Social Security Administration

I love the Social Security Administration. As in L-O-V-E it so much I wish I could work there in place of the arthritic security guard who looks like he could be blown over by a stiff wind.

I've added it to my list of places to meet "specials":

1. The bus station
2. The Emergency Room
3. The ghetto HEB on 11th street
4. The prison
5. The Social Security Administration

Specials are so fun because they're endlessly entertaining.

So there I was - just me, the toothless (why is it that white-trash people always have bad teeth? I mean, a toothbrush and toothpaste don't cost THAT much, do they?), the molesto-stachers, and the mulleted when the lady next to me who may have looked like this (but with greasier hair):

Leaned over and said, "Hey, thar darlin', whachu hir fur?"

We then engaged in a stimulating conversation about how she's trying to get disability because her druggie husband beat her nearly to death and now she's almost blind in her left eye.

Awesome. Sounds like a real winner.

I busted out of there in search of a Sonic.

Another special delivered the food to the car. He pushed his nose right up against my window.

Seriously. There's a grease smudge to prove it.

I was scared. But I still had to open my window.

Because he had my tater tots.

And I needed them. Really. Bad.

Yes, tots are that delicious.