The Aqueously Asphyxiated Rodent Is Cluck-Blocked!

This morning I headed to town to pick up a printout of The Pony's insurance card. Of course he has the original cards with him in Oklahoma, and now his car license needs renewing.

We had major rain again last night, so I knew I would be taking the alternate route. I showered and gathered my personal property tax receipt. Stopped down by the mailbox to make sure I had everything listed on the DMV renewal card, since I usually end up making more than one trip to that office to complete my business.

T-Hoe had no trouble crossing the creek. I knew which roads to avoid, and arrived at my first destination, the insurance office, at 10:45. The rain had slacked off. Mere sprinkles dotted the windshield.Two cars had just left the parking lot, and I was the only person at the counter. The young man who is the son of a former high school classmate set to printing my insurance card. I heard the door open behind me.

"Everybody looks like a drowned rat today!"

WTF? This new lady entering the office had only three people that she could have been addressing. The two workers, sitting at their desks behind the counter, and me, standing with my back to her. Let the record show that when I left my dry Mansion, I walked along the covered porch, down the covered steps, into the dry garage, climbed into T-Hoe, and drove 20 minutes to that insurance office. I walked six steps from T-Hoe's door to the office door, in a sprinkle so light that windshield wipers were not even needed, except while driving along at 30 mph, in the lowest intermittent setting.

WHO looked like a drowned rat?

I don't think that lady was referring to the blond worker with her hair in a fluffy '80s style. Nor the young man worker, with his trimmed hair barely long enough to run a comb through. That only left ME! Me...with my back to her, and my hair not even wet that I could tell.

As if THAT didn't set my teeth on edge for the rest of my errands...I made it through the bank drive-thru to deposit the expense check from Farmer H's trip to Sweden. For once I caught him leaving it in my purse, and made him sign the back. But then I made the mistake of writing FOR DEPOSIT on the back, lest it blow out of T-Hoe and some local Hillmomban bum pick it up and squander it on demon rum. So the $210 that Farmer H declared was HIS for gas and vehicle expenses (even though he uses the debit card for our account to pay them) was apparently not allowed to be given back by the teller. So...she had to send out a counter withdrawal form for me to fill out to get that $210 back.

Still, that was nothing compared to being compared to a DROWNED RAT when I wasn't even wet. Or disheveled.

I walked into the DMV just as a guy was leaving, and was served immediately! I didn't even sit down. The gal called to ask why she needed the personal property tax receipt if my car wasn't on it (since we didn't own it at the first of 2016). But then it was smooth sailing, and I had the tags and was out of there in less than 5 minutes.

THEN I was almost done. Just a short (so I thought) stop at the gas station chicken store to get my 44 oz Diet Coke, some actual gas station chicken (and a small mashed potatoes and gravy for Farmer H), and cash in a winning scratcher for one that turned out to be non-winning.

But here's the thing. I was standing at the chicken counter waiting to order, behind a Round Little Gal. She was jawing with the Chicken Server. Finally, she stepped back. She wasn't even ordering! Just WAITING for her chicken strips to be fried. They take 20 minutes.

I had my chance to order, and was waiting for the Chicken Server to bring out the mashed potatoes and hand me my ticket. The Lady Owner came up and rummaged through my chicken bag. To see if she could help, she said when the Chicken Server came back. And then she asked if she could help someone else. And this kind-of-a-bum (not that there's anything wrong with that) stepped forward and shouldered me out of the way as the Chicken Server was trying to hand my bag to me, and reached his long arm across my face and said, "Give me some fries, and three of them cheese things, and two thighs."

He didn't have to point, you know. They are aware of what they sell, and what chicken thighs look like. He was kind of a close-weirdo, invading my space. But I bore him no ill will. I reached under his arm for my ticket and chicken bag, and stepped back to the soda fountain to draw my magical elixir. Then I got in line. Since I had come in, several more customers appeared. There was a chicken customer with a whole box of fowl, having issues with her credit card. She had been there trying to pay when I came in.

Behind her was a dude I was behind just a couple days ago, again buying a six-pack of Bud Ice. But who am I to judge. Maybe he always has a liquid lunch. Then there was that Round Little Gal. I figured she was ready to pay. She WAS in the pay line. I stood there at least five minutes until the credit card issue was resolved. I think that customer had wanted to add something, or take something off. It was not a malfunction.

But here's the thing. Close-Weirdo got his food and ticket, and stepped into line AHEAD of Round Little Gal. And ME. And THEN Round Little Gal decided to move over and stand in front of the chicken case. AFTER she had CLUCK-BLOCKED me from paying for my chicken and soda!

If I didn't know better, my conspiracy-driven mind would say that Round Little Gal was in cahoots with Close-Weirdo.