Slow day at work, and Sketchy and I spoke about the accidents we’d seen, the careless driving we’d witnessed, and the desire to be police officers driving invisible squad cars ticketing people for some of the really stupid stunts they’ve done.

Go figure, a few minutes after checking out, I’m facing the Hampton Inn waiting for the light to go green when a Little Old Lady waiting to turn onto Ashland Road turns for her turn, stops for the northbound vehicle in the right lane, and gets a serious smack from the Middle Aged Lady in the northbound left lane.

And I mean … wow. Debris everywhere, glass cracked, the whole nine yards. Called 911 and had a difficult time hearing the operator as apparently having an accident essentially right in front of the Cockeysville Fire Department is a great way to get a quick ambulance response. A guy on York Road stopped and helped the Little Old Lady to his van, and I spoke briefly to Middle Aged Lady who was doing a lot of moaning and didn’t seem to be able to get out of her car (looked like she was trapped by the steering wheel).

In any case, I spoke briefly to a paramedic, then moved my car to the Hampton Inn’s lot (the assholes behind me were already honking), waited a few minutes, decided I wasn’t needed, and spent the rest of the afternoon in a Home Depot Pickup Truck moving a Ridiculously Heavy 36″ TV from my buddy’s place to mine and wondering if the poh-lice were going to track me down for a witness statement (I nearly peed my pants when a cop followed me all the way from almost-my-apartment to Home Depot).

In any case, I need to stop talking about accidents at work because I hate witnessing them. They’re almost always totally preventable, and in this case, I think both parties contributed (I didn’t think the Middle Aged Woman braked before impact, or even noticed Little Old Lady’s car, and of course, Little Old Lady shouldn’t've been impatient and should’ve waited for the arrow).

In any case, I’ve got a big ass TV I need to clean up and plug various electronics into, and all it cost me was twenty-smackers and my back.

E.G. (aka Ron Weasley) used to open every Sunday. Now he opens every other Sunday. The point being, the kid — he’s a senior in high school — knows that Sundays during football season are slow until mid-afternoon, then are steady for the rest of the day.

So E.G. comes in Sunday, does his prep, and plays video games on his PSP for several hours. Finally, he starts on the homework he’s been bitching all weekend about not having enough time to do … and then flips out because he’s chosen to do his homework at the same time everyone has decided to start ordering pizzas.

“Just when I try to do something worthwhile…” he was bitching and moaning as he was making pizzas.

I thought about pointing out to him that it’s called homework, not workwork, but I think he would’ve lobbed a spoodle-full of pizza sauce at me, which would in turn require me to attempt to spray him with the contents of a hot-sauce bottle.

He’s opening next Sunday again — an odd little schedule twist, most likely because he needed several Sundays off in a row in January — and I think I shall take great pleasure in reminding him, before the rush hits (if we get one, with football season over, Sundays are going to start slowing down considerably), that if he continues to favor the PSP over the homework, he’s going to continue to flip out and rip out his hair when the phone calls interupt his studying.