Neurotic food saving pays off.

From one of our bonus staff meals at the resthome during the time of coronavirus, I got not only some leftover Popeye's chicken, but all of these Popeye's hot sauce and ketchup and honey packets.

I was able to use the hot sauce on some beans and rice that I had, and I'm still saving the ketchup - I never use ketchup! - but then there was also all of that honey, too.

For a while, when I was home and I felt like I needed a treat, I'd just go and get a Popeye's honey packet, and I'd tear off the corner and squeeze all of the honey into my mouth.

Then, I got some leftover bread from a resthome meal, and I took it home, and since that bread made nice toast, I realized that I could use butter and then put some honey on it, too, and so I also used some of the Popeye's honey packets for that.

Inappropriate joke.

The other week at the resthome, the one retired advertising executive said he had a joke for me, but it wasn't a good time for him to tell it when he said that, so I excused myself, but then I asked him about it later.

As it turns out, the joke was very extended, and it was about a beloved Indian chief named "Shortcake" who passes away and then there's this argument about who buries him, until this woman steps forward and is really insistent and is like, "Squaw bury shortcake."

So, I kind of grimaced, and I was like, "I'm not so sure you can tell that joke anymore, it's not too good about Native Americans."

"Probably not," he was like, agreeably.

Then he was like, "That joke was old when I was young."

Coronavirus designer masks.

Last month, I saw this one (tall) (young) (slim) (Ghanaian) kitchen worker, and her mask she had on was all red and green and yellow and black, classic Africa colors.

"Nice mask," I was like.

"Thank you," she was like.

I then asked her where she got it, and she said that this one kitchen worker from (Togo) had been making them and selling them.

Post-coronavirus vacation dreams.

The other week at work at the resthome, I was talking after dinner with the one (stocky) (Ghanaian) kitchen manner about our stimulus checks, and it turns out that both of us had the same idea, that we'd use ours for a vacation after everything got better, since we've both been working like usual for the duration of the crisis.

I told him that I want to go to Spain, maybe, and then asked him where he wants to go.

He said Trinidad and Tobago.

I asked him why, and he said that he likes the Caribbean.

I asked him if he'd ever been there, and he said no, but he'd been to Jamaica, and he has Jamaican friends.

An alternate history, of a coronavirus style.

Because she had been previously scheduled for her vacation, my one (Mexican) resthome coworker had like 3 weeks off during the height of the coronavirus crisis debut.

A few days after she got back, then, she was going up a stairwell near me and looked down and saw my short hair and was like, "Did you get a haircut?".

I said yes, and that I gave myself one with my beard trimmer since it was getting too long and was falling in my face all the time and was getting super annoying but all the barber shops had been closed.

Then, I paused, and was like, "Actually, while you were gone, I shaved my head and joined a cult, but then I quit and came back, you missed it all."

"Good one," she was like.

Stray thought, on an internet challenge.

It would be interesting to collect pictures of old guys in like bright orange pants, and then people have to click through them and guess -

ITALIAN -or- GOLFER?

. . .

I do wonder if the golfers would look more schlubby, though, and that'd be a give-away to a careful observer.

Folk-dancing origin story.

This one (retired) (engineer) at the resthome has a great love of music, including folk music, and after knowing him for a while I found out that he likes to folk dance and in fact had met several other resthome residents years ago through folk-dancing circles.

The other week when I was by him and a group of people, then, folk-dancing came up, and so I asked him how he got into folk-dancing, anyways.

"When I was a kid I went to camp, and the choices were either Bible class or folk-dancing class," he was like.  "End of story."