With my grandfather on his deathbed, I watched the hot latino nurse with the bouncing curls tip-toe solemnly into the room and begin unhooking instruments. "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?" I said. "Sure," she offered with a grim expression. "Do you use any products in your hair? It's beautiful." I mustered. "Uhh..." she was shocked, "conditioner?" And quickly she looked away towards the instruments and finished her duties. My mother was laughing; the nurse left briskly.

Convinced I would visit a career fair in Chantilly, VA. I reviewed maps and bus schedules the previous night, and took off in my suit at noon. An hour later I had reached Vienna, but there were no buses to get to Chantilly. I had noticed this in my research, but figured it would somehow "work out". I was forced to take a cab and paid $26, but figured it was a good investment if I landed a job. Plus, I'd be able to take the bus back because I knew it ran at rush hour. The cab took me to Sully Circle, but the convention center was a 3/4 mi. walk from there. It was frigid cold and snowing on occasion. Once I reached the fair I spent 10 minutes re-adapting to warmth and running my hands under hot water. An hour and a half later, satisfied with applying to a job and networking, I left the fair in order to catch the bus. It was 3:30. I walked the 3/4 mi. of Sully Circle happy to be eating an apple. I then walked another 1/4 mi. to visit an ATM and find a bus stop. Then I waited, freezing. I forgot the exact time the bus was due to arrive, but hoped it would near. That was at 4:00. I had no gloves, scarf or paper towel to wipe the glistening mucus off of my upper lip. The sun was setting and it started to snow. The wind was constantly blowing and there were no buses in either direction. I looked forlornly at the people in the cars and in turn they regarded me with one and a half seconds of pity before driving off. It was long enough, however, for me to convince them of how lucky they were. The sun went down and it got colder. What if I passed out? My cellphone read 4:30 then I put it away because it was too cold for my hand to retrieve it. I have a high tolerance for suffering. I thought in amusement, though I wasn't amused. The best place for my hands were in my pants pockets because they were pressed against my heat-generating legs, but that only warmed the palm sides. The other sides were numb and meagerly protected by a paper thin layer of polyester/cotton that were my suit pants. I began to move around: move my legs, pace back and forth, just to get some blood flowing. I tried lip exercises to keep my freshly shaved face alive. My eyes started to water. A bus! In the other direction though, but at least he'll have to come back. It was dark now and car lights were on. I started shivering. How much longer can I do this? An old man emerged and I asked him when the bus would arrive. "Close to 5:20 this bus comes. Sometimes 5:10, 5:15 depending on traffic." Oh, goodness. My cellphone read 5:05. It was uplifting to have an approximate time wherein my suffering would cease. The bus arrived and I defrosted in bliss. With slurred speech, I spoke to the old man for 20 minutes all the way to Vienna.

One of the most common decisions we all make without realizing it is whether to choose the toothpick or the peppermint when walking out of a restaurant. Toothpicks allow us to dislodge offensive food from gaps in our teeth while peppermints give us something to suck on with the added bonus of diluting onion breath. I constantly take both, but never enjoy the taste of peppermint. It's a flavor that exists to indicate that we are not fresh in some way. My favorite post-dinner snack is the powdery white mints with green, orange or yellow jelly inside (black is liquorice and, in my opinion, disgusting). These are offered in a bowl with a teaspoon that is too small to grab more than one at a time without spilling the whole prize. Regardless of whether you select the wooden stick, the red & white saucer or the florescent filled powder nugget, the act is symbolic as a conclusion to the procedure: we came, we ate, we paid, now let's take our mints and go. Toothpicks and peppermints aren't there for our teeth or our breath, they're there so we know what to do next, which direction to walk, or which door to open. They're there so we have something to occupy ourselves with while we think about the steak being overcooked, how much we've eaten or whether we've given a good enough tip. But most of all, they're there to say goodbye.

Elias asked the question he's been dying to ask. How long will my money last? "Through December" I told him, laughing. I haven't had a drink for over two weeks or an income for three months... and I couldn't feel better. I walk down the street smiling.

I made two dollars today. The urge for chocolate grew within several days until finally I could hold back no longer. Informing my housemate Jeff of my endeavor, he too craved chocolate. "Oh, get me one too. The dark kind, something dark. Hershey puts out a good one with nuts in it. Not like regular chocolate... something nice." Like I was picking out drapes. He gave me two dollars. At the store I faced a wall of chocolate priced from 10 for $10 (aka $1) all the way to $3 a bar. I compared and contrasted like a wise shopper and decided to splurge for the $2.99 Ghirardelli Evening Dream Intense Dark with hints of Madagascar Vanilla. I chose Hershey's Special Dark with nuts, raisins and grapes for Jeff. His was $1.99. At the register I was surprised to shell out $5.78 for two chocolate bars. Glancing at the receipt I saw they charged $2.79 for Jeff's chocolate bar. Straight to customer service to wait. I explained the issue and we investigated the price. When my case was proven we went back to the register. The customer service woman punched keys and plucked paper then handed me two dollars and change. My demeanor battled between quietly accepting the money and inquiring as to why so much. She spared me the decision: "When you find a price error the product is free." Oh... sweet... justice. I said "Thank you." and remembered it for perhaps the first time. I pocketed the money and my excitement floated me out of the parking lot. All geared up to share the news with Jeff I stopped and thought about it. Wait a minute... this just means that Jeff's chocolate bar was free, and he gave me two dollars. I'd be a douche bag for keeping his money if I were to tell him. Better off just to say nothing.

As a kid I would sit in the backseat of the car and focus on drops of bird shit that were stuck on the car windows. I would choose one and watch it imposed on the background of cars, sidewalk, guardrail, etc. Then I would play a game in which I moved my head, thus moving the bird shit image, to guide the bird shit along lines I observed in the background. For example, I'd keep the bird shit riding on the guardrail as long as it lasted, then hop a curb and cruise it on the sidewalk, then maneuver it over people and fire hydrants. It was a 2-D adventure. Variation in the game came when I'd switch focus to the background, creating two images of a single bird shit to manipulate. I'd also utilize dirt spots, water droplets and other blemishes on the glass when there was a lack of bird shit. Years later, I decided I was getting older and shouldn't be playing such ridiculous games. So I held back my imagination and stopped.

"National Academic Advancement Foundation seeks Federal Interns in Management Analyst Positions. Email mrosanchez to apply." Easy. Draft nice cover letter, attach resume. Send email. Done. Auto-reply: Sanchez is out of the office. Shit. Enter USAjobs website. OK, apply online- Click! Now entering the NAAF portal. Oh... kay... Create an account. Fuck. Fine. Email, password, address, whatever, fine, click! Please answer these questions pertaining to your application. Oh no. Multiple choice. OK, fine, not bad. No, not a veteran, no not a Federal employee, OK, click! Please answer the following questions and keep in mind your responses are subject to reference and you may be denied employment or fired once employed if they are proven false. Oh... boy. 'Where in your resume did you do this?' 'What level are you familiar with this?' Check your competence in this and that, please check all that apply. OK fine, click! Please respond with a time were you exhibited teamwork (8000 character limit). Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Damn it. Ugh, well I've come this far. 200 words, done. More multiple choice. Check boxes that apply. Done. Please respond with a time you analyzed, interpreted and gave recommendations for improvement to an administration (8000 character limit). Fuck you, fine. 200 more words. Click! Please rate your skill in such and such. Fuck you NAAF. Click! Please respond to your last statements with a best example (8000 character limit). What were the last statements? Do not click your browser's "back" button, the page will time out. You sneaky pricks. You're snakes, snakes I tell you. Fuck you and your job. 200 more words. Done. Finished. Click! Press DONE to print your fax cover sheet. I don't have a printer. Fax your transcript following the instructions listed below. I don't have a fax machine. Fuck.

Riding my bike today made me curious of the city's laws on bicycles. I had assumed bikes belong on the road for the sake of pedestrians, but one non-gentleman driving a car begged to differ. Though he didn't beg, he swore: "Get tha fuck out da street!" However, I did enjoy the rapid clicking noise that insecure sidewalk bricks made as I raced over them. Today's mental image was of one especially clickety brick clicking to a vertical position to jam my rear tire and send me over the handlebars without a helmet on.

Salesmen breed salesmen is what going to the gym taught me this afternoon. Looking for a part-time job, I was ushered into an interview by Shaunee merely a few hours after I filled the application out. Interview for what? I forgot to ask. Very cryptic questions about my Physics background ensued. Awkwardly I gathered Shaunee had special plans for me; he was recruiting for a membership sales manager. I was being pitched a job by a salesman to be a salesman! Pardon my confusion; the previous day I called up a few classified ads that were offering work only to find out I had to pay a $45-$60 registration fee to VIEW the job offers. Now I'm being pitched a position I didn't know existed prior to my showing up. Sleazy Shaunee. Before I realize it I'm agreeing to a second interview. What the heck is going on here? This town is cut-throat and Shaunee is good at his job. He so elegantly dropped the words "six figures" if I can sell six corporate memberships a day, then threw in how he went to Cornell and studied Biomedical Engineering.

I also felt uncomfortable with my $3 Chinatown belt for not having a hole between its second and third hole. My blue jeans and white button-down shirt either sagged or constricted depending on the rung.

As I stepped outside the heavy glass doors of the corporate office building, my heart was decelerating from having asked the cute girl in the career office out to lunch. I stopped for breath in front of the courtyard and gazed at the wind currents washing over the grass like a scene from a Vietnam War movie.

All the failed meditation has amounted to is zoning out. As much as I tried to digest the Vietnamese grass, my mind was listing towards recalling how nervous I was in front of that girl. I couldn't even grasp the street cleaning crew blowing plumes of finger-size leaves into the air. They folded in yellows and browns and I didn't notice. Then I passed the three-orange-cone-worthy destruction of a phone booth, which appeared to be ripped from the ground by an ogre.

I met with Betty the resume builder at the career office. The office had three entrances/exits and Betty fluttered through them like a fairy. My imagination became a bookie taking bets on which door she'd emerge from and exit to next. She gave crash tours of the office to shell-shocked post-interviewees, who trotted in her wake like sheep. Betty sat the sheep down at career cubicles and pointed out emphatically, "Boy! We're full today!" I couldn't help chuckle that that must mean unemployment was high.

Finally four-thirty came and it was my turn. I entered the Shepard's domain with a limp piece of white legal letter. Betty started talking and I wondered if she was on Adderall. "Ye-" "Oak-" "Mm-"; my affirmations were severed in half by Betty's time management skills. A video replay may indicate that I merely mumbled. No matter, for my cloud-nine mind was observing her eyelids snap and release green eyes that matched her sweater. Did she plan that? She must've. The resume doctoring proceeded but I was more focused on the mental image of me projectile vomiting all over Betty, in one expansive arc of pea soup. Here's the moment of constant occurrence where I wonder if others can read my mind.