The Devil Disappoints

My shopping at the Devil's Playground was mostly convenience type foods. 

Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich

American Deli Sandwich

Mini Cheese Pizza

Flatbread Pizza

Chicken Alfredo Fettucine

Ham chunks

Honey Crisp Apples

Bananas

The sandwiches were for me, and the mini pizza. Farmer H was having the fettucine and flatbread pizza. Stuff that's quick, and so I don't have to eat what he's eating. Stuff we haven't had for a while, since I don't usually shop at the Devil's Playground

I told The Pony I was excited about the Chicken Bacon Ranch Sandwich. I was having it first. Oh, how disappointed I was! I didn't get a picture of the sandwich, because who does that? Once I started eating it, I knew the story had to be told. To shame The Devil! So I dug the label out of the wastebasket.

Of course my sandwich didn't look like this. At least their label warms you. And I could see through the plastic anyway. It was more like a mini loaf of bread with something painted inside. That would have been fine, if only my sandwich had TASTE. It did not! Not even a taste of bread. It was like eating bread, from the texture, but absolutely no taste. Unless I dabbed a bit of the Bacon Ranch dressing on it, which had come in a separate packet, like mustard.

I really expected some kind of flavor. My sandwich had Oven Roasted Chicken Breast, Provolone Cheese, Applewood Smoked Bacon, Bacon Ranch, and White French Bread. ALL devoid of flavor. Except the Bacon Ranch.

I even pulled off at least half of the bread, hoping for some meat or cheese taste. Nope.

The dogs liked the bread well enough. I'm not sure they are taste connoisseurs. After all, they lick their own butts.

Business With The Devil

Mrs. HM has a confession. She has been doing business with the Devil. In his Playground. 

You may recall that Mrs. HM had not set foot into the Devil's Playground for over four years. Ever since The Virus, when she took objection to being made to walk around the end of cattle chutes set up along the front of the store. Such a distance for one who needs a handicap parking space. Only to find that such a parking space doubled the distance she had to walk to get inside. The one-way arrows on alternate aisles was also a bone of contention.

Anyhoo... I think it was near the end of September when The Pony asked if I felt like making a sortie to the Devil's Playground.

"They have new carts now. I'm not sure you'll like them. The handle is way up high, like to your chest. But they do have more registers open now. About half. Not just the self-checkout, which I know you don't like."

Because my knees and legs have felt a bit better, I agreed to try. With the stipulation that The Pony could bring me a cart to push as I walked in. The plan was just to look around the deli department the first time. Because it's at the front of the store, by the doors. There was a dearth of handicap spaces available the first couple times we went, but I found one close to the end of a parking aisle. And the last time, we got a space next to the cart return. It was a longer walk, but there was a cart right there for me to push.

Anyhoo... we went back on Errand Day. I got an actual handicap space. And I agreed to walk unaided into the store to where the inside carts were. It was kind of a big step for me. Along with the deli, we made it halfway to the back of the store, where I was looking for some wafered ham for sandwiches and tearing up to put in a mini pizza I got from the deli.

Of course I was not happy about my shopping experience. Everywhere you turn these days are employees with tall racks of multiple bins, shopping for people who want their groceries delivered. They act all self-important. Good luck trying to squeeze in and get your own merchandise off a shelf.

Anyhoo... The Pony trotted to the other end of the store to get a couple items from the pharmacy area. Then rejoined me at the bananas, where I was trying to outmaneuver two employee-shoppers having a conversation while tending their racks of bins.

"I put my step-counter on my phone. So we can see how much we walk. Yours will probably be about half of mine, since I made that extra trip."

Once we got back to T-Hoe, The Pony checked the steps.

"I walked a half-mile. So yours was probably at least a quarter mile."

"Wow! That's a LOT for me! And I feel pretty good. It was just starting to hurt as we left, from standing in line. My bones on bones were complaining."

I know that a quarter-mile is nothing to rejoice about for a normal person. But for me, who has only been going in and out of stores for my sole exercise, this was a big deal. I imagine the running track. 440 yards around. Or for you metric people, 400 meters. I can't imagine walking that far, even pushing a cart. Yet I did. Sure, there were multiple stops along the way. But I'm impressed with myself.

The More Who Know

Our enclave is going to have to find a new whipping boy. Hopefully not literally. More of a figurative whipping boy. A shooing-away-and-complaining-about boy. Pepper is no longer an option. Even though we only had the one complaint, from our neighbor across the road. Farmer H made it pretty clear the last time she contacted him about "seeing Pepper" down at Mailbox Row, that it was NOT Pepper, who now wears a shock collar. The news left her discombobulated.

Anyhoo... on Tuesday, Farmer H was coming up our gravel road and saw the dog-walkers. They are a couple who walk two dogs apiece on leashes down the gravel road. I've seen them once. I guess they do it every day. Those dogs aren't going to walk themselves. They're captives!

"Pepper was in our yard by the trash dumpster, barking at them. I stopped and told the guy, 'He has a shock collar, and he knows he cain't come out in the road.' The guy said, 'I noticed that he's been staying about 10 feet back from the road.' So there's more people that know our dog ain't the one if anybody has trouble with a white dog."

"Was Pepper bothering them before?"

"He didn't say nothin' about it. I'm guessing he would run out and bother the dogs."

"With Pepper, I'm thinking it's more like he'd run out and try to get attention from the people."

"Maybe. He still acts like a pup. But them people know he ain't gettin' out."

Pepper seems quite happy with his new boundaries. It doesn't stop him from trying to go farther, but the trying stops when he gets that warning sound. He especially enjoys getting the collar taken off and on for charging, because he gets a treat.

I Cain't Have Nothin' Of My Own

Farmer H came home unexpectedly on Wednesday, around 1:45.

"What's that motor running?"

"The tractor."

"Why are you in here with it running?"

"I've gotta get HOS something to drink. He's dying." 

"How are you going to do that?"

Because, you see, FRIG II's ice maker is still not working. I buy a bag of ice in town. We're almost out right now. And we only have Solo cups to take water outside to the tractor. Farmer H opened up FRIG II.

"Here's a bottle of water right here."

FARMER H GRABBED MY BOTTLE OF WATER!

"Um. NO. That's MY water. It's half empty. I take it to town every day. I put more in when it's empty. I've had it for months."

"Huh. I ain't never seen you with it."

He held it in his hands, peering into it. The bottle was only half full.

"I had it with me YESTERDAY in the Acadia with you, on our way to vote!"

"Huh. I don't know what you're yelling at me for."

"Because I can't have anything of my own around here! Not even a months-old half-bottle of already-drank water!"

Farmer H reached right beside my water, and picked up two bottles. One Sprite, and one Diet Mountain Dew. They were makeshift water bottles that I'd been filling for him since his surgery. He took them outside for himself and HOS. I don't know why that wasn't his first choice. He drinks out of them regularly, and sets them on the kitchen counter when empty. Because he can't fill them himself, apparently. But I DO wash them out before refilling.

The nerve of that guy!

He left, complaining that I always yell at him. Forgetting that when I don't yell, he says he can't hear me. 

I Expected More For My $988.20

Is it wrong of me to expect T-Hoe to run well after paying $988.20 for repairs last week? As I used to say to my students when posing a question with an obvious response: "Let me answer for you..." NO! I am not wrong. The work was done. The bill was paid. Now things should be back to normal. Well. Except for our bank account.

Everything was fine on Errand Day with The Pony. The gas tank issue has been fixed. You can even put the nozzle in and clip the handle thingy so it pumps itself. Everything was fine on Thursday. And Friday. And Saturday. 

The only difference I noticed was that when backing out of the garage a couple times, T-Hoe was coughing. You know. Kind of sputtering a bit. I attributed that to Farmer H putting in some gas when testing T-Hoe to see if the gas tank worked. I know he put in over $6 worth on the day T-Hoe was supposed to be done. And then the next day, he put in a little more, to make sure the problem was solved. You never know when you might get some "bad" gas. T-Hoe doesn't get the gourmet stuff. Just plain old regular. It can vary at different gas stations.

One of the days, I was sitting at the stoplight by the Gas Station Chicken Store, headed over to 10Box, and T-Hoe coughed a little more. I just thought I'd be glad when I ran some of this gas out, and got T-Hoe's regular elixir at the Sis-Town Casey's again.

Sunday, I returned home and parked T-Hoe in the garage. When I turned off the engine, it kept running! Not for long. Maybe 5-10 seconds. Kind of coughing, then stopping.

Monday, the same thing happened when I parked T-Hoe in the garage. I hadn't noticed it in town, during my stops there. Maybe I was just preoccupied, or there was other noise. This time, I turned T-Hoe back on. Then off. Same thing.

I told Farmer H on Tuesday morning. He furrowed his brow.

"Huh. It shouldn't be doing that. I'll have to tell Mick. The timing mechanism might have to be reset. He had it off while he was working on it."

"We paid all that money, and now T-Hoe is running worse!"

"He can fix it."

"Will it hurt to drive? Is it going to sputter and stop while I'm at a stoplight, or waiting my turn at the roundabout?"

There was a pause. "No... it shouldn't."

I am not very confident in that reply!

Later on Tuesday, Farmer H changed his tune. When I asked about the timing mechanism, he said, no, it was spark jumping. That's something I never heard of. He had some cockamamie description. Anyhoo... he said he had talked to Mick the Mechanic, who said to bring it by sometime.

"Mick was surprised it was doing that."

"So was I! I thought maybe it was just the different gas you put in."

"I used Casey's gas. But I don't have no idea what THEY put in it."

"It's funny because it didn't do it in the beginning. Now it does, but not every time."

In fact, T-Hoe ran just fine all day on Tuesday. I told Farmer H. We agreed (!) to let it go a few more days and see what happens. Because it's an issue that can't be fixed if the issue isn't happening when Mick looks at it.

Now Fave's Shoe Is On The Other Foot, And In My Mouth

You may recall a story a while back, in June, when Fave at the Gas Station Chicken Store was afraid she had insulted me by saying, "You look thin today." Heh, heh. I took it as a compliment. I didn't even sass back and say, "Oh, I suppose all the other days I look like a big fat cow!" The thought had crossed my mind, but I knew Fave's blurted comment was coming from a good place.

Anyhoo... Fave has mentioned that interaction a couple times, regretting it. She felt like she put her foot in her mouth, and kept apologizing. Well. Fave's shoe jumped onto my foot on Friday, and quickly took a giant leap, then a sloppy swan dive into my own mouth.

"Did you win anything on your tickets?" 

I asked innocently, as always, concerning the lottery tickets I give her every Thursday, as a "tip" for being so nice and selling me lucky tickets.

"No! Well. I DID win $5. But... did you know you gave me a ticket that was already scratched?"

"NOOO! What? I didn't mean to! I can' believe I did that! I'm so embarrassed! I guess I stuck it down in the box with your tickets and the ones I buy for my son Genius, before I put them in their envelopes. I'm so sorry! But at least I gave you a winner!"

"Yeah. It's fine. I looked at it, and I thought, 'That's weird.' But it's the only thing I won."

"Oh my gosh. I can't believe I did that. I'll try not to let it happen again!"

I'm pretty sure I was red-faced when I left. That's like being caught re-gifting. Or wrapping up your trash to give somebody. I'm so relieved it was at least a winner. But wait. My Fave faux pas was not over. On Saturday, the other foot demanded equal mouth time. I asked

"Did you win anything this week?"

"You asked me that yesterday! And I said only on the ticket that was already scratched!"

"OH NO! I'm reliving it! Now I'm embarrassed all over again. Forget I said that."

Fave had a chuckle. I was mortified. Again. On my way out the door, I said,

"Gotta get home and scratch these so I can save one to give to you!"

I hope I can keep my mouth shut, and both feet out of it this week.

Mrs. HM Ranks Lower Than A Dog

I can't have anything for myself! Have I mentioned that? Not even if it belongs to someone else. No small kindness for Mrs. HM. She's an afterthought.

On Sunday, I bought a Save A Lot pizza for Farmer H to have for supper on Sunday and Monday. It's like a deli pizza from the Devil's Playground. Not frozen. You buy it and take it home to cook it. I dug through a stack five-high to get just the right pepperoni pizza for Farmer H. They had two of the three-meat kind, but they looked older. As did a couple of the pepperoni version. But I found the best one.

While Farmer H was driving The Pony home, I got his pizza ready to cook. I added more pepperoni (bought at the store, because he kept "forgetting" to bring home the ones he got for FREE from his Harem, and left at one of the flip houses). I drained a can of mushrooms to add. I sliced a little onion. And I tore up two slices of provolone cheese to add on top.

Farmer H said it was really good pizza. He ate half that night, and the other half on Monday night. In fact, he was full, because he'd had a full Salisbury Steak lunch at the Senior Center that day. I was scratching lottery tickets at the kitchen table when he came back to the kitchen for dessert. (He was not all THAT full, it seems!) 

Anyhoo... I noticed Farmer H throwing away his plate, after putting something on the kitchen counter.

"What's that? What are you doing?"

 

"Oh, I was putting what was left there for the dogs."

"Wait! You had PIZZA left? I might have wanted that!"

"Well, it was just a little piece. You usually say no. You can still have it. Here. It's fine."

"NO! I can't eat that! You put it on the DOG TRAY! That's been there for months! It has old grease and everything else on it."

"It'll be fine. Here, I'll get it."

"NO! I am not eating off the dog tray! All that trouble I went to, fixing up your pizza, and you can't even ask if I want to try it."

"I didn't even think of it. I'm sorry."

Well. There's that.