It just doesn't pay to be nice these days.
I stopped by Country Mart on Saturday to pick up some tortillas, corn chips, and bread. Somebody had left a cart in front of T-Hoe, on the sidewalk. Since I knew I'd need a cart anyway, I spun it around to push inside. Even though a windy mist was blowing around, and the cart handle was wet and chilly at 45 degrees. I'm a do-gooder like that.
The wind was whipping my lovely lady-mullet into a matted mom-mop, but I halted just before the door. A lady was walking in from the across the parking-lot thoroughfare. I figured I'd let her go on through the automatic doors first. She was striding purposefully, no doubt wanting to get out of the windy mist, and I'd have to maneuver my cart into a right-angle turn, and bump it over the carpet runners of the entryway. It would be faster for her to go in first.
And just then, that lady reached for my cart! I thought she was going to wrench it out of my cold moist hands, her pulling on the front end of it, and me at the push-bar.
"Are you done with this?"
"No. I'm bringing it in!"
"Oh."
Off she went, inside, to wrangle her own cart free from a stack of four. Man! Some days, it just doesn't pay to be nice. I didn't even bother to mention that I was trying to be nice, and let her in the door first. She just wanted my cart.
While I'm complaining about my niceness not working out for me, let me also complain about Country Mart's merchandise practices. I was planning to pick up some cheese sticks for snacks. They're good for Farmer H, not sugary. He has some pepper jack flavor, but I was looking at cheddar. Some brands and flavors were on sale.
I considered one pack for $3.99 (yes, Country Mart IS high on their prices, but convenienter than The Devil's Playground). That kind was a mozzarella/colby swirl, I think. Very similar to the kind we'd just run out of. Then I saw cheddar for $4.23. Not on sale, but not that much more. I had it in my hand, ready to put it in my (MY) cart, when I saw the expiration date: March 15, 2019.
THAT DATE HAS PASSED!
No way am I paying full price on March 30 for cheddar sticks that expired on March 15!
I might even reconsider bringing their carts in from now on.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Saturday, March 30, 2019
Even Steven Is Such A Prankster
One of these days, I'm going to get even with Even Steven. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I am going to find a way!
Here's the deal. Remember how we had CasinoPalooza 4 last week? I wrote about it elsewhere, and shared a pic of one of my bonuses that almost got me locked up in casino jail for daring to take a picture of my own slot win! Here. I'm going to put that pic here as well. Just because it was such an ordeal getting it.
What I didn't actually reveal was that I also hit another bonus less than an hour later, and took a picture of THAT one, too!
Here's the deal. I could have cashed that money out and stuffed it in my gambling purse and come out ahead. COULD have. But what's the fun in that? I had a casino bankroll, and I was there to play. We only have a CasinoPalooza a couple times a year. So while I DID cash it out, I used it to play on the next day, as we went through seven casinos again, and kept the portion of my casino bankroll that I had budgeted for days 2 and 3 intact. Never gave it a second thought. Until yesterday.
I got a bill in the mail for $312 for insurance on a camper that's not technically ours. And also the bill for the electricity for the $5000 house that Farmer H is rebuilding, which was pretty much a bargain at $13 and change. But THEN, just after finishing his supper of ham and broccoli/cauliflower with cheese, Farmer H announced that he'd paid $240 for two loads of gravel for our roads, and would need to be reimbursed.
SWEET GUMMI MARY!
Do you see the irony here? My slot bonuses added up to around $585 after accounting for the two twenties I'd put in to win them. And these three expenses I discovered on Friday added up to $565. So, had I known what was coming, I could have stashed that win away to cover these unexpected expenses. I wouldn't have WANTED to, of course, since that's MY money, and not household money. But I WOULD have done it, just because I don't like the unexpected.
Of course, Farmer H would not have done so, had it been HIS bonus wins. He even wants to be reimbursed for his Storage Unit money that he spent on the gravel.
Farmer H is not selfless like Mrs. HM.
It's not a big deal, because I keep a cushion of cash in the household checking account, just for unexpected stuff like this. I wrote out the checks yesterday, and mailed them today. It's just the idea that if I'd known this was coming, I would have budgeted my windfall for it. Darn that Even Steven and his wonky timing!
Here's the deal. Remember how we had CasinoPalooza 4 last week? I wrote about it elsewhere, and shared a pic of one of my bonuses that almost got me locked up in casino jail for daring to take a picture of my own slot win! Here. I'm going to put that pic here as well. Just because it was such an ordeal getting it.
What I didn't actually reveal was that I also hit another bonus less than an hour later, and took a picture of THAT one, too!
Here's the deal. I could have cashed that money out and stuffed it in my gambling purse and come out ahead. COULD have. But what's the fun in that? I had a casino bankroll, and I was there to play. We only have a CasinoPalooza a couple times a year. So while I DID cash it out, I used it to play on the next day, as we went through seven casinos again, and kept the portion of my casino bankroll that I had budgeted for days 2 and 3 intact. Never gave it a second thought. Until yesterday.
I got a bill in the mail for $312 for insurance on a camper that's not technically ours. And also the bill for the electricity for the $5000 house that Farmer H is rebuilding, which was pretty much a bargain at $13 and change. But THEN, just after finishing his supper of ham and broccoli/cauliflower with cheese, Farmer H announced that he'd paid $240 for two loads of gravel for our roads, and would need to be reimbursed.
SWEET GUMMI MARY!
Do you see the irony here? My slot bonuses added up to around $585 after accounting for the two twenties I'd put in to win them. And these three expenses I discovered on Friday added up to $565. So, had I known what was coming, I could have stashed that win away to cover these unexpected expenses. I wouldn't have WANTED to, of course, since that's MY money, and not household money. But I WOULD have done it, just because I don't like the unexpected.
Of course, Farmer H would not have done so, had it been HIS bonus wins. He even wants to be reimbursed for his Storage Unit money that he spent on the gravel.
Farmer H is not selfless like Mrs. HM.
It's not a big deal, because I keep a cushion of cash in the household checking account, just for unexpected stuff like this. I wrote out the checks yesterday, and mailed them today. It's just the idea that if I'd known this was coming, I would have budgeted my windfall for it. Darn that Even Steven and his wonky timing!
Friday, March 29, 2019
My Only Solace Is The Absence Of Gravy
Farmer H decided to make his own supper on Thursday night. We were going to have ham and broccoli/cauliflower with cheese sauce. Farmer H said to put that off another night, that he'd make himself ham and eggs. He knows I can't fry eggs to his satisfaction. Don't think he was doing me a favor.
Well. He most certainly did me no favors. At least when he sneak-eats eggs, (something he did on a more regular basis before the neighbor dogs killed all our chickens, when we had a dozen fresh eggs every day), he washes the plate and the pan and the spatula and even puts them away. For secrecy. Since I KNEW he was having eggs, and even had to buy some at the store, Farmer H saw no reason to wash up.
"I can't believe you left that skillet for me to wash!"
"Well, when I wash it, you complain that I only wash my skillet, and not the other dishes sitting there. So I didn't want you to complain, so I didn't wash it."
"SERIOUSLY? That's your reasoning? That's not how it works. Now I'm complaining because YOU DIDN'T EVEN WASH YOUR OWN SKILLET!"
I can't believe Farmer H thinks he can get away with his shenanigans! The only bright side to this blatant test of Mrs. HM's sunny demeanor is that the Mansion had no gravy available for Farmer H to pour all over his fried eggs!
Well. He most certainly did me no favors. At least when he sneak-eats eggs, (something he did on a more regular basis before the neighbor dogs killed all our chickens, when we had a dozen fresh eggs every day), he washes the plate and the pan and the spatula and even puts them away. For secrecy. Since I KNEW he was having eggs, and even had to buy some at the store, Farmer H saw no reason to wash up.
"I can't believe you left that skillet for me to wash!"
"Well, when I wash it, you complain that I only wash my skillet, and not the other dishes sitting there. So I didn't want you to complain, so I didn't wash it."
"SERIOUSLY? That's your reasoning? That's not how it works. Now I'm complaining because YOU DIDN'T EVEN WASH YOUR OWN SKILLET!"
I can't believe Farmer H thinks he can get away with his shenanigans! The only bright side to this blatant test of Mrs. HM's sunny demeanor is that the Mansion had no gravy available for Farmer H to pour all over his fried eggs!
Thursday, March 28, 2019
CasinoPaloozing Can Be Hazardous To Your Health
Sweet Gummi Mary! CasinoPalooza 4 almost put Mrs. Hillbilly Mom on the disabled list!
It all started on Monday evening. We checked in and left our stuff in the hotel, then hit the road in A-Cad to visit six more casinos. While driving from one to another (they're only 5-10 minutes apart), I opened up the glove compartment and offered Sis and Ex-Mayor some lotion. My hands always suffer on CasinoPaloozas. I think it's from the constant handwashing. I'm not nearly as big a germaphobe about casinos as I was about my classroom. That place was a petrie dish swarming with cultures. In a casino, though, I drink the free soda (Diet Pepsi, unfortunately), which means a trip to the bathroom before leaving each one, which means handwashing. My hands get really dry by the second day, so I try to moisturize every time we get in the car.
They turned down my lotion most times. That's okay! More for me! They're just the complimentary tubes that we get at the hotels for free. I also offered them a some Salt and Pepper Peanuts. Wish I'd taken a picture. It was just a bag of regular peanuts, with salt and pepper. See? It's not rocket science. I didn't have to read the ingredients. Sis and Ex-Mayor both had some peanuts, and Farmer H, too. Then I offered them a piece of cinnamon candy. I had a bag of them left from two Oklahoma trips ago. That darn cinnamon candy burned my tongue! I've had to be very cautious with it. Which means not eating six pieces while riding in the car.
Ex-Mayor had a piece. "Ooh! This is hot!"
"Don't I know it! I can't eat it. My tongue will peel off."
Sis was digging in her purse. She was right behind me, so I didn't see her, but I know the sound of purse-digging. "Here. I have some that I buy for Ex-Mayor. It's not brand-name, like your Brach's. In fact, its name is just Cinnamon Discs. I think they're pretty mild."
I tried one, and it was still kind of spicy. Set my tongue to tingling. Of course our next stop was High Winds Casino, where they have FREE hot chocolate on their self-service beverage bar. I got a cup of it, and even though I waited and waited for it to cool, and blew on it, and took tiny sips to judge the temperature... I still burned my tongue. In fact, my tongue stayed burned through the next evening's TWO cups of hot chocolate, and the following morning's breakfast of spicy sausage patties, and pretty much for a whole darn week after we got home!
Monday night, I had the misfortune of stubbing my toe on the wooden frame around the hotel bed. I don't know why they do that! People walk up to the bed, and expect there to be space under it for their toes. It's not like I'm planning on sleeping on top of a wooden platform. But apparently, I am. I heard Farmer H stub his own stubby toes through the night, but I prefer not to think about his FEET.
The Downstream Casino hotel is nice, with a beautifully tiled walk-in shower. Always clean. Not to mention FREE with our comps. But the beds are not comfortable. I think it's because first of all, that wooden frame is hard on the toes. And the bed is TOO HIGH. I doubt my favorite gambling aunt could even get up in there without a step-stool. The pillows are SO uncomfortable. They are like air. you lay your head on them, and they deflate. Like cotton candy is inside. Even using three pillows, I could not make my neck comfortable. AND the sheets cling to me. Every time I turn over, I get wrapped up like a burrito. It doesn't help that there is such static electricity that any movement during the night sets off blue sparks! It's kind of intriguing the first fifty times you see it. After that, not so much.
On Monday, while driving around in A-Cad, I'd heard Sis sniffle a couple times. I figured there was something in the air. I had a box of Puffs Plus Lotion in the back, and a little wastebasket. So I didn't think much of it. Until Tuesday, when I heard Sis sniffle a LOT. And sneeze several times. And blow her nose on the Puffs.
"Are you sick?"
"I don't think so. I don't feel bad. It's just mainly annoying. I don't think I have a fever. On Friday, when we babysat Babe, she was really sick. Hot with a fever. I held her on my lap. I was hoping I didn't get it..."
REEEE! Danger, danger! Sis had been riding behind me, breathing her air in my direction for two days! Of course you know what happened. On the (silent) trip home on Wednesday, I had to cough and clear my throat every couple of minutes. I didn't feel bad. But I HAD felt a little out-of-breath walking into the rest stop. And that morning, I'd felt kind of odd during my last-minute bonus. The more I thought about it, the more I was pretty sure that I was coming down with something.
Thursday morning, I sent Sis a text: "I'm sick as a dog! I figure I'll get over it about three days after you do."
"Oh, no! Ex-Mayor is not sick, and I'm with him all the time. Is it nose and cough? I haven't had a fever if you are blaming it on me. Now I feel bad, but didn't think I was contagious and I have not felt bad."
"It started in my lungs yesterday, wheezy and clearing my throat. Bad cough. I don't know why you feel bad, just because I breathed your air. It's not like either of us could stop breathing."
Anyhoo... Farmer H got me some Chinese Hot & Sour Soup on Thursday night, and I felt a little better. Then on Sunday night, it moved into my head! Stuffy. Hot and cold. Headache. No smell, no taste. Eyes watery and sensitive to light. Terrible, until Wednesday, when I seemed to be cured, except for an occasion leftover cough.
Poor Sis, though, got her cough on Tuesday, and felt really bad. She might need a trip to the doctor. She should have been over it before me.
CasinoPaloozing, like a scary roller coaster, needs a health warning.
It all started on Monday evening. We checked in and left our stuff in the hotel, then hit the road in A-Cad to visit six more casinos. While driving from one to another (they're only 5-10 minutes apart), I opened up the glove compartment and offered Sis and Ex-Mayor some lotion. My hands always suffer on CasinoPaloozas. I think it's from the constant handwashing. I'm not nearly as big a germaphobe about casinos as I was about my classroom. That place was a petrie dish swarming with cultures. In a casino, though, I drink the free soda (Diet Pepsi, unfortunately), which means a trip to the bathroom before leaving each one, which means handwashing. My hands get really dry by the second day, so I try to moisturize every time we get in the car.
They turned down my lotion most times. That's okay! More for me! They're just the complimentary tubes that we get at the hotels for free. I also offered them a some Salt and Pepper Peanuts. Wish I'd taken a picture. It was just a bag of regular peanuts, with salt and pepper. See? It's not rocket science. I didn't have to read the ingredients. Sis and Ex-Mayor both had some peanuts, and Farmer H, too. Then I offered them a piece of cinnamon candy. I had a bag of them left from two Oklahoma trips ago. That darn cinnamon candy burned my tongue! I've had to be very cautious with it. Which means not eating six pieces while riding in the car.
Ex-Mayor had a piece. "Ooh! This is hot!"
"Don't I know it! I can't eat it. My tongue will peel off."
Sis was digging in her purse. She was right behind me, so I didn't see her, but I know the sound of purse-digging. "Here. I have some that I buy for Ex-Mayor. It's not brand-name, like your Brach's. In fact, its name is just Cinnamon Discs. I think they're pretty mild."
I tried one, and it was still kind of spicy. Set my tongue to tingling. Of course our next stop was High Winds Casino, where they have FREE hot chocolate on their self-service beverage bar. I got a cup of it, and even though I waited and waited for it to cool, and blew on it, and took tiny sips to judge the temperature... I still burned my tongue. In fact, my tongue stayed burned through the next evening's TWO cups of hot chocolate, and the following morning's breakfast of spicy sausage patties, and pretty much for a whole darn week after we got home!
Monday night, I had the misfortune of stubbing my toe on the wooden frame around the hotel bed. I don't know why they do that! People walk up to the bed, and expect there to be space under it for their toes. It's not like I'm planning on sleeping on top of a wooden platform. But apparently, I am. I heard Farmer H stub his own stubby toes through the night, but I prefer not to think about his FEET.
The Downstream Casino hotel is nice, with a beautifully tiled walk-in shower. Always clean. Not to mention FREE with our comps. But the beds are not comfortable. I think it's because first of all, that wooden frame is hard on the toes. And the bed is TOO HIGH. I doubt my favorite gambling aunt could even get up in there without a step-stool. The pillows are SO uncomfortable. They are like air. you lay your head on them, and they deflate. Like cotton candy is inside. Even using three pillows, I could not make my neck comfortable. AND the sheets cling to me. Every time I turn over, I get wrapped up like a burrito. It doesn't help that there is such static electricity that any movement during the night sets off blue sparks! It's kind of intriguing the first fifty times you see it. After that, not so much.
On Monday, while driving around in A-Cad, I'd heard Sis sniffle a couple times. I figured there was something in the air. I had a box of Puffs Plus Lotion in the back, and a little wastebasket. So I didn't think much of it. Until Tuesday, when I heard Sis sniffle a LOT. And sneeze several times. And blow her nose on the Puffs.
"Are you sick?"
"I don't think so. I don't feel bad. It's just mainly annoying. I don't think I have a fever. On Friday, when we babysat Babe, she was really sick. Hot with a fever. I held her on my lap. I was hoping I didn't get it..."
REEEE! Danger, danger! Sis had been riding behind me, breathing her air in my direction for two days! Of course you know what happened. On the (silent) trip home on Wednesday, I had to cough and clear my throat every couple of minutes. I didn't feel bad. But I HAD felt a little out-of-breath walking into the rest stop. And that morning, I'd felt kind of odd during my last-minute bonus. The more I thought about it, the more I was pretty sure that I was coming down with something.
Thursday morning, I sent Sis a text: "I'm sick as a dog! I figure I'll get over it about three days after you do."
"Oh, no! Ex-Mayor is not sick, and I'm with him all the time. Is it nose and cough? I haven't had a fever if you are blaming it on me. Now I feel bad, but didn't think I was contagious and I have not felt bad."
"It started in my lungs yesterday, wheezy and clearing my throat. Bad cough. I don't know why you feel bad, just because I breathed your air. It's not like either of us could stop breathing."
Anyhoo... Farmer H got me some Chinese Hot & Sour Soup on Thursday night, and I felt a little better. Then on Sunday night, it moved into my head! Stuffy. Hot and cold. Headache. No smell, no taste. Eyes watery and sensitive to light. Terrible, until Wednesday, when I seemed to be cured, except for an occasion leftover cough.
Poor Sis, though, got her cough on Tuesday, and felt really bad. She might need a trip to the doctor. She should have been over it before me.
CasinoPaloozing, like a scary roller coaster, needs a health warning.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
She Was NO Sweet Gummi Mary
From time to time, I use one of my favorite exclamations: SWEET GUMMI MARY! That refers to the time one of my students saw an image of the Virgin Mary in a plate of melted gummi bears. Another version of this phrase came to mind when Farmer H and I were having our (mostly free) breakfast buffet on the second morning of CasinoPalooza 4.
We had stayed at a casino hotel separate from the ex-mayor and my sister his wife, because Farmer H didn't have a free night at the other one. So it was just the two of us at breakfast. The two of us, and about 30 other people. One little gal was taking money at the register as people left, and in between leavings, was showing new people to their tables. While most opted for the breakfast buffet, some preferred to order off the menu.
One other gal was waiting tables. Taking drink orders and/or food orders, bringing the tabs, clearing plates. Just one gal. As you can imagine, she was pretty busy.Since Farmer H and I had the buffet, we weren't too concerned with service. We sat at a table that could accommodate four, so we had plenty of room for our plates, even already-eaten ones that Farmer H set aside.
A single man came in, and was put at a table for two near us, up against a brick pillar. I might have complained, had I been him, but I might not. He didn't have a very good view, but he also didn't have people eyeballing him and wondering why he was there alone. He ordered off the menu, choosing the chicken-fried steak. Yes, people apparently eat that for breakfast in Oklahoma. It was on another breakfast buffet at another casino.
I'm not really a people-watcher. My mom was, but I tend to mind my own business. I do confess to noticing that when this guy's chicken-fried steak finally arrived, he asked for jelly. JELLY! That was curious. We had a whole jelly caddy on our table, with four columns, filled with jellies: strawberry jam, grape jelly, orange marmalade, and blackberry jelly. I know, because I'd been admiring the compact utilitiness of this holder. The Waiting Gal reached over to another table, and handed Mr. Chicken-Fried Steak his own jelly caddy. He selected one (no, I don't know which, what do you think I am, NOSY?) and slathered some on his chicken-fried steak. Which is, you know, covered with white gravy. I guess this is no worse than Farmer H burying his fried eggs in white gravy, but it seemed odd to me.
Farmer H and I were almost done eating by this time. I'd say we'd been there about 30 minutes. The elderly couple (heh, heh, probably younger than US) who entered right ahead of us had just finished. They also had the buffet. But the table behind Farmer H, a woman and perhaps her adult daughter, still had no food in front of them. They'd been there when we sat down. I wondered what in the world they ordered.
Not that it was my business, of course. But they were in my line of sight every time I looked up at Farmer H, and the older of the two seemed a little agitated. In fact, when Waiting Gal brought the bill to the elderly couple beside us, Agitated hollered, "Ma'am? We have been here a long time, and nobody is waiting on us." Not in a rude way. But in a way that demanded attention. Here's where it all went very wrong.
Waiting Gal hollered back, her hands full of used plates from the elderly couple's table, "I'm very busy right now, and don't have any help. I will get there as soon as I can." It didn't tip the scales in her favor that she had a little bit of attitude in her voice. Believe you me, after 28 years of teaching, I know you have to keep that attitude in check and out of your voice!
Well. The minute Waiting Gal was headed to the back room with those dirty plates, Agitated and Jr got in an animated discussion. No doubt about how they had been wronged. They caught another employee walking through. She must have been in charge, as she was wearing a badge, and not doing any discernible work. Agitated bent her ear for a minute. I saw a bunch of nods in agreement, and an apparent apology. Then Mgmt went to the back room.
Agitated and Jr ranted to each other a bit more. All the while, Agitated was sipping from her drink. So apparently, they HAD been waited on at one time, or they wouldn't have any drinks. Jr had water or a clear soda, and Agitated had tomato juice. Except I think it must have been very special tomato juice, because it wasn't in a little 6-ounce juice glass, but in a tall glass like a soda might come in, with ice and a straw. So I'm pretty sure it was a Bloody Mary. Which could explain the impatience of Agitated, especially if she was wanting another.
As I pondered that scenario, Agitated and Jr got up and left! I didn't see any money on the table, but it looked like they both left their voucher for free food. Which might have been $5 or $10 or more. And they didn't have any food that I could see. Thing is, you have to sign those vouchers at the register. Maybe they already signed them.
As Farmer H and I left AFTER PAYING with our vouchers, we walked past Agitated at the entrance. Speaking to another, apparently higher, management figure. Who was nodding in agreement, and taking a paper (official complaint?) from Agitated. I don't foresee any good coming of this for Agitated. It might be different if she'd slipped on a fallen biscuit or something. But she seemed to already be getting comps from the casino. I don't know how much more they could give her.
I'm going to remember her as Sour Bloody Mary.
We had stayed at a casino hotel separate from the ex-mayor and my sister his wife, because Farmer H didn't have a free night at the other one. So it was just the two of us at breakfast. The two of us, and about 30 other people. One little gal was taking money at the register as people left, and in between leavings, was showing new people to their tables. While most opted for the breakfast buffet, some preferred to order off the menu.
One other gal was waiting tables. Taking drink orders and/or food orders, bringing the tabs, clearing plates. Just one gal. As you can imagine, she was pretty busy.Since Farmer H and I had the buffet, we weren't too concerned with service. We sat at a table that could accommodate four, so we had plenty of room for our plates, even already-eaten ones that Farmer H set aside.
A single man came in, and was put at a table for two near us, up against a brick pillar. I might have complained, had I been him, but I might not. He didn't have a very good view, but he also didn't have people eyeballing him and wondering why he was there alone. He ordered off the menu, choosing the chicken-fried steak. Yes, people apparently eat that for breakfast in Oklahoma. It was on another breakfast buffet at another casino.
I'm not really a people-watcher. My mom was, but I tend to mind my own business. I do confess to noticing that when this guy's chicken-fried steak finally arrived, he asked for jelly. JELLY! That was curious. We had a whole jelly caddy on our table, with four columns, filled with jellies: strawberry jam, grape jelly, orange marmalade, and blackberry jelly. I know, because I'd been admiring the compact utilitiness of this holder. The Waiting Gal reached over to another table, and handed Mr. Chicken-Fried Steak his own jelly caddy. He selected one (no, I don't know which, what do you think I am, NOSY?) and slathered some on his chicken-fried steak. Which is, you know, covered with white gravy. I guess this is no worse than Farmer H burying his fried eggs in white gravy, but it seemed odd to me.
Farmer H and I were almost done eating by this time. I'd say we'd been there about 30 minutes. The elderly couple (heh, heh, probably younger than US) who entered right ahead of us had just finished. They also had the buffet. But the table behind Farmer H, a woman and perhaps her adult daughter, still had no food in front of them. They'd been there when we sat down. I wondered what in the world they ordered.
Not that it was my business, of course. But they were in my line of sight every time I looked up at Farmer H, and the older of the two seemed a little agitated. In fact, when Waiting Gal brought the bill to the elderly couple beside us, Agitated hollered, "Ma'am? We have been here a long time, and nobody is waiting on us." Not in a rude way. But in a way that demanded attention. Here's where it all went very wrong.
Waiting Gal hollered back, her hands full of used plates from the elderly couple's table, "I'm very busy right now, and don't have any help. I will get there as soon as I can." It didn't tip the scales in her favor that she had a little bit of attitude in her voice. Believe you me, after 28 years of teaching, I know you have to keep that attitude in check and out of your voice!
Well. The minute Waiting Gal was headed to the back room with those dirty plates, Agitated and Jr got in an animated discussion. No doubt about how they had been wronged. They caught another employee walking through. She must have been in charge, as she was wearing a badge, and not doing any discernible work. Agitated bent her ear for a minute. I saw a bunch of nods in agreement, and an apparent apology. Then Mgmt went to the back room.
Agitated and Jr ranted to each other a bit more. All the while, Agitated was sipping from her drink. So apparently, they HAD been waited on at one time, or they wouldn't have any drinks. Jr had water or a clear soda, and Agitated had tomato juice. Except I think it must have been very special tomato juice, because it wasn't in a little 6-ounce juice glass, but in a tall glass like a soda might come in, with ice and a straw. So I'm pretty sure it was a Bloody Mary. Which could explain the impatience of Agitated, especially if she was wanting another.
As I pondered that scenario, Agitated and Jr got up and left! I didn't see any money on the table, but it looked like they both left their voucher for free food. Which might have been $5 or $10 or more. And they didn't have any food that I could see. Thing is, you have to sign those vouchers at the register. Maybe they already signed them.
As Farmer H and I left AFTER PAYING with our vouchers, we walked past Agitated at the entrance. Speaking to another, apparently higher, management figure. Who was nodding in agreement, and taking a paper (official complaint?) from Agitated. I don't foresee any good coming of this for Agitated. It might be different if she'd slipped on a fallen biscuit or something. But she seemed to already be getting comps from the casino. I don't know how much more they could give her.
I'm going to remember her as Sour Bloody Mary.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Sweet, Sweet Juno Is In The Dog House
Alas, my precious doggie has done me wrong! On Monday afternoon, Juno bit the hand that feeds her. TWICE!
My Sweet, Sweet Juno does not have a malicious bone in her body. Well. As far as I'M concerned. She would never nip at me, for any reason. She has plenty of malicious bones to pick with Copper Jack the neighbor dog, and with our own (formerly known as Puppy) Jack. But me, I'm in the clear. Smooth sailing awaits me on the Juno seas.
However... Juno likes her treats. On Monday, the dogs were enjoying some delicious 22 Grain Bread, chicken bones (the keel and back and inedible wing flap), and some year-old slices of pepperoni suitable for pizza, still in the unopened pack. Which I opened for the dogs, to sort out portions to toss to them.
Their first course was bread, lest even the softest of chicken bones irritate their digestive tract. The bones were the second course. That's when Juno got herself in trouble. TWICE.
I stand in the kitchen door with the house treats. Jack is at my feet, wiggling with anticipation. I make sure his portions are in a form that his tiny mouth can get around. Like, I crumble his bread so he doesn't have to gnaw on the slice, but can eat chunks of it. Juno gets the whole slice, which she grabs and turns tail to dash into her house. Copper Jack gets the lesser treats flung to him over the top of Juno's dog house.
Juno is greedy. She begrudges every morsel that does not come her way. She spends the entire treat session growling low in her throat. Just in case Copper Jack should run over, I guess. He never has. He defers to Juno. Juno will even step her front legs into the kitchen while I'm getting a treat off the counter. She won't come in any other time, but she loves her treats. Jack waits at the threshold. He knows I'll bring his treats to him.
The nip happened with the chicken bone. It wasn't very big. I keep my fingers well back at the end. My intention was to hand it to Juno. In a perfect world, she would have taken her end gingerly in her mouth, and turned like a lady to enter her boudoir for a nosh. But that's not my Juno. She JUMPED at my hand, and could have taken my pinky finger clean off! No blood was drawn, but the pinch hurt. Only Even Steven kept my pinky finger intact, as a reward for initially rescuing my Sweet, Sweet Juno from her starving life as a pup dumped along my mom's rural road.
I'll be darned if Juno didn't do the exact same thing with her second bone! Enough is enough!
"JUNO! NO! BAD! BAD DOG!"
She knew she done wrong! She tucked her tail and ducked her head as she scurried into her house. Didn't come back out, either! Not even when I was dishing the pepperonis to Jack and Copper Jack. I could see that Juno wanted some. She poked her nose out. But I put the kibosh on her exit.
"No pepperoni for YOU!"
Jack and Copper Jack were a bit taken aback, but it did not seem to hamper their enjoyment of their pepperoni. A momentary cringe from each, until I told them they were good dogs, but JUNO was BAD!
It's my own fault that I've let Juno get away with grabbing treats. I should have asserted myself many treats ago. I don't know where this lunging/jumping came from. I've never been the kind to make my dogs stand up and beg for a treat. I generally hand it to them, or drop it under their nose.
Juno and I are going to have a training session the next time Jack and Copper Jack are away. Then I'm sure we'll have to do it all over again when they're here. Juno will have to sit down, and wait for her treat to be laid in front of her. Or else no treat!
In more positive news... Copper Jack came running across our yard when I drove T-Hoe down the driveway. Like nothing was wrong with him. He even jumped over the edge of the concrete carport to chase a squirrel. AND he came around the garage again, and waited for a treat. Didn't even look like the same dog from a couple days ago, when he could hardly walk, seeming as if he didn't want to touch his front OR back feet to the ground.
My Sweet, Sweet Juno does not have a malicious bone in her body. Well. As far as I'M concerned. She would never nip at me, for any reason. She has plenty of malicious bones to pick with Copper Jack the neighbor dog, and with our own (formerly known as Puppy) Jack. But me, I'm in the clear. Smooth sailing awaits me on the Juno seas.
However... Juno likes her treats. On Monday, the dogs were enjoying some delicious 22 Grain Bread, chicken bones (the keel and back and inedible wing flap), and some year-old slices of pepperoni suitable for pizza, still in the unopened pack. Which I opened for the dogs, to sort out portions to toss to them.
Their first course was bread, lest even the softest of chicken bones irritate their digestive tract. The bones were the second course. That's when Juno got herself in trouble. TWICE.
I stand in the kitchen door with the house treats. Jack is at my feet, wiggling with anticipation. I make sure his portions are in a form that his tiny mouth can get around. Like, I crumble his bread so he doesn't have to gnaw on the slice, but can eat chunks of it. Juno gets the whole slice, which she grabs and turns tail to dash into her house. Copper Jack gets the lesser treats flung to him over the top of Juno's dog house.
Juno is greedy. She begrudges every morsel that does not come her way. She spends the entire treat session growling low in her throat. Just in case Copper Jack should run over, I guess. He never has. He defers to Juno. Juno will even step her front legs into the kitchen while I'm getting a treat off the counter. She won't come in any other time, but she loves her treats. Jack waits at the threshold. He knows I'll bring his treats to him.
The nip happened with the chicken bone. It wasn't very big. I keep my fingers well back at the end. My intention was to hand it to Juno. In a perfect world, she would have taken her end gingerly in her mouth, and turned like a lady to enter her boudoir for a nosh. But that's not my Juno. She JUMPED at my hand, and could have taken my pinky finger clean off! No blood was drawn, but the pinch hurt. Only Even Steven kept my pinky finger intact, as a reward for initially rescuing my Sweet, Sweet Juno from her starving life as a pup dumped along my mom's rural road.
I'll be darned if Juno didn't do the exact same thing with her second bone! Enough is enough!
"JUNO! NO! BAD! BAD DOG!"
She knew she done wrong! She tucked her tail and ducked her head as she scurried into her house. Didn't come back out, either! Not even when I was dishing the pepperonis to Jack and Copper Jack. I could see that Juno wanted some. She poked her nose out. But I put the kibosh on her exit.
"No pepperoni for YOU!"
Jack and Copper Jack were a bit taken aback, but it did not seem to hamper their enjoyment of their pepperoni. A momentary cringe from each, until I told them they were good dogs, but JUNO was BAD!
It's my own fault that I've let Juno get away with grabbing treats. I should have asserted myself many treats ago. I don't know where this lunging/jumping came from. I've never been the kind to make my dogs stand up and beg for a treat. I generally hand it to them, or drop it under their nose.
Juno and I are going to have a training session the next time Jack and Copper Jack are away. Then I'm sure we'll have to do it all over again when they're here. Juno will have to sit down, and wait for her treat to be laid in front of her. Or else no treat!
In more positive news... Copper Jack came running across our yard when I drove T-Hoe down the driveway. Like nothing was wrong with him. He even jumped over the edge of the concrete carport to chase a squirrel. AND he came around the garage again, and waited for a treat. Didn't even look like the same dog from a couple days ago, when he could hardly walk, seeming as if he didn't want to touch his front OR back feet to the ground.
Monday, March 25, 2019
He Has Never Been Mellow
Why was Farmer H in an anti-HM mood when we started home from CasinoPalooza 4 last Wednesday? Because he didn't get his way. Because we were 7 minutes behind his rigid schedule. Seriously! Does it matter if we're 7 minutes later getting home on a 5.5 hour drive? I don't think so.
Here's the deal. He's the one who set the alarm to wake up. I always take the first shower, so he had an extra half hour to sleep in. I was on schedule, ready to leave the room for breakfast. That went fine, even though another customer was disgruntled. Farmer H had said that after breakfast, we would spend 30 minutes in the casino, then start home.
Farmer H had a coupon comp from that casino, for $10 free play upon checkout. That's nothing to sneeze at! It's $10, by cracky! He used it last time we stayed there. So I'd asked him, "Are we going up to the room to get the suitcases and check out, and then go back in and play?" That was the original plan. But once we left the restaurant, he said we'd play first, then check out. "Oh. So you'll just go through the casino and play your $10 before we start out?"
"I might. Or you can, while I get the car."
Okay. That was kind of an odd way to do it, but no big deal to me. We went our separate ways in the casino at 9:45, agreeing to meet by the hotel entrance at 10:15.
I kept a close watch on my Shaming Bracelet, which also shows me the time. I was playing one machine during that time, about halfway across the casino. If I leaned just right, and nobody was in the way, I could even see part of the hotel entrance area. That darn machine was eating my money. I just had a few dollars left in it as time ran down. I was not going to cash out that small amount, and I was not going to put in any more money. I was just playing that out. I figured the time would come out just about right.
Of course I hit a bonus at 10:14. A bonus that gave me 15 free spins. Okay. As soon as that bonus was over, I was cashing out. I was NOT leaving without playing the bonus. I immediately pulled out my phone and sent Farmer H a text: IN A BONUS.
We do that all the time. We agree to meet, and if somebody is in a bonus, they send a text. I'd say that at least 50 percent of the time, one of our party does not show up at the designated time because they're in a bonus. Including Farmer H.
For some reason, I felt all antsy during my bonus. A bonus is the fun part of the game! You win extra money! Sometimes big money. It should be a joyful experience. But for some reason, I was not enjoying this one. In fact, I almost felt panicky! What's up with that? I was not in any danger. Not exerting myself. Just sitting in front of a slot, watching the video reels turn, waiting to cash out my ticket when the bonus play was over. Whew! Finally! I think I won $120 on that bonus. I printed out my ticket, and went straight to the money machine on the way to the hotel entrance.
Huh. There was Farmer H. Pacing. Not happy.
"Sorry! I was in a bonus. I sent you a text."
"No you didn't."
"Yes. I did." I pulled out my phone. "Seven minutes ago. I just cashed out." I showed Farmer H my phone. He didn't want to look. He pulled out his own phone.
"I didn't get a text."
"How was I supposed to know that? I sent it--" Just then Farmer H's phone beeped with my text. "It's not like I could get up and leave in the middle of a bonus. I sent you a text! Not my fault it was late getting to your phone."
Farmer H turned and stomped off to the elevator. Once upstairs, he grabbed his suitcase and started for the door.
"Oh. Here's your postcard to get your $10 free play. You'll need it when you check out."
"I don't want that!" Farmer H took the coupon and wadded it up.
"Don't throw it away in here. It has your name and address on it."
Farmer H threw it on the bed. I picked it up and shoved it in my purse for later disposal. Sweet Gummi Mary! What a grand tantrum! To not even want his $10 free play because he was mad at me for being 7 minutes late, even though I'd tried to notify him in the usual way. He took off down the hall. I almost had to take the next elevator! I'm surprised he didn't start driving away before I got to A-Cad. He didn't speak a word for 4.5 hours.
In fact, Farmer H was so mad that he didn't even fiddle with the radio in A-Cad. So it stayed on the station I'd put it on when we were driving around with my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and her husband the ex-mayor. It was SiriusXM 32, "The Bridge." A station that calls itself Mellow Classic Rock. Quite the improvement from his usual station, 59, "Willie's Roadhouse."
I guess sometimes it DOES pay to be an evil sorceress who controls the airwaves.
Here's the deal. He's the one who set the alarm to wake up. I always take the first shower, so he had an extra half hour to sleep in. I was on schedule, ready to leave the room for breakfast. That went fine, even though another customer was disgruntled. Farmer H had said that after breakfast, we would spend 30 minutes in the casino, then start home.
Farmer H had a coupon comp from that casino, for $10 free play upon checkout. That's nothing to sneeze at! It's $10, by cracky! He used it last time we stayed there. So I'd asked him, "Are we going up to the room to get the suitcases and check out, and then go back in and play?" That was the original plan. But once we left the restaurant, he said we'd play first, then check out. "Oh. So you'll just go through the casino and play your $10 before we start out?"
"I might. Or you can, while I get the car."
Okay. That was kind of an odd way to do it, but no big deal to me. We went our separate ways in the casino at 9:45, agreeing to meet by the hotel entrance at 10:15.
I kept a close watch on my Shaming Bracelet, which also shows me the time. I was playing one machine during that time, about halfway across the casino. If I leaned just right, and nobody was in the way, I could even see part of the hotel entrance area. That darn machine was eating my money. I just had a few dollars left in it as time ran down. I was not going to cash out that small amount, and I was not going to put in any more money. I was just playing that out. I figured the time would come out just about right.
Of course I hit a bonus at 10:14. A bonus that gave me 15 free spins. Okay. As soon as that bonus was over, I was cashing out. I was NOT leaving without playing the bonus. I immediately pulled out my phone and sent Farmer H a text: IN A BONUS.
We do that all the time. We agree to meet, and if somebody is in a bonus, they send a text. I'd say that at least 50 percent of the time, one of our party does not show up at the designated time because they're in a bonus. Including Farmer H.
For some reason, I felt all antsy during my bonus. A bonus is the fun part of the game! You win extra money! Sometimes big money. It should be a joyful experience. But for some reason, I was not enjoying this one. In fact, I almost felt panicky! What's up with that? I was not in any danger. Not exerting myself. Just sitting in front of a slot, watching the video reels turn, waiting to cash out my ticket when the bonus play was over. Whew! Finally! I think I won $120 on that bonus. I printed out my ticket, and went straight to the money machine on the way to the hotel entrance.
Huh. There was Farmer H. Pacing. Not happy.
"Sorry! I was in a bonus. I sent you a text."
"No you didn't."
"Yes. I did." I pulled out my phone. "Seven minutes ago. I just cashed out." I showed Farmer H my phone. He didn't want to look. He pulled out his own phone.
"I didn't get a text."
"How was I supposed to know that? I sent it--" Just then Farmer H's phone beeped with my text. "It's not like I could get up and leave in the middle of a bonus. I sent you a text! Not my fault it was late getting to your phone."
Farmer H turned and stomped off to the elevator. Once upstairs, he grabbed his suitcase and started for the door.
"Oh. Here's your postcard to get your $10 free play. You'll need it when you check out."
"I don't want that!" Farmer H took the coupon and wadded it up.
"Don't throw it away in here. It has your name and address on it."
Farmer H threw it on the bed. I picked it up and shoved it in my purse for later disposal. Sweet Gummi Mary! What a grand tantrum! To not even want his $10 free play because he was mad at me for being 7 minutes late, even though I'd tried to notify him in the usual way. He took off down the hall. I almost had to take the next elevator! I'm surprised he didn't start driving away before I got to A-Cad. He didn't speak a word for 4.5 hours.
In fact, Farmer H was so mad that he didn't even fiddle with the radio in A-Cad. So it stayed on the station I'd put it on when we were driving around with my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and her husband the ex-mayor. It was SiriusXM 32, "The Bridge." A station that calls itself Mellow Classic Rock. Quite the improvement from his usual station, 59, "Willie's Roadhouse."
I guess sometimes it DOES pay to be an evil sorceress who controls the airwaves.
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