Freddogg Off The Chain

My world of writing prompts never stops dogging me. I stood at the hardware store register yesterday with a flame igniter in one hand and two pig’s ears in the other. I had my lame-assed joke already for the depressed middle aged white woman who was on the last hour of her day shift.
“I hope I don’t get busted for pig paraphernalia,” I was going to say, but instead I said nothing, exercising my right to remain silent and to change unspoken jokes from pig paraphernalia to Mommy sleeps like a horse.
The woman was standing there sleeping so soundly I was going to scour the store for an apnea mask. And I thought she might need sleep so I didn’t want to stimulate her startle reflex and get stabbed with that tiny register key.
I wondered what I would do if it were my store and I walked by a sleeping check out woman otherwise known as a sales clerk.
“A hem! Code Blue! Bar Code Blue! Jumper cables to register six! Debit my charge card! “
Three people were in line to my left because no one in a check out line stands anything but sideways. I motioned my hands down like they should be quiet and wait for the power horse nap to round the club house turn and head for home.
She then started to sleep talk while barely moving her lips.
“She’s a ventriloquist,”I told the impatient patrons. ‘We’ll have to go over to the bagel shop to hear what she is saying.”
No one got the “throw your voice” joke, the freaking idiots.
Then the clerk looked at me. Nothing else changed just eyeballs open, peering out from the somnolent body.
“What do you want,”she asked, as I rolled dried pigs ears in my right hand compulsively but not obsessively.
“I want you baby,” I thought, going regressively high school. ‘Somebody saddle up this pony!”
But I said nothing, just went to the car, tossed dried pigs ears with actual blood vessels visible, to the retrievers and reminded them that they were lovable but most certainly disgusting.
Darby responded,”Hear you tell it!” At least I think it was Darby.

Freddogg