Let it be said that yesterday, on Tuesday, May 22, 2012, I finally used the Cinnabon punch card I had punched and had filled up for a long, long time.  It's an old card, so old that I don't even remember where I got it from.  Even though I had eaten lunch with my folks before I took them to the airport, I thought this was as good a time as any to use it at the restaurant at the Mall of America; I didn't take any dinner with me to work, so the earliest I would have gotten food in my mouth was after I went to the stripclub, so around 12:30.

The girl looked at it and said, "This is, like, five years old."  Older, trust me.  Literally, it could have been a decade since I first got it.  There aren't a whole lot of Cinnabons in the Twin Cities, and the ones here are on the other side of town from me.  Plus, do you know those fucking things are now $4.50?!?!  But I had managed to buy six Cinnabons over the years, and after I did, I just put it in my wallet and forgot it.  Till yesterday, when I thought, hey, I'm charging so much money to my credit card and I don't know if I'll be as hungry for this for the intermediate future, so I might as well use this now.

Luckily the girl took it.  After she got done with me and the card, she just tore it in half and threw it in the wastebasket below the cash register.  I wish she had a bit more reverence to something that was in my life for ten years, possibly more.

I asked her if she had another card where I can rack up the Cinnabon purchases.  "We had some, but we ran out," she said while not making eye contact once and not wavering her voice one bit.  Which means: Bitch is lying.  Which also means I can't afford to ever eat Cinnabon again.