Farmer H's Greed Will Be The End Of Him

You all know that Farmer H has a booming business at his Storage Unit Store. He buys stuff at auctions, and resells them at his SUS. He started with "merchandise" from those original 18 storage units that he bought. Seeing as how people like to see a variety of goods when they return each week, he combined his auction outings with his business.

Farmer H isn't greedy in the classical sense. He doesn't jack up the prices as high as he thinks the market will bear. He's actually happy to make just a little, on a lot of different items. He'll sell for a dollar over cost on the smaller items, and for as little as a $10 profit on things that might have cost him into the hundreds.

A couple weeks ago, he saw somewhere that The Devil's Playground was selling pocketknives for a dollar apiece. I don't know the brand, but they were regularly more expensive. The line was being discontinued. Farmer H knew he could sell them for $10 apiece, but he said he'd take $5. He wanted to get as many as possible, because pocketknives are a good seller for him. Men always want another, and grandpas buy them for their grandkids.

Farmer H drove all around our area, trying to procure those dollar pocketknives. He had limited success in a 30-mile radius. Sometimes he had to ask, and a worker would find them stashed under the desk by another employee. Which is against The Devil's policy. So Farmer H got himself a few pocketknives.

Anyhoo, in the midst of this buying frenzy, Farmer H was due to leave on his trip out west to visit his brother. He cancelled a doctor's appointment to get an early start on a Friday morning. He was meeting one of his storage unit buddies, who said he'd like a little vacation, around 7:15 a.m. Farmer H had plans to spend the night in The Pony's college town, and have supper with him. He was due to arrive around 4:00.

Funny how The Pony sent me a text that day, at 4:30, saying that his dad was going to be late.

"Dad took a wrong turn. He's running about two hours late."

Well. So much for a relaxing supper and some quality time at the casino. He did arrive eventually, a steak meal was enjoyed, and gambling ensued. Just two hours later than planned.

You know why Farmer H was late, don't you? He stopped at a Devil's Playground on the way, took a wrong turn coming out of the lot, had driven a half hour through unfamiliar territory when he discovered it. And was misdirected by his Garmin.

"I told my buddy, 'Look at that fence there. That's new since the last time I was out here. In fact, there's a lot of stuff they've done since then!' I kept thinking how everything was different. Then I figured out we weren't on the right highway! I punched it in the Garmin to go back, and it kept running me all over the place. It was trying to take me back to the turnpike, which we never take. I finally put in Muskogee, and it got me back to where we'd messed up."

Uh huh. You know why he stopped, right? Pocketknives. Which were sold out.

It's The Opposite Of Hearing Voices, I Guess

It's happening again!

Technically, it didn't stop happening. The day that I typed up my post about the wifi spying on me about cigarette smoke at the casino... I got an evening call from Farmer H. By that time, I was sitting in front of New Delly in my basement lair.

Let the record show that Farmer H called on the landline. I picked up the phone and answered. Farmer H talked about what he did that day. One outing was to a Devil's Playground, to buy a pair of nail clippers because apparently Farmer H grows talons over the span of a week away from home.

Let the record further show that Farmer H's voice was coming from his cell phone, courtesy of SPRINT, in Nevada, through the invisible airwaves, and into the handset of my landline, courtesy of AT&T.

Let the ever-expanding record illustrate that I get my gossip news from the U.K. DAILY MAIL. It usually causes New Delly to lock up after a while, due to all the ads running in the background. Still, I must keep informed.

As I was scrolling down the page looking for juicy stories after my Farmer H conversation, I encountered an ad:

"Top U.S. surgeons invent a pain free nail clipper specifically designed to aid seniors."

It was accompanied by a giant picture of a nail clipper.

So now, the spying must be INSIDE MY LEFT EAR, because I didn't type anything about a nail clipper. I didn't speak the words nail clipper. New Delly most certainly could not have heard Farmer H's voice inside my landline receiver earpiece.

Before you do the crazy temple swirly finger, ask yourself: "How was this possible?"

Uh huh. Thought so.

I Had No Intention Of Rioting

Thursday was quite a laugh-fest for Even Steven. I'd been to the bank, credit union, post office, filled T-Hoe up with gas. All I wanted was my 44 oz Diet Coke, and to cash in some scratchers. Of course the parking lot of The Gas Station Chicken Store was awkwardly full. Trucks hitched to trailers, parked over by the moat. Most of the row of parking spaces full beside the building. Full across from the gas pumps, facing the stoplight.

Sweet Gummi Mary! I didn't have time for this! I just wanted to get home and have lunch. I bypassed TGSCS to go to Hardee's for some chicken tenders. When I came back, the lot was still full. I even drove through, to check the parking spaces by the air hose, but those two were also full. I left out the back road, deciding to give up on that, and do my magical elixir and scratcher business at Orb K.

Well. The difference was like night and day. Nary a car parked along the front sidewalk of Orb K. I got my favorite parking space next to the handicap walkway so I wouldn't have to step up on the sidewalk, but could use the slanted ramp segment.

Huh. There was an employee spraying that sidewalk with water from a firehose! Okay. It reminded me of a firehose. It was thicker than a garden hose. And pink. As I was gathering my knees under me after sliding out of T-Hoe, Ms. Hoser went to the spigot and turned it up. She walked back towards the door, flinging her hose. It dawned on me that she was actually trying to get it out of my way. Which wasn't really possible.

I was extra careful in stepping over that hose. I guess Ms. Hoser felt sorry for me, because she stopped spraying, went to the door, and held it open for me! Of course I thanked her. Obviously, she was not one of those self-centered Millennials who would have sprayed me off their sidewalk and held the door shut against me.

Once inside, I headed for the soda fountain, only to find it BLOCKED OFF WITH SHEETS OF PLASTIC FOR A REMODEL!

Sweet Gummi Mary! That's the third convenience store I frequent that is undergoing renovations! Now I'd have to go all the way back to The Gas Station Chicken Store for my magical elixir. Okay, so It's only about a half mile. But it's hard to make a left turn out of Orb K.

I actually DID feel like rioting when I realized that. Good thing Ms. Hoser had her firehose.

The Eye In The WiFi

Sweet Gummi Mary! Surveillance has gotten out of hand. I refuse to have an Alexa in the Mansion. It's bad enough that my phone listens to me 24/7/365. And now, I've been betrayed by my HIPPIE! That's my HP laptop.

Thursday morning (I use that term loosely), I was answering comments on my not-so-secret blog. In reference to last week's tale of my casino trip, a reader said that she could almost hear the bells and whistles when I won. I replied, "Good thing you can't smell the cigarettes around me!" Because, you know, casinos are full of smokers, usually one on my left, and one on my right.

I typed that comment in my blog at 10:51 a.m. It was actually a couple minutes earlier, but our power went off, killing the DISH satellite for my TV, and apparently the other DISH satellite for my internet connection. Then power came back on, and the DISHes reset themselves.

Well! At 11:17 a.m., I heard my phone bleep with an email. It was from my health insurance provider. 5 Tips to Help Manage Cravings. Quit for Life can help you quit tobacco.

Are you freakin' kidding me? I have never been a smoker! EVER! Hick has never been a smoker. Nobody in our Mansion or on our health insurance policy has ever been a smoker! WHY am I getting this email from my health insurance provider? You can't tell me that they sent it out en masse to millions of people at that same moment.

That's way too much of a coincidence, to get such a "helpful" email, unsolicited, unneeded, 30 minutes after typing and posting a related comment.

I'm pretty sure there are worse ne'er-do-wells to spy on than me.

The Very Nerve Of Copper Jack

After my efforts being thwarted at every turn on Monday, my magical elixir seemed extra-delicious when I took a trial sip before putting the lid on it. I headed back to the Mansion, to carry in my groceries. That's the rough part, with Farmer H being gone. I left some in T-Hoe's rear for another time. Like the Tide and Charmin and Puffs and soda. I had all my groceries piled on the metal chair on the side porch. I was extra careful, carrying my bag with deli fried chicken last, and putting other bags on top of it. All I had to do was snatch my purse and elixir from T-Hoe, and walk up the steps and unlock the kitchen door.

Juno and Jack were prancing around. I'd given them a little cat kibble before putting any groceries on the chair. Copper Jack hung back by the front of the carport, on the brick sidewalk. My dogs never bother my stuff. Copper Jack gradually creeps closer, up the steps, and peers around the corner of the house, over Juno's dog house, waiting for me to toss treats once I've moved everything inside. The dogs know I always carry in the groceries before treats.

I set down my purse and elixir after the unlocking, and started for my grocery bags.

COPPER JACK STOOD WITH HIS NOSE AGAINST MY CHICKEN BAG!

Well! That is simply not acceptable. I yelled at him.

"Get out of here! GIT! Get away from that chicken!"

I'm sure he understood, don't you think? He tucked his tail and scurried back down the steps, towards the brick sidewalk. My little Jack, spurred on by my vitriol, took after Copper Jack like a Tasmanian Devil! He growled and barked and jumped at Copper Jack's snout, biting with his tiny mouth. Copper Jack took his chastisement well. He rarely fights back with my little Jack. They're buddies. But not when Mrs. HM is displeased with him!

I called Jack back to me, and praised him. Because, you know, I appreciate a dog who will defend me, even if he's 8 inches tall, with a tiny mouth.

No damage was done to the chicken or Copper Jack. I got the groceries in, and picked up some old biscuits for a treat. Copper Jack had wandered back to his treat-waiting position. He and Jack got biscuits, and Juno got an added pork steak bone handed directly to her mouth, inside her house. There was only one, and I figured she should be rewarded for staying out of the drama. What the other two didn't know didn't hurt them.

I guess I'd grown complacent, not having problems with Copper Jack before. I'm always wary when he's around, but I'd have carried that bag in with my purse if I had an inkling of his imminent uncharacteristic shenanigans.

They'll Drive You To Drink

Even Steven left me hangin' on Monday. At least I have the EVENING of Steven to look forward too, I suppose. My Devil's Playground shopping trip was fraught with obstacles. I hoped that my luck would turn once I left. And by "turn," I mean I hoped I could go about my business unobstructed.

I'd gotten a late start, due to waiting until the bank tellers' lunchtime was over. That put me leaving The Devil's Playground around 2:45. Not a good time to be frequenting The Gas Station Chicken Store for my 44 oz Diet Coke, because that's around the time the local high school lets out, just down the road.

I waited in T-Hoe for a few minutes, hoping for the crowd to thin out. Once inside, I waited behind a dad with two young boys about 5-6 at the soda fountain. They were quite well-behaved, each carrying two bottles of fruity drink. The dad was getting two 44 oz somethings. I don't know if they were all two-fisted drinkers, or if there was a lady in waiting in the car.

As I stood there, with the dad putting on his lids and straws, another man came in with two girls, maybe 8th or 9th grade age. I'll be darned if they didn't dart in as soon as the dad left! The man with them, I think the father of one girl, said, "Wait now. She was first."

What a sad state of society when young 'uns don't know how to wait their turn! At least that father was trying. Though he DID ask for a pint of whiskey. I guess kids these days are so wrapped up in themselves that they forget the world does not revolve around them. They definitely need a refresher course in The World Revolves Around Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

A Day Filled With Mock-Blockers

Sweet Gummi Mary! Nothing is ever simple for Mrs. HM. I only wanted to dash into The Devil's Playground for the weekly groceries. It's not rocket science. Does not require detailed planning akin to storming the beaches at Normandy. All I had to do was park. Walk in. Throw items in cart. Pay. Walk out. How many things could go wrong?

I was off to a good start, nabbing a parking spot beside a cart return. On the way in, I spied an abandoned cart, thinking to push it in, because sometimes the ones inside are stuck to other carts by the child seatbelt. Hmpf! The cart I grabbed had a box in the seat. I picked it up to put in one of those finicky or old-people carts, that are smaller, with two tiers. That box had something HEAVY in it! It looked like maybe an oil filter or some under-the-hood necessity. And had wires attached! So probably not an oil filter.

Inside, a lady was browsing where I wanted to shop for prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella sticks. So I headed for the limes, where a mom and two school-age boys were loitering. The look on my ex-teacher face must have scared the older boy, because he got out of my way quick.

I headed for the individual packs of six mini-donuts (the best kind, the crumbly-coated ones), but an employee was fiddling around at that shelf.

Leaving there, I went down the aisle for dill pickles and mayonnaise. A big metal stocking cart was in front of the pickles, so I moved it. A big man with another big metal stocking cart was in front of the mayo. I didn't think it wise to move him! I rounded the corner to try the donuts again, but now TWO workers were "working" there, having a chat.

Off to the cracker aisle for Roasted Garlic Triscuits, but I couldn't get there for two women with their carts parked in the middle of the main aisle. So I took a detour to the Puffs, Charmin, and Tide. A man had his cart parked in front of the Puffs while looking at paper plates. So I moved on to the Tide, which I got without an issue. But then had to play a game of FROGGER to get back across the end aisle for my Charmin. Nabbed the Puffs on the way back to groceries, though.

The aisle for Farmer H's flavored water was blocked by the cart of a companion talking to a beeper-cart lady. I could have gotten by her beeper-cart, but he had to take up space there for no reason. I went down the next aisle (wine and lime-squeezer thingies!) and came back up to the water, making sure not to look happy in case he glanced at me. Because I'm passive-aggressive like that.

Of course the Diet Coke was blocked by a big metal stocking cart. I moved it. I don't know why The Devil's minions abandon their carts like that. The Diet Mountain Dew had a man in front of it, who seemed to just be resting, before moving on.

Heading back up front, I was again impeded by a main aisle blockage, this one being an old lady standing with her cart. Like she'd been left to wait for someone. School must not have been in session, because shoppers were towing a couple kids apiece along that aisle behind their carts.

I darted across to go up the down aisle, and managed to get my mayo and crumbly mini donuts on the way back up front.

Putting bags in my cart, I noticed that the lady ahead of me had left some material and a yellow tape measure on the cart carousel. I gave it to the checker to hold in case she came back.

On the way out the main doors, I saw a dude headed across the people-walk. He was adjusting his junk inside his gym shorts. I KNEW he was going to come right at me, in the OUT doors. He did. I'm psychic like that. A dude who will adjust his junk in public doesn't much care what people think of him for going IN the OUT door. I'll be darned if an old lady didn't follow him in! She wasn't touching anything private, though.

So much for dashing in for groceries. So many people dared to MOCK MY EFFORTS! The trend continued. More on that tomorrow, maybe...