Apparently there are no baker’s rack for sale at the Robinson Town Center in Pittsburgh. My friend’s flight came in at 10, so I went up way early to shop at Costco and look around. Imagine the thrill creeping up my leg at 8 when I arrived and the greeter told me they close at 8:30. I felt like I was doing an athletic event, or one of those televised events where you have five minutes to throw as much shit into your cart as possible for free, running up and down aisles, pushing a cart full of butt ribbon and paper towels and kitty litter and Pellegrino and 8-packs of white albacore.
At least you didn’t burn this place down, so that is good. Although I would request that all future references to Friedman include the “Mustache of Understanding” somewhere in the post.