I dropped Flip and his computer at the Apple store to visit a genius, my all-time favorite job title, at the Genius Bar.
They had no record of his reservation despite having sent us an email confirmation, so he'll have to package it up and return tomorrow.
I picked him up and as we walked to the car....
"Oh, look, a Mercedes hit a Jaguar."
For some reason, this struck me as hysterically funny. We continued down the street laughing, loaded Flip's computer into the backseat, and headed for home.
A block away, a Ferrari, red, whipped around the corner and slammed into a Maserati, silver.
It was getting monotonous already.
Mr. Maserati jumped out of his car and confronted Mr. Ferrari by the throat. I noted that nobody was hurt except for the $thousand or so it would take to fix the dent and drove home counting my blessings, one of which is that I drive a mere Toyota.
Nobody hits Toyotas. They're not good enough.
Later, I headed out again because my cousin who lives near the Canadian border in Maine wrote that she was unable to find latke mix in the local stores. I called to ask her how many boxes she wanted since I had seen it here, although I've never bought any, and went off to be her purchasing agent.
My checker was an elderly Chinese woman with a heavy accent. She lovingly picked up one of my latke boxes and said, "I wen buy matzoh now."
I smiled agreeably, and she continued, "Is hard find Jewish food California."
I wouldn't know. I smiled again.
There was something marvelously surreal about bonding with a Chinese Jewish lady when I am barely Jewish enough to appreciate the name of Andy Kaufman's wonderful character on "Taxi," Latke Gravis, which means, literally, "Fatal potato pancake."
There were no accidents in the parking lot at Safeway.