Farmer H may be retired, but that doesn't mean he is no longer on call. He had just plopped down in the La-Z-Boy this evening, with his pre-auction supper plate, a delicious platter of two hot dogs wrapped in biscuits, and some frozen curly fries, when his phone rang. It was HOS (His Oldest Son).
HOS had some questions about a water heater. Not HIS water heater, mind you, but the water heater of an old lady who's a relative or acquaintance of one of his cousins. That's how we do things around Hillmomba. We don't call repairmen. We call relatives of relatives of relatives.
HOS described the problem. The water heater had been shutting itself off, but not tripping the breaker. He described the wires. Red and blue and yellow. Their relative positions. THEN noted that there'd just been a buzzing sound, and smoke was coming from around the yellow wire.
Farmer H suggested that HOS send him a picture, because thinking through it, he couldn't figure out what was amiss. Not in those words, of course. "Send me a picture. I cain't tell what's wrong." He was perplexed by the video that came in. "Huh. I cain't keep it on my screen long enough to tell what's going on. And I can't blow it up. He needs to send me a picture." So he sent HOS a text asking for a picture. And got two.
After a detailed analysis in which he talked out loud, and took about two minutes, Farmer H called HOS and said there was nothing hooked up wrong. That it was probably a bad thermostat, even though HOS had insisted that it was a NEW water heater, that had been doing this for two weeks. Farmer H's suggestion was to TURN OFF THE POWER, remove a couple of those wires he named by color, and test the thermostat with some fancy electrical gewgaw to see if it showed ZERO or a number. A ZERO would mean a bad thermostat, which would need to be replaced.
We've had the same water heater for over 15 years. At least. Every time I suggest we need a new one because the water isn't getting hot, Farmer H drags the water heater out the basement door, and shovels a bunch of white powdery gunk out of its innards. Calcium deposits (Hillmomba is noted for its hard water). Then it works again.
Something tells me Farmer H might end up looking at this water heater as a favor to HOS. Maybe not. He might have better things to do with his endless leisure time.
Friday, May 4, 2018
Thursday, May 3, 2018
What A Dangerous, Dangerous World It Can Be
Last night at 8:07, I got a text from The Pony. I don't hear from him often, unless I initiate the text conversation. And right now he has finals coming up, so I try to leave him alone.
"Oh, so you know now, there's a tornado thing (the more severe one) for Norman right now. I'm down in the storm shelter."
Let the record show that The Pony is living in university apartments at OU. He is 11.6 miles from Moore, Oklahoma, which had an E5 tornado pass through it on May 20, 2013. That tornado had 210 mph winds. It killed 24 people, and injured 377. So a tornado warning in Norman, Oklahoma, is not something you pooh-pooh.
"I'm glad you're sheltered. Dad said it looked like you were getting bad weather, and it's headed toward Genius later. Stay calm. You've done all that you can do by getting to the shelter."
"Yeah. It was the lower thing for awhile, then I moved down to the shelter when my meteorology friends suggested it. I'm calm, other than just the large number of people."
"Well, it's not like you can choose some of them to kick out to perish, like on that Simpsons episode."
"I know I know."
At 8:59, I got another text.
"The tornado warning is over, it's just flooding now, and I'm on the 3rd floor."
"That's a relief. Are you back in your apartment already?"
"Yeah. About five minutes ago they lifted it, and the shelter is close by. I just had to run through this rain for a bit."
Having been there, I can tell that this picture was taken from right outside The Pony's apartment door, on the landing, looking down at the parking lot.
"You won't melt."
"Yeah. Unlike some people."
"I hope you are not referring to ME!"
"Nope."
So...The Pony was fine. But you NEVER stop worrying about your babies. Even when they're 20 years old. Or in their 50s, judging by my mom's actions.
"Oh, so you know now, there's a tornado thing (the more severe one) for Norman right now. I'm down in the storm shelter."
Let the record show that The Pony is living in university apartments at OU. He is 11.6 miles from Moore, Oklahoma, which had an E5 tornado pass through it on May 20, 2013. That tornado had 210 mph winds. It killed 24 people, and injured 377. So a tornado warning in Norman, Oklahoma, is not something you pooh-pooh.
"I'm glad you're sheltered. Dad said it looked like you were getting bad weather, and it's headed toward Genius later. Stay calm. You've done all that you can do by getting to the shelter."
"Yeah. It was the lower thing for awhile, then I moved down to the shelter when my meteorology friends suggested it. I'm calm, other than just the large number of people."
"Well, it's not like you can choose some of them to kick out to perish, like on that Simpsons episode."
"I know I know."
At 8:59, I got another text.
"The tornado warning is over, it's just flooding now, and I'm on the 3rd floor."
"That's a relief. Are you back in your apartment already?"
"Yeah. About five minutes ago they lifted it, and the shelter is close by. I just had to run through this rain for a bit."
Having been there, I can tell that this picture was taken from right outside The Pony's apartment door, on the landing, looking down at the parking lot.
"You won't melt."
"Yeah. Unlike some people."
"I hope you are not referring to ME!"
"Nope."
So...The Pony was fine. But you NEVER stop worrying about your babies. Even when they're 20 years old. Or in their 50s, judging by my mom's actions.
Wednesday, May 2, 2018
Jeezers, Sneezers, Listen To Your Geezers
Another reason I enjoy going to the casino is that I usually have several stories to tell by the time I leave. Last Saturday was no different.
Farmer H always stops at the restroom on the way down that long promenade area. I use the regular one inside the casino before cashing out, but Farmer H always waits until the last minute. I stand outside and wait, watching the people go by.
On this day, there was an old man sitting on one of the leather-padded benches. Beside him was a boy of 5 or 6. I imagine the kid was sitting with his grandpa. That would be an odd combination if they came to the casino for gambling, but I assumed they were there for a wedding. The event center was open, and silver and gold Mylar balloons were entwined and decorating the pillars. Not that these two were dressed for a wedding, but standards are pretty lax these days.
Farmer H joined me again, and we started down the long hall toward the doors that led to the covered walkway that led to the parking lot. A lot of younger-than-normal people were coming in, headed toward the casino. It might have been because we were leaving later than usual. It was almost 5:00. We're used to being with the elderly. Our own kind. The afternoon gamblers, not the Saturday-night-out crowd.
One thing about those egregious Millennials...they're not gonna yield to ANYBODY! Not a foot, not an inch, not a micrometer would they yield. They have to be the generational champions of playing chicken. And here came a slew of them, striding up the wide carpeted promenade. They were walking at least four abreast. Taking up the entire cushy carpet, forcing Farmer H and I off onto the tile near the wall. Me, for sure. I think Farmer H had one foot on the cushy carpet, and one foot on the tile. He was trying not to be displaced, and had to lean-lunge towards me to avoid colliding with a Millennial shoulder. We were shunted closer to the Gramps & Young 'un duo.
I was directly in front of the Old Man and the Wee when that little dude SNEEZED. If he had been sneezing a dart, I would have been the bullseye! You've seen slow motion action of a sneeze, right? How billions of particles spray into the air? I felt them on my arm. I immediately stopped breathing. That's my teacher training, you know! Stop breathing until well past the snot cloud. My lungs were on fire, burning like those of a diver with an empty tank trying to surface.
I'd say I made it a good six steps past the scene of the slime before I had to inhale or faint dead away. What hurt worse than my lungs was the fact that I was UNABLE TO COMPLAIN while holding my breath!
"GASP! Did you SEE that? I swear, that kid sneezed when I got directly in front of him! Not even a hand over his mouth!"
It surely is the end of the world as we know it. Those younger generations are going to do themselves in, colliding with one another while walking in opposite directions, and blasting each other with viruses.
Farmer H always stops at the restroom on the way down that long promenade area. I use the regular one inside the casino before cashing out, but Farmer H always waits until the last minute. I stand outside and wait, watching the people go by.
On this day, there was an old man sitting on one of the leather-padded benches. Beside him was a boy of 5 or 6. I imagine the kid was sitting with his grandpa. That would be an odd combination if they came to the casino for gambling, but I assumed they were there for a wedding. The event center was open, and silver and gold Mylar balloons were entwined and decorating the pillars. Not that these two were dressed for a wedding, but standards are pretty lax these days.
Farmer H joined me again, and we started down the long hall toward the doors that led to the covered walkway that led to the parking lot. A lot of younger-than-normal people were coming in, headed toward the casino. It might have been because we were leaving later than usual. It was almost 5:00. We're used to being with the elderly. Our own kind. The afternoon gamblers, not the Saturday-night-out crowd.
One thing about those egregious Millennials...they're not gonna yield to ANYBODY! Not a foot, not an inch, not a micrometer would they yield. They have to be the generational champions of playing chicken. And here came a slew of them, striding up the wide carpeted promenade. They were walking at least four abreast. Taking up the entire cushy carpet, forcing Farmer H and I off onto the tile near the wall. Me, for sure. I think Farmer H had one foot on the cushy carpet, and one foot on the tile. He was trying not to be displaced, and had to lean-lunge towards me to avoid colliding with a Millennial shoulder. We were shunted closer to the Gramps & Young 'un duo.
I was directly in front of the Old Man and the Wee when that little dude SNEEZED. If he had been sneezing a dart, I would have been the bullseye! You've seen slow motion action of a sneeze, right? How billions of particles spray into the air? I felt them on my arm. I immediately stopped breathing. That's my teacher training, you know! Stop breathing until well past the snot cloud. My lungs were on fire, burning like those of a diver with an empty tank trying to surface.
I'd say I made it a good six steps past the scene of the slime before I had to inhale or faint dead away. What hurt worse than my lungs was the fact that I was UNABLE TO COMPLAIN while holding my breath!
"GASP! Did you SEE that? I swear, that kid sneezed when I got directly in front of him! Not even a hand over his mouth!"
It surely is the end of the world as we know it. Those younger generations are going to do themselves in, colliding with one another while walking in opposite directions, and blasting each other with viruses.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Even Though Her Head Was Bare, Everyone Could See That This Little Gal Had An A$$HAT
Coming out of Orb K on Saturday evening, I could tell it was prom night somewhere in Hillmomba. This was the third dressed-up couple I'd seen.They were entering as I was leaving.
Since I believe in following the unwritten laws of Hillmomban society...I keep right as I'm entering or exiting. Just like our traffic lanes. Keep right. It looked like this couple also obeyed such laws. So I didn't for an instant think the dude would hold the door open for me. Not because it was obvious that he was a Millennial or the generation which comes right after them. But because I was on the RIGHT side, going out my door, and he was on his own right side, coming in the other door. But sometimes, folks will see you coming out, and step back, holding that door for you to walk out.
Dude was all done up for prom. Fresh haircut, the sides razored, wearing a white tux jacket. His gal was in a shiny, royal-blue, long dress with a bejeweled silver halter kind of top. Her sandy hair was swept up on one side.
Dude did not open the door and stand back for me. No big deal. I wasn't expecting it. What I DIDN'T expect was the dickish behavior Dude showed his date.
HE WENT IN AHEAD OF HIS DATE, AND DIDN'T EVEN POP THAT DOOR OPEN EXTRA FAR FOR HER TO SLIP IN AFTER HIM. HE LET THAT DOOR SLAM RIGHT IN HER FACE.
I felt kind of bad for that little gal. Her date seemed like a real prima donna. And I don't mean that Dude was a chief female singer in an opera company. I mean that he was:
A very temperamental person with an inflated view of his own talent or importance.
Since I believe in following the unwritten laws of Hillmomban society...I keep right as I'm entering or exiting. Just like our traffic lanes. Keep right. It looked like this couple also obeyed such laws. So I didn't for an instant think the dude would hold the door open for me. Not because it was obvious that he was a Millennial or the generation which comes right after them. But because I was on the RIGHT side, going out my door, and he was on his own right side, coming in the other door. But sometimes, folks will see you coming out, and step back, holding that door for you to walk out.
Dude was all done up for prom. Fresh haircut, the sides razored, wearing a white tux jacket. His gal was in a shiny, royal-blue, long dress with a bejeweled silver halter kind of top. Her sandy hair was swept up on one side.
Dude did not open the door and stand back for me. No big deal. I wasn't expecting it. What I DIDN'T expect was the dickish behavior Dude showed his date.
HE WENT IN AHEAD OF HIS DATE, AND DIDN'T EVEN POP THAT DOOR OPEN EXTRA FAR FOR HER TO SLIP IN AFTER HIM. HE LET THAT DOOR SLAM RIGHT IN HER FACE.
I felt kind of bad for that little gal. Her date seemed like a real prima donna. And I don't mean that Dude was a chief female singer in an opera company. I mean that he was:
A very temperamental person with an inflated view of his own talent or importance.
Monday, April 30, 2018
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Recently Checkered Past
Those checkers are out to get me!
Saturday, I ran in Save A Lot for just a few items. Bananas, bacon, long flat sliced dill pickles for sandwiches, bologna, dill pickle spears, chips, and a half-loaf of Nutty Oat bread. Mmm...that bread was SOOO fresh! For a mass-produced half-loaf, of course.
That may not sound like just a few items, but it all fit in the child seat of my cart. I was behind two people with much fuller carts, and another hoarder/end-of-the-world prepper pulled up behind me with an overflowing cart. The checker called for backup. When Checker2 opened another lane and said she could help someone, the Prepper gave me the nod. I shook my head. Prepper was closer, and I was not in a hurry. So Prepper went to the new line.
I was prepared to stay in mine. I was now second. The Old Dude in front of me had all of his items out on the conveyor already. He had stood on the far side of the cart, tossing them. Maybe it's just me...but I would have stood between cart and conveyor, and laid them down with a gentleness. Perhaps Old Dude had a military background, and was used to lobbing grenades. Anyhoo...I was sure it would only take a minute for him to pay.
Until he mumbled to himself and to Checker1 that he was one 5-For-$20 item short, and would be going back to get one.
Yeah. No. I turned and went to Checker2, where Prepper was having an issue with her chip card. I wonder if she forgot her glasses. She got it straightened out, and as Even Steven would have it, I was paying at the same time as Old Dude in the first line. I made sure to pay attention, and got my card read on the first try. I wheeled my items over to the counter to bag them. I didn't want to deal with a box today. It's easier to loop bags over my arms, when I know that Farmer H is not going to be home to carry a box for me.
I put the two bags of chips in one bag. The two jars of pickles in a double-bag. Bologna and bacon in one, because they could be cold together. And the bananas--
THE BANANAS WERE ON THE BREAD!!!
Are you effing kidding me? Sweet Gummi Mary! A heavy bunch of five bananas, perched upon my soft, soft Nutty Oat half-loaf. Not so much perched, as sagging about the middle of that half-loaf. Right up there in the child seat, my bread acting as a cushion for the bananas.
WHO DOES THAT???
I held up my Nutty Oat half-loaf. Nope. No saving that fallen soldier. It had the shape of a cast made from a mold of a large keyhole. A little curvy part on top, then a narrow wasp-waist indentation, then a flaring at the bottom like jeans from the 1970s.
NO! I wasn't having it! No siree, Bob! I went to Checker1, since Checker2 had disappeared.
"Excuse me...can I trade this for another loaf? She put my bananas on top of it!"
Checker1 took my loaf and groped it. "Yeah. Well..." She squeezed my Nutty Oat like Mr. Whipple with the Charmin. "Here. You can put it back. Maybe someone else will want it."
"Maybe. It has a good date."
I didn't care what happened to that loaf, as long as I got another one. If someone didn't have a too-particular husband, and wanted to make toast, not sandwiches, and if every other loaf of bread was gone from the shelves...sure, they might want this keyhole loaf. I put it back, and got another one.
I'm not very tolerant in my old age.
Saturday, I ran in Save A Lot for just a few items. Bananas, bacon, long flat sliced dill pickles for sandwiches, bologna, dill pickle spears, chips, and a half-loaf of Nutty Oat bread. Mmm...that bread was SOOO fresh! For a mass-produced half-loaf, of course.
That may not sound like just a few items, but it all fit in the child seat of my cart. I was behind two people with much fuller carts, and another hoarder/end-of-the-world prepper pulled up behind me with an overflowing cart. The checker called for backup. When Checker2 opened another lane and said she could help someone, the Prepper gave me the nod. I shook my head. Prepper was closer, and I was not in a hurry. So Prepper went to the new line.
I was prepared to stay in mine. I was now second. The Old Dude in front of me had all of his items out on the conveyor already. He had stood on the far side of the cart, tossing them. Maybe it's just me...but I would have stood between cart and conveyor, and laid them down with a gentleness. Perhaps Old Dude had a military background, and was used to lobbing grenades. Anyhoo...I was sure it would only take a minute for him to pay.
Until he mumbled to himself and to Checker1 that he was one 5-For-$20 item short, and would be going back to get one.
Yeah. No. I turned and went to Checker2, where Prepper was having an issue with her chip card. I wonder if she forgot her glasses. She got it straightened out, and as Even Steven would have it, I was paying at the same time as Old Dude in the first line. I made sure to pay attention, and got my card read on the first try. I wheeled my items over to the counter to bag them. I didn't want to deal with a box today. It's easier to loop bags over my arms, when I know that Farmer H is not going to be home to carry a box for me.
I put the two bags of chips in one bag. The two jars of pickles in a double-bag. Bologna and bacon in one, because they could be cold together. And the bananas--
THE BANANAS WERE ON THE BREAD!!!
Are you effing kidding me? Sweet Gummi Mary! A heavy bunch of five bananas, perched upon my soft, soft Nutty Oat half-loaf. Not so much perched, as sagging about the middle of that half-loaf. Right up there in the child seat, my bread acting as a cushion for the bananas.
WHO DOES THAT???
I held up my Nutty Oat half-loaf. Nope. No saving that fallen soldier. It had the shape of a cast made from a mold of a large keyhole. A little curvy part on top, then a narrow wasp-waist indentation, then a flaring at the bottom like jeans from the 1970s.
NO! I wasn't having it! No siree, Bob! I went to Checker1, since Checker2 had disappeared.
"Excuse me...can I trade this for another loaf? She put my bananas on top of it!"
Checker1 took my loaf and groped it. "Yeah. Well..." She squeezed my Nutty Oat like Mr. Whipple with the Charmin. "Here. You can put it back. Maybe someone else will want it."
"Maybe. It has a good date."
I didn't care what happened to that loaf, as long as I got another one. If someone didn't have a too-particular husband, and wanted to make toast, not sandwiches, and if every other loaf of bread was gone from the shelves...sure, they might want this keyhole loaf. I put it back, and got another one.
I'm not very tolerant in my old age.
Sunday, April 29, 2018
The Incredulous Smirk
I've been a little rough on Farmer H lately. Not that I feel guilty. I'd go crazy if I didn't have this little outlet to complain about him. Say something to him that I might really feel guilty for. He has his good qualities, but they don't make good blog tales.
Farmer H seems to think that I'm his personal servant. Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know how he ever got that idea! I've never catered to him. He just feels entitled. I know he can take care of himself. He used to have his own apartment when he was between wives.
Perhaps you remember the time I found a banana peel stuffed into the cushions of the La-Z-Boy. And the toenail clippings in the candle on the mantel of the fake fireplace. Surely you remember the couch paper plate that sat there for three days. It was a fairly recent infraction.
Last Saturday, when we got back from the casino, I called Farmer H out on the Diet Mountain Dew bottle that he apparently intended to leave in T-Hoe. I was dropping him off at his Trailblazer at the Storage Unit Store, and he got out, leaving that bottle in the cup holder.
"Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?"
"No. I don't think so. I've got my keys."
"That bottle! Don't go leaving your trash in here for me!"
"HM! It still has some soda in it!" Farmer H held up the bottle, to show about an inch of liquid in the bottom.
"Take it! I'm not dealing with it."
And that's when Farmer H gave me an incredulous smirk. Shook his head slowly. Made an exaggerated motion of removing the bottle. AS IF I was the one making an unreasonable demand.
Flash forward to one night last week. I'd fixed Farmer H his supper (a large baked potato with BBQ pulled pork on top), and was sitting on the short couch to converse with him until he took off for one of his five auctions. I handed him a stack of 8 sets of insurance updates, three pages each. He's been calling our insurance agent to change the coverage on some of the vehicles, since he no longer drives them a long distance to work. And also changing coverage on the Gator, Scout, and 4-wheelers, since they're older now, and the value is less.
As Farmer H was getting ready to leave, I stood up to go back to the kitchen. I knew he would leave all those insurance papers laying on the table until I got sick of them and picked them up. I figured I might as well get it over with now. They weren't papers we needed. Just notifications to make sure we had the coverage we want now.
"Give me your trash," I said, holding out my hand for the insurance papers.
Farmer H reached out those papers, stacked on top of his paper plate and paper towel and knife and fork and soda bottle!
"Are you KIDDING ME? I'm NOT taking all your trash! You're not an invalid! Take your own trash. I just meant the insurance papers."
Farmer H tried to reason that I was taking the insurance papers to the trash. So what could the other stuff matter.
"I am sick of being the one to pick up after you! You're an adult! I've been stepping over these popcorn kernels that you don't seem to see. There was even one in your chair! You FINALLY picked up the paper plate on the couch. I'M NOT YOUR MAID!"
Yeah. I got the incredulous smirk again. But Farmer H threw away his supper plate and put his silverware by the sink.
Guess I showed HIM!
Farmer H seems to think that I'm his personal servant. Sweet Gummi Mary! I don't know how he ever got that idea! I've never catered to him. He just feels entitled. I know he can take care of himself. He used to have his own apartment when he was between wives.
Perhaps you remember the time I found a banana peel stuffed into the cushions of the La-Z-Boy. And the toenail clippings in the candle on the mantel of the fake fireplace. Surely you remember the couch paper plate that sat there for three days. It was a fairly recent infraction.
Last Saturday, when we got back from the casino, I called Farmer H out on the Diet Mountain Dew bottle that he apparently intended to leave in T-Hoe. I was dropping him off at his Trailblazer at the Storage Unit Store, and he got out, leaving that bottle in the cup holder.
"Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?"
"No. I don't think so. I've got my keys."
"That bottle! Don't go leaving your trash in here for me!"
"HM! It still has some soda in it!" Farmer H held up the bottle, to show about an inch of liquid in the bottom.
"Take it! I'm not dealing with it."
And that's when Farmer H gave me an incredulous smirk. Shook his head slowly. Made an exaggerated motion of removing the bottle. AS IF I was the one making an unreasonable demand.
Flash forward to one night last week. I'd fixed Farmer H his supper (a large baked potato with BBQ pulled pork on top), and was sitting on the short couch to converse with him until he took off for one of his five auctions. I handed him a stack of 8 sets of insurance updates, three pages each. He's been calling our insurance agent to change the coverage on some of the vehicles, since he no longer drives them a long distance to work. And also changing coverage on the Gator, Scout, and 4-wheelers, since they're older now, and the value is less.
As Farmer H was getting ready to leave, I stood up to go back to the kitchen. I knew he would leave all those insurance papers laying on the table until I got sick of them and picked them up. I figured I might as well get it over with now. They weren't papers we needed. Just notifications to make sure we had the coverage we want now.
"Give me your trash," I said, holding out my hand for the insurance papers.
Farmer H reached out those papers, stacked on top of his paper plate and paper towel and knife and fork and soda bottle!
"Are you KIDDING ME? I'm NOT taking all your trash! You're not an invalid! Take your own trash. I just meant the insurance papers."
Farmer H tried to reason that I was taking the insurance papers to the trash. So what could the other stuff matter.
"I am sick of being the one to pick up after you! You're an adult! I've been stepping over these popcorn kernels that you don't seem to see. There was even one in your chair! You FINALLY picked up the paper plate on the couch. I'M NOT YOUR MAID!"
Yeah. I got the incredulous smirk again. But Farmer H threw away his supper plate and put his silverware by the sink.
Guess I showed HIM!
Saturday, April 28, 2018
The Fault-Finder Stops At The End Of Her Nose
A couple times a week, I run to the store for odds and ends that don't require a full expedition to The Devil's Playground. Some items are better at Save A Lot, like salsa, pickles, hot dogs, buns, onions, and sour cream. Some things are better at Country Mart. Like Bugles for Chex Mix, Farmer H's ice cream cups with the chocolate and strawberry swirl, and Hoisen Sauce.
Of course the checkers simply cannot do anything to my satisfaction! They are better at Save A Lot, where I know one of them as a mom from one of Genius's classmates. On my various trips, I sometimes get cash back from the debit card. Depends on what we have going on that might better be purchased with cash (like the remainder of the bill for our Burger Brothers lunch when my food credit comp runs out), and how far we are into the week on the household cash allowance.
Save A Lot has a $20 cash back policy, and Country Mart allows $25. Save A Lot has a chip reader, and Country Mart does not. So Mrs. Hillbilly Mom must mind her Ps and Qs when she checks out. Glasses are pretty much a must.
As you might ascertain from this lengthy set-up...I ran in Country Mart without my glasses the other day. I only had a few items. Milk, ice cream, and romaine lettuce, I think. The bill was around $10, but I don't normally pay attention to that, what with being independently wealthy now that I'm retired, and having a considerable cushion of finances in checking for when monthly checks to the school for our health insurance policy are cashed. I write down the amount of grocery purchases in the checkbook when I get back to T-Hoe, but I don't worry about it in line.
On this particular day, I had to scan my debit card a second time.
"Ma'am? You'll need to scan your card again."
"Oh. Did it not read my card? Maybe I had it the wrong way. I'm used to the chip reader."
"No, when the screen came up asking if the amount was okay, you hit NO."
"Oh. I thought it was asking if I wanted cash back."
"Ours does it in a different order than most of them. I don't know why."
"Okay. I'll do it again."
I was putting my bag of groceries in the cart, and my debit card back in my pocket, when I was jolted out of my scratcher-purchase selections that were dancing in my head.
"What's that? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."
"You'll have to slide your card again."
"Oh. Why?"
"Did you want $250 back?"
"NOOO! I didn't want ANY cash back!"
"Well, I guess you somehow hit 'yes' to cash back, and then a zero instead of 'enter.' I had to clear it out because we can only give $25 back."
"Sorry. I really should have worn my glasses in today!"
Yes. Mrs. HM was THAT PERSON who holds up the line, because she's too feeble to understand the technology.
My apologies to all involved.
Of course the checkers simply cannot do anything to my satisfaction! They are better at Save A Lot, where I know one of them as a mom from one of Genius's classmates. On my various trips, I sometimes get cash back from the debit card. Depends on what we have going on that might better be purchased with cash (like the remainder of the bill for our Burger Brothers lunch when my food credit comp runs out), and how far we are into the week on the household cash allowance.
Save A Lot has a $20 cash back policy, and Country Mart allows $25. Save A Lot has a chip reader, and Country Mart does not. So Mrs. Hillbilly Mom must mind her Ps and Qs when she checks out. Glasses are pretty much a must.
As you might ascertain from this lengthy set-up...I ran in Country Mart without my glasses the other day. I only had a few items. Milk, ice cream, and romaine lettuce, I think. The bill was around $10, but I don't normally pay attention to that, what with being independently wealthy now that I'm retired, and having a considerable cushion of finances in checking for when monthly checks to the school for our health insurance policy are cashed. I write down the amount of grocery purchases in the checkbook when I get back to T-Hoe, but I don't worry about it in line.
On this particular day, I had to scan my debit card a second time.
"Ma'am? You'll need to scan your card again."
"Oh. Did it not read my card? Maybe I had it the wrong way. I'm used to the chip reader."
"No, when the screen came up asking if the amount was okay, you hit NO."
"Oh. I thought it was asking if I wanted cash back."
"Ours does it in a different order than most of them. I don't know why."
"Okay. I'll do it again."
I was putting my bag of groceries in the cart, and my debit card back in my pocket, when I was jolted out of my scratcher-purchase selections that were dancing in my head.
"What's that? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."
"You'll have to slide your card again."
"Oh. Why?"
"Did you want $250 back?"
"NOOO! I didn't want ANY cash back!"
"Well, I guess you somehow hit 'yes' to cash back, and then a zero instead of 'enter.' I had to clear it out because we can only give $25 back."
"Sorry. I really should have worn my glasses in today!"
Yes. Mrs. HM was THAT PERSON who holds up the line, because she's too feeble to understand the technology.
My apologies to all involved.
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