My Wish Was Not A DeSIGHer

When the broken-down car of the Gas Station Chicken Store rumpushole handicap parker FORCED me to take my scratcher business elsewhere, I went across the road to the Liquor Store. There was a new worker behind the counter. A middle-aged woman I hadn't seen there before. When I walked up to the counter, she SIGHED!

Ain't that a fine how-do-you-do? Well. It's not like I was the only customer in the place. A woman was playing one of the three or four fake slot machines they have against the wall. Don't get me started on those right now!

"I'm just here to get some lottery tickets."

"SIGH."

"A number 10 and a number 11..."

"SIGH." 

Put-Upon Gal tore each off. As I was getting ready to name my crosswords, she stepped to the register to scan those two tickets. Okay. Sometimes clerks do this. Some can remember a string of numbers, others have to ask again after just one. I try to gauge the response of each clerk, and time my requests to their advantage. So I let Put-Upon Gal scan these two without interrupting before she was ready again with her attention. Let the record show this happens A LOT in the Liquor Store, where they also sell a lot of vaping supplies, and have T-shirts for sale with logos like "The Devil's Lettuce," which is now legal in our state.

"And also two number 19s..."

Put-Upon Gal just stood there. Didn't make a move. I looked at her, my left eyebrow raised, a teacher technique for nonverbally asking, "What's the deal?"

"SIGH. I'm just waiting for you to be done. I'm not bending down there more than once."

"Oh. I thought maybe you were out of them. Two number 19s, and three number 26s."

"SIGH."

Put-Upon Gal tore off my tickets, scanned them, and rang them up. I paid cash. Got a dollar back in change, thanks to my three $3 tickets. I stuffed it in the tip jar on the counter. Not because she especially deserved it, but because I almost always leave that dollar change at the Liquor Store, because the usual clerks are polite and appreciative.

I'm thinking maybe Put-Upon Gal has some kind of respiratory illness. Maybe that's just how she breathes. She didn't seem unfriendly. Just reluctant to expend any extra energy, like stooping, or making small talk.

Another RumpusHole Handicap Parker Rant

On a rare day that I managed to avoid the RumpusHole in the White F250 who takes up the lone handicap parking space at the Gas Station Chicken Store... I found someone else ensconced in that space.

It was a white sedan with no handicap plate, no handicap placard. It was NOT the lady who parks there and sits for so long. This gal was younger than me, but not young. She was parked nose-down in that space, standing by the driver's door of her car. From under the front end, I could see a pair of jeans-clad man-legs. Mind you, the car was not jacked up. Some guy had just volunteered to scoot himself on his back up under the front end. I assume it was his truck (white, ironically, but not an F250) parked behind her in the FREE AIR space.

Well. There went my plans for buying scratchers. I was not willing to brave the strong wind by parking over by the moat. Too long a distance to hobble while being buffeted with bad balance. I went to 10Box, and then to the Liquor Store across the road. When leaving the Liquor Store, I have to make a right, then left by Casey's, to come up the back alley past the rear of the Gas Station Chicken Store. 

The white sedan was still there. With a different pair of man-legs sticking out from under it. A duffle bag of supposed equipment sitting by the tire. And a white van with an obscure business name on the side. I guess that lady had called an actual repair service. It was now 45 minutes from when I'd first driven by.

Here's the thing with RumpusHoles who take up handicap parking spaces for which they have no certified need... They THINK they are entitled. They'll only be inside a minute. Surely no handicapped person will want to park there during that time. So might as well use it, you know, because they don't want to walk farther. But if their junky car won't start up again, that space is out of commission for hours. Way to go, RumpusHole!

I didn't wish for that woman to have a hefty repair bill, or be "inconvenienced" for hours. But her lack of sensitivity (and law obeyance!) seriously inconvenienced ME. I'm pretty sure she's the reason I had a bad day of losing with my substitute scratchers...

The Medium

I needed to buy stamps on my errand day Thursday. Normally, I get the young post office clerk that knows who The Pony is, and recognizes me as Pony's Mom. He's a polite young fellow, with a son about a year old. Always cheerful and helpful to all the customers in line. This time, he wasn't there.

The clerk was a woman. I always try to think of ways to describe fellow workers to The Pony, to see if he knows them, or might have an anecdote about them. This one was hard.

"Hey, I was getting stamps yesterday around 3:30, but [REDACTED] wasn't working. It was some lady. I don't really know how to describe her. She was older than you, but younger than me. Her hair wasn't really blond, or brown. Just in-between. She wasn't fat or thin. Not tall or short. She was really nice. I can't think of any way to describe her, other than MEDIUM."

"Did she have a snaggletooth?"

"Um. I don't know. I didn't really look THAT close. I was trying to decide on stamps. I knew I wanted a book of flags, but the selection of others wasn't that great. I didn't want hearts. One of them was Christmasy/wintery. I don't remember the other. So I took the Mississippi River. I've had them before, but they are pretty, and the best of those choices. So I was looking at them, not the clerk's teeth."

"That's the only way I know to describe her that would make her stand out. It was probably the one I'm thinking of. She usually fills in there for days off."

"I knew the amount for two books of stamps would be just under $30. So I was prepared. I had a twenty and a ten. She said, 'Now why did I ring that up as credit?' I said probably because nobody wants to use cash anymore, and she agreed. Now I have 80 cents in coins that I forgot to take out of my town pants that will be falling out when I unfold them to put on."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say the coins would get in the washer."

"No. I don't wash my town pants after every wearing. I'm only in them for an hour a day. Besides, they get the dried mud off the side of T-Hoe's running board when I slide out. So I'd be putting on clean pants, knowing that by the time I got out in town, they'd have dirt all over one leg again. I just dust it off when I fold them up. Still knowing that when I get out in town, they'll have dirt on one leg again. I can't see washing pants all the time, when they're not worn long, and just get dirty right back. It uses a lot of resources, and wears out the pants."

"Fair enough." Said The Pony, who wears pants all day long to walk 10-11 miles in all kinds of weather. We have different laundry needs.

Anyhoo... we both agree that I bought my stamps from a Medium.