rshort1202

I am in a convenience store with Melissa. We’re walking up to the registers, me with a giant bottle of Jack Daniels, her with a giant jug of some pink wine. A guy walks up to one of the empty registers to take us. He’s a little older than us and seems kind of shady. He keeps his head down and says nothing but “IDs.” We show ours; mine is fine, but apparently he has a problem with hers. He slides her a binder in which I think she has to write down a reference? She writes down “Daddi”, who I think is a real person. He then gives her another paper, i guess this one an acknowledgement that she’s not kidding around. She raises her eyebrows at it, slowly writing in big letters, ‘okay’ where her name should go. Now I think he’s making her do another reference. I think she writes ‘Victor’, who, again, I know is a real person. I take it out of her hands and shove it back to him, angrily saying something like ‘no, he’s a real fucking person.’ The guy is now off doing something else, and I watch him from the corner of my eye as I tear out, fold up, and slide into my pocket one of the sheets for a humorous keepsake. I don’t think Melissa wanted me to do it, but I adeptly did it with one hand and without getting caught. Now we are walking into Dad’s house for a get together. I put the Jack Daniels in the fridge, right at home among the other bottles of Brandy, Scotch, etc. I know everyone brought their own, and I feel jealous and somewhat regretful because I don’t even really like Jack Daniels. There are only a few people here so far. One is a lady with short blond hair who announces that she’s leaving really quick because something’s going on with her son. Now we’re sitting around a table, and they’ve made a drink out of the Jack Daniels. I think it has Red Bull and some kind of spice. I’m glad that they like it.