Casino Road Tales: Bending Facts

Because Farmer H was driving, we listened to country music in A-Cad. It's usually on a local station, but we get out of range about halfway to the casino, so he switches to Prime Country on SiriusXM. That's okay. I know most of those songs, from the 80s/90s, back when I met Farmer H, and was forced to listen to them then. A Vince Gill song was playing.

"He's been around a long time. Who was he with in the beginning? It was a folk/country band. I think it was Pure Prairie League. I'm pretty sure."

"No. That's not it. I know what you're talking about. But it wasn't Pure Prairie League. It was someone else. I think it was the Eagles."

"Vince Gill was NOT a member of the Eagles! He has sung with a lot of famous people over the years, but he was not in the Eagles."

"Look it up, Pony. Vince Gill in the Eagles."

"It says here that Vince Gill performed with the Eagles in 2017."

"See? I told you it was the Eagles!"

"He might have sang with them in 2017, but that's not what I asked. I want to know which band he started with, before he went solo. That was way before 2017. He was famous in the late 80s. I'm pretty sure it was Pure Prairie League. Pony! Look up Vince Gill and Pure Prairie League."

"Huh. He's from Norman, Oklahoma! He joined Pure Prairie League in 1979 and made them hit the Top 10. Then he went off on his own in 1981."

"There. I thought so. Pure Prairie League."

"It said he was in the Eagles!"

"Again, not my question."

Farmer H likes to think he knows everything. And when he doesn't, he bends the facts until it seems like he does.

Casino Road Tales: Always In The Wrong

I'm sure you know by now that Mrs. HM is always wrong. Anything proclaimed by Farmer H is the absolute truth. It's his world, and Mrs. HM is allowed to reside in it for the fee of supper dished out every night, and saving him from his self-destructive ways that are perfectly logical to him and anyone else in his world besides Mrs. HM.

We were barely off our gravel road. Maybe five miles from home, still on winding too-narrow blacktop. Farmer H and The Pony were having a conversation about The Pony offering to bring a pitcher of ice water to Lap House when Farmer H is working there. And Farmer H summarily dismissing the offer, without even a THANK YOU, by saying, "Nah. I have water there, and the refrigerator still works." Despite having had no electricity there for the past month, which just got hooked up this week.

Anyhoo... Farmer H was tooling along in A-Cad, gawking at sights along the way, making eye contact with The Pony in the rearview mirror. And we were consistently ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD! Not just going down the middle. ON THE WRONG SIDE! On this narrow blacktop road with twists and turns and hills.

"Can we drive on our side of the road?"

"Mom!"

"I'm just asking, because I'm afraid I might die when something comes over the next hill."

"Just be quiet and ride."

"Oh. So I'M the one who's wrong here?"

I really don't think that was out-of-line to ask Farmer H to obey the rules of the road, and allow me to stay in his world for a bit longer.

An Unfortunate Turn Of Events

Errand Day switched from Thursdays to Friday this week. We went to the casino on Thursday. Nothing to report about that. The Pony was having an out-of-town friend come for an afternoon visit Friday, so we planned our errands for noon. Then it all went to Not-Heaven in a handbasket.

Mid-morning, The Pony texted that the friend was having car trouble, and the visit was off. So we switched to 1:00 for the errands. 

Later-morning, The Pony texted that lower digestive system issues would be putting the kibosh on joining me for the errands.

I left an hour later, because I could. It was only about an hour earlier than our regular errand time.

Five miles from the Mansion, at the roundabout by the bowling alley, I got behind a semi truck that had just exited the highway. The back of the trailer was emblazoned with STUDENT DRIVER. I will say that the student took the roundabout swimmingly. Stayed in the lane, didn't run up on the fancy brickwork in the middle.

The Semi seemed to only have one speed. 20 mph. As if there were no other gears available. When the speed limit was 35, we went 20. When the speed limit was 45, we went 20. When the speed limit was 20, we went 20. That dang truck was going my way. ALL the way. I know where the parking lot is where they practice parking. I would be going right by it on my way to get gas at Casey's.

I could take no more! I changed my course, to avoid a stop at a stop sign, and waiting for the student driver to find that 20 mph gear again. I took a detour down past the middle school near Bargain House and Cheap House. Ironically, the speed limit through there is 20 mph.

I went to Country Mart first. No issues there!

THEN it was time for T-Hoe's gas. I chose Pump 4, because the last three times we've been there, Pump 3 (the only one available those times, near the handicap walkway) was having issues. Like you can't click the automatic notch on the nozzle, becaue it keeps turning itself off. And you can't even stand and hold the nozzle handle to pump, because it does the same thing, no matter how much you lighten your grip pressure. It takes FOREVER to squeeze out $50 worth of gas. Which is just slightly over half a tank for T-Hoe.

The minute I stepped out from under the gas pump roof to walk inside, rain started falling. Heavier and heavier. In fact, when I got inside, the clerks commented on that sudden downpour. Like, where did it come from? That rain was even heavier when I had to go back to T-Hoe to pump the gas. There was no option to wait. The pump shuts off in a few minutes, and you have to go back inside and tell them to turn it on again, reminding them that you already paid. I had to trudge through the downpour. It was wetter than a shower!

I put the nozzle of Pump 4 into T-Hoe's tank, and discovered that Pump 4 has the same problem as Pump 3! It took over 10 minutes to get my $50 of paid gas into the tank. At least I was under a roof. Which really didn't matter by then, because a couple minutes after I got back to the pump, the rain ceased to fall.

The drive to the Gas Station Chicken Store was chilly. I was soaked through. The worst part was my feet, in their mesh shoes, in my regular socks over support socks, all dripping wet. I tried blowing the air at 78 degrees, but it was still cold to me.

Once home, I stripped off the soaking clothes, and decided I might as well have a hot shower. Which was at an odd time, but most logical.

My scratcher wins were less than my standard percentage. But you knew that, right?

Farmer H Gets Served

The Pony made tacos on Wednesday.

They were chicken tacos. According to The Pony, the ingredients were chicken, garlic, red onion, rice, and refried beans, with some hot sauce.

The Pony ate two tacos. Put the others in a baggie, and froze most of it. The plan is to thaw it out for a few meals when desired.

Farmer H was there mowing the yard. 

"I offered Dad one, since he was mowing while I was eating. But he only wanted ice water."

Indeed, Farmer H had already told me that The Pony brought out ice water, and offered him a taco. "I didn't want it, because I was so hot from mowing the yards. Besides, I'd had liver and onions at the Senior Center for lunch, so I was full."

Farmer H was happy, though. For the fact that The Pony came out to offer anything.

Dang! I Should Have Held Onto It!

Look what I found in the bottom of my purse this week:

STAMPS! From 2018. There were actually two, but I had already put one on the water bill for Lap House. Then I put this one on our three-month trash pickup bill.

DANG IT! I should have kept that last one, at least. I had first asked The Pony if they were still valid. Even though they are FOREVER stamps, I didn't want my bills boomeranging back to me, and then being late. The Pony said it was fine. They are FOREVER stamps.

Well. The price of a first-class stamp back in 2018 was 50 cents. The price today is 78 cents. Which will go up to 82 cents on July 12. Had I waited to use my last 2018 stamp after July 12, I would have saved 32 cents when I mailed my bill. Rather than the mere 28 cents I saved yesterday.

Gosh! Maybe I should have sunk a whole lot of money into stamps back in 2018. After July 12, I'd be getting a 64 percent return on my investment!

I need to go buy stamps before July 12.

That Tide Ebbed Sooner Than Expected

My laundry detergent is Tide. It's a family thing. My mom always used Tide. Until one week she didn't, and my ankles broke out in a rash. Just the area covered by my white crew socks I wore for volleyball practice. It took a couple weeks to figure out it was a reaction to a new detergent. I can't remember what Mom switched to. Maybe ALL. Or CHEER. Something on sale. Never to be bought again!

Anyhoo... the Mansion is a Tide house. Specifically, Tide with Bleach. The powder. The Pony uses Tide Pods. Has since college. More convenient then, and he developed the habit. Thing is, powdered Tide is harder to find these days. Farmer H gets it for me at the Devil's Playground. He often messes up and gets the regular version, without the built-in bleach. It works just as well, but I figure it doesn't brighten the clothes as much.

Anyhoo... you might recall how I needed a bleachless detergent for washing my leg wraps, and now my support stockings and velcro wraps. Of all the times for Farmer H to have just bought a new box of Tide WITH Bleach, heh, heh. No mistakes laying around to use on my precious bleachless accessories. But on an Errand Day with The Pony, we found Tide (without bleach) in little square "packets." 

I don't know what they're called, but these "packets" feel like they have a terrycloth surface. They're about three inches square. They come in a flip-top box, two rows, lined up like soapy square cookies. I have them sitting to the left of the washer. You just drop one in as the water is filling. Easier than the not-so-hard task of taking the powdered Tide box off the shelf overhead, and dipping out half a scoop.

Also, I love the fragrance on these Tide packets. I suppose it will forever remind me of the summer of leg-wrapping, heh, heh. I save those packets for my non-bleach accessories. I use the regular powdered Tide for everything else. For the past couple of accessory-washings, it seemed like my Tide packets were running out quickly. In fact, I bought two more boxes of them, because they are also hard to find. Country Mart is the only place I've seen them.

A few nights ago, I was scratching my lottery tickets when I sensed a familiar smell. I didn't think anything of it. Maybe I just got a whiff of my fresh socks when I had changed from town shoes to Crocs. I vaguely sensed on the periphery that Farmer H was doing his laundry (!!!), coming back and forth to the laundry room to check on the dryer. 

By the time my distracted mind put all these clues together, Farmer H was in bed. Interrogation had to wait until 5:45 a.m. When Farmer H was sitting on the long couch, next to a pile of underwear and socks which he had not yet folded.

"What did you use to wash your clothes?"

"Tide."

"WHICH Tide?"

"Tide."

"Like we always use? From the box on the shelf?"

"Uh. No. Them things you got there."

"MY PACKETS? I knew I smelled it! WHY would you do that? I told you when I got them that I found them for my wraps and socks. Because they can't have bleach, or they won't be stretchy. If there's anything that NEEDS bleach, it's your UNDERWEAR! So WHY are you using my packets?"

"I don't know. They was just there."

"DON'T USE THEM! They're only meant for a medium load anyway. And you fill that washer to the top. Use the regular Tide with Bleach for your stuff, just like always!"

"Okay. I didn't know."

How could he not know??? In fact, he just bought us a new box of the Tide with Bleach a couple weeks ago. I'm sure he doesn't want to open it to scoop some into the smaller box we keep on the shelf. Again, not such a hard task. But something a lazy man would not want to do. He's probably been using my packets for the last three or four times he did laundry. Multiple loads.

This is why we can't have long-lasting stretchy things...

The Bad-Parker Magnet Was Extra Powerful

Remember last week, when Mrs. HM was almost mowed down by a little black sports car that insisted on PARKING in the striped handicap walkway? That wasn't the only rumpushole parker Mrs. HM encountered that day.

Over at the Gas Station Chicken Store, she returned to T-Hoe to find:

A delivery truck parked in the driving lane. Essentially blocking her in, except the FREE AIR parker left, creating an exit to the back alley.

I'm sure that delivery driver considered ME to be the one in the wrong. How dare an unstable old lady park her handicap-placard-enabled T-Hoe in the lone handicap parking space!

This driver is here every week. At times, I've driven over to the 10Box parking lot, to await this space becoming available again. I don't know what this guy delivers, but it's in small boxes. He has a two-wheel dolly that he loads them on, and wheels them inside. Last time, he was parked there for 30 minutes. At least from the time I got there, then waited. There's a clear view from 10Box.

He had already loaded his empty dolly back into the back of the truck. Spent another 15 minutes sitting in the truck. I call shenanigans! Whatever he was doing while sitting could have been done anywhere on that parking lot. Also, there are plenty of other places for him to park for delivery.

The other side of the store has five spaces that are equidistant to the door as this handicap space. He could park alongside the moat. That would increase his distance to the door by about 20 feet. Not insurmountable. He's wheeling a DOLLY! The lot is paved and smooth. I don't know why he "must" park in the only handicap space. And linger. 

Too bad, so sad. I got there first this day. So rather than inconveniencing handicap parkers, he inconvenienced the dump truck drivers and fire department vehicles that use the diesel pump that he had blocked. 

Such a simple solution. Park a few feet farther away.