The Jerk Store Called...They've Got A Case Of Self-Importance On Backorder

Cresting the hump of Jerkapalooza in Part 3 of the five-part series, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is pushing her shopping cart/walker combo down the main meat aisle of The Devil's Playground as if she has a right to be there.

You know the main meat aisle. Along the wall are wrapped trays of assorted meats, arranged by beef, pork, chicken, and processed delicacies like bacon and sausage and lunch meat. In the middle of that large aisle are the open freezers, which seem quite wasteful, soaking up that ambient heat all willy-nilly all the live-long day.

It was by one of these open freezers that I paused. Looking inside for deals, perhaps, in honor of the Memorial Day holiday. What better way to honor dead heroes than with cheap meats, anyway? I did not see the pre-pattied hamburgers I was seeking, only a bin full of pork steak family packs. We've had them before, and they are as tasty as those I usually buy at Save A Lot. But we were only planning for bratwursts and hamburgers this time, since my sister the ex-mayor's wife had invited us to her barbecue on Monday.

As I started to wheel my cart/walker across the aisle from that bin, over to the crossways aisles for mayonnaise (KRAFT! Not Miracle Whip!), I was stopped by a couple of old geezers (because the young geezers were all in daycare, presumably). These two old goats had been chatting ever since I entered the main meat aisle. Each had his cart. It's like they were lined up to play follow-the-leader (sucks to be an OLD geezer, because I imagine they could play the real thing if they were at daycare with the young geezers). The goat in the lead was turned around, talking over the cart of the goat being led. You know how old geezers are. They gossip just like old crones.

Since they were making those "See you around" kind of noises, I waited for a moment, thinking the lead old goat was ready to move on. And I didn't want to dart out in front of him like some scofflaw in a little sports car darting in front of T-Hoe. I waited. And waited. Since Old Goat 1 didn't seem to be moving anytime soon, despite his too-long goodbye...I wheeled my cart across the front of that freezer bin to enter the main traffic aisle and proceed to my crossways aisle for the mayo.

VROOM VROOM REEEEEEEEEEE!

Old Goat 1 peeled out of there like a funny car on the drag strip when the ready-set-go lights ticked down. I'm surprised he didn't leave cart tire tread on the tiles. The very second I started out, he whipped around and gunned for me. Had I not been so light on my feet now since making my wise choices for the past year, I daresay he would have t-boned my cart/walker and sent me rumpus-over-teakettle into the cake decorating counter! The scenario couldn't have been better executed if it was orchestrated by a second-unit director of a major motion picture. I felt the air from Old Goat 1's exhaust lift the tail of my too-large big shirt ever-so-slightly.

Somebody really needs to keep better tabs on these old retired guys. You can bet I'll never let Farmer H go hang out at The Devil's Playground when he's fully retired.

Hahahahahahaha! Had you going there for a minute, didn't I?