Time for another amazing adventure!
I woke up around noon today, very confused. First of all, I was not in my room though I vaguely remember going to sleep in my own bed last night. I was in a dumpster. It was bright green and filled, not with trash, but with confetti. Let me tell you, a dumpster filled with confetti is not nearly as entertaining as it sounds. Confetti got everywhere–my clothes, my hair, even inside of my socks. I managed to crawl out of the dumpster, landing quite unladylike on my butt on the sidewalk. The small alleyway in which the confetti dumpster was located was deserted.
I headed left out of the alley and turned the corner to see a small bakery and coffee shop. Figuring coffee could only help my situation (because coffee makes everything better) I entered the shop. “One grande iced french vanilla latte with soy, please,” I ordered.
The woman behind the register gave me an odd look, probably because there was still a large quantity of confetti on my person, but rang up the order. “Four ninety-five,” she replied.
I reached into my pants pocket for my debit card, but the card was gone. I checked both pockets and turned them inside out. Confetti fell to the floor all around me, but I paid it no notice, too intent on finding my debit card. Could it have fallen out of my pocket into the dumpster? Why was I so sure it had even been in my pocket to begin with?
I sneezed in frustration, shooting a good-sized puff of confetti from my nose in the process. The woman working the counter looked at me in horrified disgust as confetti landed on her face and in her hair. She brushed her shirt off and repeated, “That’s four ninety-five.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping confetti from my nose. “I must have lost my debit card.”
Without another glance at me, she cleared the order and left the counter. I kept my head down as I left the shop, trying to avoid the gawkers who sat at the pretentiously small tables. In my embarrassment, I didn’t even try to clean the confetti from the floor. I just had to escape. I headed back over to the dumpster and peeked my head over the edge. A homeless man wearing torn and dirty clothing occupied the dumpster. The smell of rotten meat and many years of sweat met my nose and I made a concerted effort not to gag in front of him. He glared up at me.
“Whatd’youwant?” he slurred.
“Is my debit card in there?” I asked, trying to be polite.
“Getouttahere,” he replied, somewhat less politely.
“No, you don’t understand. I was just sleeping in here, and I believe I may have left my debit card behind. Would you be so good as to feel around for it?”
“Youdon’tunnerstan,” he shot back. He sat up to bring his face closer to mine. If I thought his clothes smelled bad, it was nothing compared to his sour breath. “GETOUTTAHERE!”
As much as I wanted that debit card, I couldn’t really argue with that. I got out of there and when I got home, I just called the bank and canceled the blasted thing. Turns out, the homeless guy must have had my card and had managed to purchase $300 worth of donuts only moments before my phone call to the bank, leaving me stuck with the bill.
Stupid homeless guy.