-be boy band kind of way. He asked if I wanted it toasted and I informed him that I would LOVE to be toasted. Again, he had no clue what I was really saying. I truly weep for America’s youth. I really do.
At this point I felt like it was time to eject. I had quite a writers buzz working and I wasn’t going to let some kid still searching for his first kiss to kill it for me. Every time he began talking, I interrupted him. The first time was with, “And banana peppers.” The second was. “Some oil and vinegar too.” Finally I just said, “Can you just wrap it up, please. I gotta roll.”
I then drove to my hovel, where I have been sitting and writing ever since. I have one final thought and it’s directed to anyone working late night at a gas station, convenience store or fast food establishment. “Hey. How’s it goin?” Is rhetorical. We really don’t care. But It does make for an interesting blog post.
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