Friday, August 26, 2016

There's A Special Place In The Devil's Playground...For Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's schedule is all wonky, what with her Devil's Playground shopping accomplice all the way across the state of Oklahoma. So today I did the weekly grocery shopping. Alone. Without even Farmer H (a poor substitute for the grocery-carrying and putter-awayer Pony) to assist upon my return to the Mansion.

First cat out of the bag, I could see we were going to have issues. And by we, I mean ME, Even Steven, and the Universe. I don't know what I've done to merit such evening. At first I was like, "Yeah! Right on! Sweeeeeet! This rawwwwks!" I do have a touch of the 70s and 80s trying to bubble to the surface, you know. Because there was a parking space near where I wanted! Third from the end, down by the pharmacy side of the store.

Normally, I would have sent The Pony down there on foot, and would have parked at the grocery end where I would do my cart-pushing like an old woman at the casino with a 4-wheeled walker, and come out that same door again. But today, I was on my own to pick up an 8-pack of Irish Spring Moisture Blast (we're not THAT dirty, just like to stock up), and Sensodyne ProNamel Gentle Whitening (doesn't excel in the whitening department, but allows one to drink mass quantities of Diet Coke and ice water without wincing).

Let the record show that Even Steven has a warped sense of humor. The open parking space was no bargain. I had to stick out like a sore thumb, due to the idiot in the space across from me. I even took a picture, because I could, and because I'm like that. But I did NOT show the license plate number of the idiot. Now that I'm retired, I am a kinder, gentler Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.


What's up with THAT? Don't say the car in the space across from them was parked way back when that silver car pulled in. That's a poor excuse. Your parking area is defined by LINES, people. Not by the room left on the other side of them by idiots. Unless you're Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, of course. I HAD to park way back, lest T-Hoe kiss the bumper of that idiot's car. No way was I leaving a perfectly good half-a-parking-space open while I drove around trying to find one as close. It's Friday, you know. That last one of the month. People get their checks then! Not me, of course. Mine comes on the last business day, directly into my account. But a lot of folks get checks on the last Friday, as evidenced by the crowd inside.

Of course when I came out, that silver car was gone. But the idiot who took its place was also way across the line. Just not quite that far.

I really must light a fire under Farmer H to get my proposed handbasket factory up and operating.

4 comments:

Sioux said...

Perhaps you could print up some of your "parking violation" tickets. They could include: I worked with an occasional clueless student, but you are TRULY stupid, as evidenced by your parking abilities."

I'll let YOU decide what the fee/punishment is...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
That smacks of confrontationalism, Madam. Something Mrs. Hillbilly Mom avoids like Farmer H in Poolio with three noodles.

fishducky said...

The nerve of some people!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

fishducky,
I know, right? A special parking space appeared just for ME, and that silver car was taking up about a third of it. They were approaching Lou-Grant-taking-HALF-of-the-Veal-Prince-Orloff territory!