Indulge me please, O Gentle Readers, while I recount my activities last Friday. They were nothing special, but there were a couple of highlights.
Woke up a little late after a night which featured “episodic sleep” — other Olde Pharttes will know whereof I speak — and finally fell into some proper sleep at about 5am.
Got up, did the usual Morning Stuff (Rx, urination etc.) and staggered out of the bedroom to make the morning coffee. Debated about the gin, decided against it as I’d taken New Wife out for a Birthday Dinner the night before, and drunk perhaps a leetle too much sangria. (Everything in moderation, that’s me.)
Coffee in hand, I discovered lying on my keyboard an empty bottle of some female facial cleansing lotion, and a plaintive note asking me to get her a fresh bottle.
Excellent: a reason to get out of the house and do some husbandly / housekeeping duties — some groceries, fill the car, nothing special.
On the way out of the apartment complex parking lot, I saw something unusual: a decently-styled American car: I think it was a Buick, but as far as I’m aware they (like Lincoln) don’t make passenger sedans anymore, and the badge was too small for me to make the model out, whatever it was, but then again I’m not in the market for anything like that so I pootled out over the irritating speed bumps [1,000-word angry rant omitted].
Decided on Wal-Mart, simply because they’re just up the road and as I said, I needed to refill the Tiguan and their gas is reasonably priced.
I turned left across the traffic, and noted that there was an oncoming car just down the road, but the speed limit is 35mph, so plenty of room. Except that he wasn’t doing 35 or anything close to it, so he swerved out of my lane and rocketed past me, shaking his fist (!) as he went by.
I had one of my quiet conversations at that point: “I’m sorry; did I make you late for your appointment at the next traffic light?”
As it happened, I didn’t; but he was right on time for the cop doing the speed trap a block or so away. So that ended well.
Went into Wal-Mart and got all the necessary things on the list — but before checking out, I stopped by the self-service lottery machine to make my weekly pension contribution. As any fule kno, these contraptions do not give change, and all I had was a $20.
So I went over to the little in-house bank to get some change, only to be told that they don’t do that kind of thing unless the supplicant has an account with them. “Well, I don’t have an account with you, and probably won’t ever in the future,” I replied, and went over to the Customer Service Desk.
Only to be told that they cannot open the register drawer unless “there’s a cash transaction”.
Another man may have exploded with rage at this point, but I decided to be a better man than that. So I went back into the store itself and left my shopping cart in the clothing section, where it wouldn’t be spotted immediately — said shopping cart containing two cartons of expensive ice cream, a quart of yogurt, a frozen pizza and some fresh fruit.
Got into the car and decided to go to my old neighborhood Kroger instead, where everybody knows my name (I’ve been shopping there for well over twenty years, and the only reason I hadn’t gone there in the first place was because it’s about three miles away from the apartment AND it lies on the other side of some serious road repair works).
So I went where everybody knows my name — and where quite a few people know everybody else’s name, to judge from the odd person chatting to another in the parking lot. Took an old lady’s cart from her just as she’d finished unloading it, getting a grateful “You’re my hero! Thank you!” which made me feel quite better about my world.
Went into Kroger, got all the stuff I’d left in the cart at Wal-Mart plus a few other impulse items, and went over to the Customer Service Desk’s Jeanelle, who not only gave me change upon request, but got me my lottery tickets from their machine. (She has a lovely singing voice, by the way: one of those deep, rich gospel/soul ones, which I’d heard on a previous trip. She is also one of the few people who has ever tripped me up on musical trivia, in that she knew the correct release date of Stevie Wonder’s album Songs In The Key Of Life.)
Checked out using the self-service aisle (I only go full service if I’ve got a large full cart, and that in the interests of speed), waved good-bye to Angela the supervisor, waved to Debbie the front-end manager on my way out, and after loading up the Tiguan, filled up at the pump using my Kroger Fuel Points (11c off per gallon when buying more than 8 gallons).
Got back home — the ?Buick? was no longer there for me to see what it actually was, so I filed that under “Unimportant Shit” and forgot about it.
Net result of the day: considerable personal satisfaction (mission accomplished, grocerywise; watched an asshole get a speeding ticket; denied Wal-Mart some profit both from an unrealized transaction plus — I hope — some spoiled unsellable foods, as well as having my gas money go to their competitor).
And I got to interact with people that I don’t really know, but had only pleasant experiences with. On a warm autumn day (no a/c needed in the car) in north Texas.
Not too bad, all things considered.
...so much for that “working-class punk” thing.
