Spare The SarCOUGHagus, Soil The Child('s Close Contacts)

Never a dull moment for Mrs. HM at the Gas Station Chicken Store!

I was paying for my scratchers and magical elixir on Tuesday, when a woman came in with a baby on her hip. Not a BABY baby, but a non-walking little cherub. Lady stood behind me, off my right shoulder, even though another customer was already waiting to pay. There are no 6-foot circles in the Gas Station Chicken Store, and Lady was a close-waiter. Maybe two feet back, at best.

Shoving my 69 cents that was not covered by my scratcher winners under the plexiglass, I heard that Baby COUGH! I'll be danged if I'm gonna survive this VIRUS for two years, only to be taken out by WHOOPING COUGH! 

Lady exclaimed, "Oh, my!"

You know what I wanted to say? "Oh, my RUMPUS!" 

 

Stifle your baby! You know it's not going to cough into its elbow! Cover its mouth! Put a bag over its head! One of those mesh spit-bags that cops use when they hog-tie some drunk and shove him into the back seat of the patrol car. Or carry a section of screen door that the dog ripped loose. Or one of those round kitchen thingies for putting over a skillet so the grease doesn't pop. 

 

I'm not saying to plop that baby into a sarCOUGHagus and slide the lid in place! I love babies! I just can't eat a wh-- wait a minute. Are some jokes too dark for Mrs. HM's blog? I'd better cool it. I don't want to be mistaken for one of those elite satanic baby-eating pedophiles who run the world! Heh, heh. Hope you're up on your conspiracy theories!

Anyhoo... I don't appreciate being sprayed with baby spit. If the baby is sick, DON'T TAKE THE BABY OUT! I know she couldn't leave the baby in the car. But what was so important that she had to bring Baby into the Gas Station Chicken Store? She didn't go back to the cooler for milk. She was waiting at the counter. MAYBE to pay for gas. Or maybe she was going to buy scratchers. Or cigarettes. Or those tiny bottles of Fireball whiskey that seem to be a best-seller there.

I am not WHOOPING yet. But if it starts, I'll know who to blame.

Reports Of My "Lateness" Have Been Greatly Blown Out Of Proportion

Sweet Gummi Mary! If this short couch could talk! IF it could talk, after first saying, "Get your ample rumpus offa me!" it would then tell the accurate tale of events which unfolded Wednesday, but began on Tuesday evening.

 

It's time to pay the yearly tax bill(s). We get them all in a fat envelope from the county assessor. One bill for personal property taxes, and seven bills for real estate taxes. Only THIS year, there should have been EIGHT, because of Pony House. 

 

If you own the real estate any part of the year, you're supposed to pay the tax for the portion you owned it. That's different from personal property, like your cars, which you don't pay unless you owned it on January 1 of the tax year.

 

Anyhoo... at the closing for Pony House, part of the contract included money for the real estate taxes on Pony House. Since the bill did not come to us, Farmer H figures it went to the previous owner. Who has no obligation nor incentive to pay the tax bill. It's our responsibility. The same thing happened to us when we sold a couple of lots to a guy who lived next door to them, and wanted to purchase. WE still got the tax bill. Farmer H told me not to pay that one, and he was kind enough to call the new owner and let him know that the bill came to us, so the guy would realize he needed to pay the tax. It wasn't much on those lots, probably less than $15.

Anyhoo... Farmer H said that instead of mailing in our tax payments as usual, I should just give them to him and he would pay them when he went to the courthouse to ask for the Pony House tax bill. Made sense to me. You know the state of mail delivery these days...

I also wanted to redeem my Series EE savings bonds before the end of the year. Our savings institution (which is the only place I could find that will redeem savings bonds now) is catty-corner from the courthouse. AND Farmer H goes there once a month this year to get our weekly cash allowance, rather than pulling it out of our bank account.

"Since you'll be going over to Bill-Paying Town about those taxes, and to get our cash, I could ride along and redeem my bonds."

"That's fine. I plan to go on Wednesday. I'll be working at the house until my helper leaves. He has a doctor appointment at 1:00. You can come by, and we'll go."

"What time should I get there?"

"You could come at 1:00."

"That's pushing it a little. I don't want to get up EARLY!"

"Well, you should be there no later than 2:00."

"I can LEAVE here at 1:00, and be there at 1:30."

"Okay. That works."

So... I was running on time to get there at 1:30. It takes about 20 minutes. I went out the Mansion door at 1:00. Then I had to move all my junk mail catalogs off the passenger seat of T-Hoe. So I put them in a trash bag and onto the back seat.

When I got to the junction of the county blacktop road and the lettered highway, a man had parked his pickup truck at the stop sign, and was walking around the bed, tying in a mattress. Heh, heh! He had a MATTRESS in the BED of his pickup truck! I didn't find it so funny at the time. I waited a couple minutes, then had to pull into the other lane to get around him, hoping nobody would be turning in there. They didn't.

I took the Lake Road, which comes out by my mom's old bank and a former Casey's. Of course there was a car waiting to make a left turn. SO much traffic. I gave Farmer H a call at 1:26, to say I was running a little late. It took a while for that Lefty to get out of the way. Then once I made my right turn onto the main road to Pony House, I was behind all that traffic. There are two stop signs. I bet there were 12 cars ahead of me. Stop. Move. Stop. Move. 12 times!

When it was almost my turn at the second stop sign, a police car came at us in the other lane, lights on, leading a FUNERAL PROCESSION! That means you pull off the road out of respect, until all the cars with their lights on have passed by. Except I couldn't pull over because of the sidewalk light peninsula. But I stopped.

Whew! Only about two miles to Pony House. I made it there by 1:38. Farmer H seemed out-of-sorts. I asked him where we were going first.

"To do your bonds, I guess! It'll take a while to get over there. They'll be closing at 3:00!"

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure they're open until 4:00. Why didn't you tell me they close that early? I could have been here sooner."

"I thought you'd be here in plenty of time! I didn't know you'd be so late!"

"I'm not late! Well. Okay. I'm 8 minutes late. But I had some obstacles that never happen if I'm not supposed to be somewhere on time."

"You're more than 8 minutes late! You were supposed to be here at 1:00!"

"No I wasn't! It was 1:30! I TOLD you that on the couch last night! That 1:00 was too early for me, and I'd LEAVE HOME at 1:00, and be here by 1:30. Which I should have been. Why in the world would I have called you at 1:26 to be nice and say I was running a little behind, if I was supposed to be here at 1:00??? I would have called you before 1:00. You don't make any sense. You never listen to me! You were watching that stupid homesteading show with that weird Alaska guy who leaves his shirt unbuttoned like a swinger."

"Whatever..."

Anyhoo... we got to our financial institution right at 2:00. There's much more to THAT story... but while carrying out our business there, Farmer H discovered that they were open until 4:30.

He's such a drama queen.

They Are Making Me Mighty Suspicious

Around noon on Sunday, I called in my prescription refills. The automated system told me that my refills would be ready by 10:30 on Monday. On Monday, I had not received my usual text from the pharmacy that my prescriptions were ready. Not by 10:30. Not by 1:30. I called the store, and waited to speak with a real person.

"I'm calling to see if my refills are ready."

"Okay. What's your birthdate?"

"Numberty-number, the year of that."

 

"And your name?"

 

"Hillbilly Mom."

 

"Oh. Uhh... can I put you on hold?"

 

"Sure." [2-3 minutes later...]

 

"Um. Are you coming to get them today? I can have someone get them ready..."

 

"I was just seeing if they were ready. I can understand if you're really busy. Or is there something wrong? Is there something I need to do?"

 

"Uh... no. We have it all..."

 

"Okay. Then I'll just pick them up tomorrow."

 

See there? I really was just calling to see if they were ready, since I didn't get my usual text, saying they were ready. It was three hours after the automated refill line had told me they would be ready. I've called before, and they were out of one, and had to wait until it came in the next day. So I had no ulterior motive. Just saving myself a stop if they weren't.

 

However... does this gal seem shady, or what? I think she's the one I got at the window that one time, who charged me $20 too much, and then said they were giving me a discount after she left me sitting there for 10 minutes. 

 

I swear, she makes my pharmacy seem very much like the Liquor Store, catty-corner from them across the road to Country Mart. You KNOW my feelings on that Liquor Store. They seem to be operating some clandestine business that is NOT just liquor and vapes.

 

All This Gal had to do was look up my account, and say, "I'm sorry. They're not ready yet." That's it. Not a big deal. Now I'm kind of afraid to see what happens when I go pick them up. BECAUSE on the way to town, I got a text that 3 of 3 prescriptions were ready.

 

I did NOT stop by to get my meds. I showed THEM, heh, heh! I hope I am not marked as "difficult" in my file..."

 

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Tuesday, I drove to the pickup window at the pharmacy. A very Polite Gal waited on me. Asked my birthdate and name, punched it into her computer, then picked up the bag hanging on the rack of the drive-thru. She told me the price, asked if I had any questions for the pharmacist, then rang it up and handed it out the window.

Just like a normal pharmacy would do business. The cost was within a few cents of last month's total. Maybe the rest of the employees leave This Gal out of the loop for a reason...

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Mrs. HM Pays It Forward, But Not In Cash

After TWO people gave Mrs. HM cuts in line on the SAME DAY, you can bet she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. That level of kindness had not been apparent in Hillmomba for the past year or more. So Even Steven probably had some dastardly plan up his sleeve. Like maybe another door-enterer who would slip through the opening, then PULL THAT DOOR SHUT in Mrs. HM's face. Or a donut-buying man who would start screaming and tossing his donuts when asked politely by Mrs. HM if he was next in line. Yes. Those two thing happened, and at the very same Casey's. Which is now closed and being dismantled. KARMA!

 

Anyhoo... the very next day after the double-cutsies, I was a bit on edge. Certainly not expecting any niceties from strangers, and kinda worried about THE EVEN-ING OF STEVEN. I had no idea what form it might take, so I was ever-vigilant.

As I walked under the gas-pump-roof on my way to the door of the Gas Station Chicken Store, I noticed a mid-sized SUV parked there, with a little girl flitting around. She might have been 5. Just cutting up like a young 'un will do when released from a vehicle after a drive. A woman I presumed to be her mother was also moving around, from one side of the back seat to the other car door. 

 

I didn't greet them, nor they me. I was too busy stepping through the assorted detritus that had spewed from the vehicle. It looked like caramel corn, some wrappers, another foodish crumbly array. I made it through the store door without incident. Had a clear path to the soda fountain, though a chubby man was waiting to pay.

While filling my cup with 44 oz of Diet Coke, I heard Woman Owner, who was on register duty, jawing at Chubby.

"We don't do that here! That's just nasty! This is NOT a car wash! I really don't appreciate it."

Chubby didn't say anything. He put his card in the contraption tethered by its power wire, and paid for his gas. Then left. Woman Owner didn't even ask him if he wanted the red tickets for the gas drawing. She's usually overly fake-nice to the customers. So this was surprising. 

By this time I was waiting to pay. A young working man came in and stood back respectfully, cash in hand.

"Are you just paying for gas?"

"Uh huh. And getting cigarettes."

"Go on ahead. I might take a while."

"Oh. Thank you!"

SEEEEE? Mrs. HM can be polite! She can give cutsies. Don't cost nothin'. Surely this would repay at least half my debt to Even Steven.

When it was my turn, I told Woman Owner that I got the impression that Chubby didn't want to hear it. The lecture she gave him.

"I don't care if he wanted to hear it or not! I doubt he even speaks English. His woman was scraping her trash out of the car, like a dog digging a hole, ONTO THE GROUND!"

"And the trash can is RIGHT THERE! Only three feet away!"

"I KNOW! Not only that, but when she started doing it, I tapped on the window, and shook my head at her. And she looked at me, then KEPT DOING IT! We have trouble with these people all the time. They come from the border on their way to Minnesota. I don't know why they all have to pick OUR PLACE to stop! I'm shocked that he bought gas. He must have been on empty. Usually, they park here in front, blocking the two gas pumps, then they all come in and use our bathrooms, and leave without buying anything. I don't need their trash all over my parking lot! That is one thing I won't miss when we finally lock up the doors for good!"

She was all wound up. Even Man Owner, who is the cheeriest fellow you will ever meet, had a scowl on his face as he headed out the door with his broom and dustpan-on-a-stick.

Anyhoo... I got an interesting story, and made a dent in my karma with Even Steven.

The Good Deeds Continue

I left Country Mart after being given a line jump by that sweet lady with a full cart, and headed for the Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir.

 

Upon entering, I had to go down the narrow aisle on the far left, which has an ATM and a cooler of juices and a shelf of automobile accessories. That was because a lady and her teenage daughter were blocking the middle aisle, putting their red tickets in a cardboard box for the weekly gas drawing. Not really blaming them. That's the only place they could have been standing, although they could have shoved over to let me pass.

 

Anyhoo... I went across the back aisle under the long shoplifter mirror, and came up to the soda fountain. The guy who came in the door behind me (yes, I gave him the courtesy wide-door-yank) was more svelte than I, and had squeezed through the aisle-blockers and the dude checking out, to come down towards the soda fountain. Thank the Gummi Mary, he was using the Pepsi fountain! Getting TWO sodas.

The lids and straws are now on the other side of the Pepsi fountain. I was done drawing my 44 oz Diet Coke, and was biding my time until I could get a lid. After-Guy was trying to fill his second 44 oz cup, a Diet Pepsi, which was foaming too much. 

"Oh! I'm sorry! I'm blocking the lids."

"No, that's okay. I'm not in a hurry. I just have to go home and warm up leftovers."

"Yeah. My kid called and asked if I was stopping to bring home food, and I said, 'We have a whole refrigerator full of food!'"

He put on his lids, and went up front. He set his sodas on the left side of the counter, where the register was closed, and pulled out his wallet.

"You can go ahead."

"Oh, you don't have to do that!"

"No, it's fine."

I went ahead, cashing in my $20 scratcher winner. Got new tickets. Paid for my magical elixir. The Afternoon Cashier asked how was my Thanksgiving.

"Good! I'm headed for some leftovers. How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was good. Even though I had to drive WAY DOWN SOUTH!"

"Oh? Where did you go?"

"I don't know! Somewhere down below Bill-Paying Town!"

"Uh. You could go a LOT farther 'down south' than down below Bill-Paying Town!"

"I didn't know the area. It was a bunch of trees! It was so dark. I kept trying to follow the directions on my phone. I was hoping nobody would jump out of the woods!"

"Heh, heh! When I worked in St. Louis, one of the secretaries said her mother told her, "NEVER go south of Lindbergh! There are no streetlights down there." [Blog Buddy Sioux will get that reference.]

"Some city people don't understand that we're not ALL bad down here! We'd even help them out if they needed it."

He wasn't a-woofin'!

 

I thanked After-Guy again for letting me go ahead. I guess everybody is full of Christmas cheer now that Thanksgiving is over.

Warming Mrs. HM's Cockles

Friday, I ran in Country Mart to pick up some bananas. Some marketing genius has set up a table of Little Debbie Cakes on the narrow entry from the indoor cart corral to the store proper. So of course I grabbed a giant box of the Cosmic Brownies for The Pony. He goes through a box a week.

 

That was all I needed. The shortest shopping trip ever. I grabbed those brownies like a NASCAR winner grabbing the checkered flag, only I didn't need to slow down. The banana stand is the second one back in the produce department. I picked up the greenest of the yellow bananas, and went directly to the checkout. Only one lane open. The short conveyor.

 

One man was paying, and a lady with a full cart had already emptied half of it onto the short conveyor. I pulled in behind her, leaving a tasteful 6 feet, and leaned on my cart/walker to wait. I am never in a hurry. 

 

The lady had a daughter with her, about 9-10 years old. She might have had special needs, or maybe was just high-spirited. She was running around, and whirling with her arms out like Julie Andrews in the Austrian Alps in The Sound of Music. Not annoying like some little monsters, but just enjoying herself, passing time. Every now and then, The Lady would say, "Come help me put this out." And she would for a minute.

As The Lady turned again to ask Daughter for help, she saw me in line behind her.

"Oh, please. Let my stuff sit, and take her first. She only has two things!"

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

"That is SO KIND! You don't have to do that!"

"I want to. Go ahead."

"Thank you!"

I handed the Old Gal Checker my bananas. She weighed them. Put them in a bag. I handed her my (The Pony's) box of Cosmic Brownies.

"Oh, these are always SO HEAVY!"

"Yes! They seem way heavier than brownies should be. My son loves them. He works for the post office, delivering mail, but says he can't eat one in the morning, because it's too heavy in his stomach while carrying mail!"

As I paid with my card, I turned to The Lady. "Thank you so much!"

"She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" said Old Gal Checker.

 

Yes. She most definitely was. I'm not used to such kindness. It warms the cockles of my cold, cold heart. Melts the ice like a chemical handwarmer given a good smack and jammed down into my aorta. Like slathering BenGay on my sternum. Like resting with a newborn sleeping against my chestal area.

Another Cryptic Message From Farmer H

Living with Farmer H is not a walk in the park. Not a bicycle-built-for-two ride. Not a picnic. You have to constantly be on your toes, one tippy-toe ahead of Farmer H.

Here's the text that I received at 12:52 p.m.

"I got a ball for the refrigerator light and I'm going over to work on the house for a little while"

First of all, I was SHOCKED by the correct spelling and grammar. It was almost as if somebody else typed it for him. But knowing he'd been at his Storage Unit Store, I knew that was unlikely, as all Farmer H's "unit" cronies are of similar communicative ilk. Farmer H must have gotten lucky with autocorrect.

But then there was the issue of the BALL.

Why did Farmer H get a toy for FRIG II's light? I know Christmas is coming up, but we normally don't give our appliances gifts. And how would FRIG II's light even play with a ball? It has no arms! Besides, FRIG II is so stuffed with leftovers that there's no room to play ball inside. And how could anyone see to play ball inside closed FRIG II--

WAIT A MINUTE!

Did Farmer H mean he'd bought a BULB for FRIG II's light? Was there something amiss inside FRIG II? Everything was fine on Thursday night when I got out some leftovers. I hadn't opened the door since.

Yep! FRIG II was dark as a midnight in a black hole!

I would have taken a picture, but Farmer H got home as I was leaving the garage when I came back from town. He was so efficient that I couldn't get a pic! 

I hope FRIG II's light wasn't expecting a ball.