Fave Beware!

I'm not saying that Fave, my favorite cashier at the Gas Station Chicken Store, is in danger of being replaced. But those lottery machines at 10Box are giving her a run for our money! 

You may recall that a couple weeks ago, I got a $200 winner out of the left machine, and a $100 winner out of the right machine, ON THE SAME DAY! 

Last week, a 10Box employee who always asks me if I've won anything was standing at the right machine. I got tickets out of the left machine. I told her of my good fortune. Because she likes to know, and so she would know that buying those same tickets might not be the best option. She usually doesn't buy the $10 crosswords anyway. She likes the high-dollar tickets. In fact, she was buying a $30 ticket that day.

Employee stepped aside to scratch her ticket. "Huh. Just a $40 winner."

"Still. That's more than you spent. And probably more than I'll win on mine!"

Employee stepped over to the left machine as I had moved to the right machine. She stuck it under the scanner to verify her win. "Oh! I didn't win $40. I won $100!"

"That's even better! Congratulations. I know not to buy THAT ticket for a while, heh, heh."

"I really needed that right now. This is great."

Of course I was happy for her. And I knew which ticket not to buy there, in case The Pony wanted me to cash in a winner and get a $30 ticket.

On Wednesday, both machines were busy. An older couple were deciding, and chose a $5 ticket. The customer at the right machine I'd seen before. He's always friendly, and talks to me about the tickets. But all at once, he left and went to the service desk. The Old Couple watched. Discussing how he must have had a good winner.

Indeed. He came back while waiting for the manager to respond to her call up front.

"Here. Let me move my groceries out of your way."

"Thanks. They're fine. Did you have a big winner?"

"$100. On this ten." 

It was one that I buy sometimes, and in fact had planned on getting that day. Not anymore, heh, heh! It actually pays to talk to people. So to speak.

"Congratulations!"

"Yeah. Now let's see if I can win something else." He said as he stepped back to the service desk to cash it out.

The Old Couple was glad to hear the result. They took their cart and left after that. I imagine they were going to scratch at home. I don't remember what I won that day. I think it was $25 on a $5 ticket. Not great, but not bad.

This Leopard Will Never Change His Crooked Spots

Sunday, I had the misfortune of walking into the Gas Station Chicken Store and finding myself behind Public Rumpushole #1. He's the guy with the red pickup truck who parks regularly in my rightful handicap space. And has also been warned by Man Owner (like a lash with a limp noodle) about blocking the gas pumps when he parks there without getting gas.

I even know this guy's real name now! Not that I would type it here to publicly shame him. He is beyond shameless. Anyhoo... his picture was posted one week, because he won the $30 weekly gas drawing. There he was in full glory, smirking smiling, with his name typed above his head. AND, an article in the local online newspaper had mentioned that name one time as a function of his job. Which is something with the local fire department. I guess that's why he feels entitled to park his personal vehicle anywhere he pleases.

Anyhoo... my skin crawls when I see him. I don't care how many times he's held the door open for me (ONCE), I can't even maintain a neutral opinion of him. I think his picture is probably in the obsolete dictionary beside GOOD OL' BOY. He expects favors, and probably bestows them upon others of his kind as he sees fit. We will refer to him as Public Rumpushole #1. Or PR#1. Which is not a cutesy term of endearment.

Anyhoo... I waited my turn. Nobody else was there besides Fave behind the counter. She was printing out his draw tickets. He plays the Cash Pop game, which has drawings several times a day. It's too invovled for me, though I tried it when it first came out. Some people who play a lot do pretty well on it. The game involves picking sequences of three numbers per play, if I recall correctly. PR#1 was spouting off his numbers to Fave, who typed them into the lottery terminal, then printed his tickets.

That in itself was no reason for me to be annoyed or repulsed. He was there ahead of me, and entitled (for real) to use his time for whatever transaction he desired. He was buying a soda and those Cash Pop tickets.

Fave rang it up. It was $21.03. PR#1 gave her a twenty and a one. Then he said what raised my hackles:

"I'm good for the three cents, right? I'll bring it in next time." With that, he reached into the coin dish beside the register, took out three pennies, and tossed them on the counter.

Fave picked them up. And said, "That's what you told me last time. And several times ago."

"Oh, well. You have plenty there."

With that, he walked out. Perhaps strutted would be a better verb.

I really can't stand that guy.

I'm Tired Of Getting What I Pay For

Of all the nerve I have, complaining about BLOGGER! Is it too much to ask that I be able to reply to comments on my own blog? I'm all signed in. I can type the replies. But if I dare to hit PUBLISH, I get a message that says there's an internal error.

What's up with that? Have BLOGGER's innards gone all haywire? A touch of the cyclospora outbreak that's been going around? I didn't even mention lettuce! Or blueberries! BLOGGER has something stuck in its craw, and my replies aren't getting through. Maybe the multiple attempts will come spewing out all at once, and I'LL look like the crazy one.

This has put me off my inclination to type up the daily non-news happenings in and around Greater and Lesser Hillmomba.  :(

Apparently, It Was Not Pony-Tested

The Pony came out on the Sunday before Farmer H's surgery. We had plans to listen to the newest release from the composer we both like. The one who wrote "The Dolls of New Albion," the first one The Pony used to introduce me to his work. It's a steampunk opera about bringing people back to life in doll bodies. 

Anyhoo... we picked up Domino's Pizza for lunch/supper. The Pony was having rum and Diet Pepsi, adding fresh lime juice by using my squeezer. Then something happened...

The Pony broke my squeezer!!! I've had it for many years. It's squeezed limes and lemons for my beverages. All the way back to when I was getting my daily 44 oz Diet Cokes from the fountain at the Gas Station Chicken Store. I loved my squeezer. Never imagined that some calamity could befall such a kitchen staple.

The Pony is stronger than either of us thought!!! That metal sheared right off, on a regular squeeze. They were not even tough limes. Just the little thin-skinned kind, of which half fits in the shape of the squeezer with room to spare.

The Pony took the carcass home! Maybe for a souvenir. I don't know any other use for it. I would have thrown it away. No need saving the metal bones to mark the end of an era.

But don't you fear. Mrs. HM has found herself another squeezer!

Sadly, it was not in my favorite color of green. But there it was, across the aisle in 10Box, just waiting for me to pick it up. I had feared I might need to order one online, since I don't shop at the Devil's Playground. I haven't noticed squeezers in the grocery stores. Then again, I hadn't been looking for them. This one is nothing special. I just left the tag on to show that it was new. It's not like a top-of-the-line squeezer. It came from 10Box, for cryin' out loud!

A yellow squeezer will work just fine. Until The Pony gets ahold of it...

A Gaseous Faux Pas

I don't buy T-Hoe's gas at the Gas Station Chicken Store. It has nothing to do with prices, or the fact that they have the old-style pumps that don't take cards. It has everything to do with accessibility. The gas pumps are on concrete islands, and my knees don't like to step up and down without a rail. So I get T-Hoe's gas on a level Casey's parking lot, even though I'd rather my business go to the Gas Station Chicken Store, a mom and pop operation, rather than a corporate chain.

Anyhoo... lots of people get gas there, even though they have to go inside to pay. It's on a corner, by the stoplight. Just a block off the interstate. Most of the customers are regulars, but plenty of travelers stop in. Sometimes Fave has to tell them how to use the pumps. Which is to lift the lever on the side to start the flow, after they've paid. Or if it's a regular, she'll go ahead and turn on the pump when they pull up, and they can pump before paying.

On Friday, I was behind a big ol' good ol' boy in overalls. He was paying for his gas. There seemed to be a snafu. I gathered that from overhearing him tell Fave:

"Yeah. I got out and started pumping, and she just looked at me. Then I figured it out. I said, 'Oh, did you already pay for this pump?' and she said, 'Yeah.' So make sure you take that off her credit card. I told her I'd tell you."

I don't know how they solved the situation. Maybe Good Ol' Boy finished her amount, and his, and then said he'd pay inside for hers again. All I know is that Fave said that gal had pre-paid $20, and that she took it off her credit card. I guess Good Ol' Boy figured Fave had turned that pump on for him, but then saw the gal come out after she paid.

Oh, what a tangled web, when nobody was even trying to deceive.

FAVE Is Sending Out Good Vibrations

The scratchers have not been kind to me lately. That's understandable. One day a couple weeks ago, I won $346. Notably, it was $200 on a $10 crossword from the left machine at 10Box. AND $100 on a $10 crossword from the right machine at 10Box. The same day! Plus a couple of good winners on $5 tickets. When I win other places, I tease Fave by telling her about my "new best friend," the left machine at 10Box.

Still, I don't hold it against Fave if she doesn't give me big winners. I prefer to buy my tickets from her, because she gives off a good vibe. Other people must think so, too. On Friday, Fave had a story.

"I only won $5 on the tickets you gave me this week. I actually didn't scratch them until this morning. I was too excited last night. I sold a $500 winner to a guy, and he gave me a $50 tip! That really surprised me. I didn't expect him to do that!"

I'm not surprised. People who play the lottery all the time tend to remember who gives them luck, and like to spread it around a little bit. I do it in the form of tickets, because I know Fave likes to play them. But if I won a BIG jackpot, I'd make it sprinkle a little bit for Fave.

The Good, The Bad, And The Relapse (Part 2)

Oh, for the salad days, when the convalescing patient was so undemanding!

Wednesday, Farmer H had an appointment with the urologist. Turns out this wasn't the surgeon, but the guy who put that vibrating thingy in his bladder that's supposed to make it less urgent. Anyhoo... the surgeon's plan had been for this urologist to take out the catheter during this appointment. Farmer H told the nurse, and she said, "I don't know anything about that. I don't think so. I'm going to ask the doctor." Heh, heh. She came back and did it. And the urologist said that of course she should have known that she was supposed to do that. I'm disappointed that Farmer H didn't ask her if the tubing was hooked up correctly in that plastic clippy thing!

Anyhoo... Farmer H was thrilled to have the catheter out. But when he peed after coming home, he was in a panic because he said his pee was all blood. That was listed as a temporary possibility on his discharge paperwork. And also a medicine he was taking said it would turn the urine orange or red. But now he seemed to think he was dying!

"I was going to run down to my store, but I think I'll just stay home. If it looks like this tomorrow, I'm going up to the emergency room."

I wasn't so worried, because of the medicine side effects. Meanwhile, Farmer H seemed to have had a relapse, and thought he was knock-knock-knockin' on (hopefully) Heaven's door.

"I think I have a fever. I'm cold. I'm covered up with this blanket, but I'm freezing. Feel my head. Is it hot?"

"Well, I just washed my hands. So they're cold. But no, you don't FEEL hot. There's a thermometer right there in that box. Why don't you take your temperature? Or maybe you should have asked them to do that an hour ago at the doctor's office. Anyway, you're taking an antibiotic. So that should take care of any infection you might be getting."

"They wouldn't do that there!"

"Why not? It's a DOCTOR'S office! I'm sure they had a thermometer lying around."

Farmer H took his temperature. But he couldn't read the thermometer. No matter how much I explained, and showed him how to slightly turn it. He was holding it VERTICALLY! So I had to go back to the kitchen and put on my glasses and come back and read it for him. The poor pitiful patient. It was right at the arrow that denotes 98.6 degrees. STILL he couldn't see it, even when I held it and slightly turned it.

Farmer H said he was in no pain, now that the catheter was out. Yet when I asked if he was coming to the kitchen for his supper, or did he want me to bring it, he said: "If you could make it and bring it in here, that would be great."

I also mentioned that I guessed I would carry in more of his soda the next day, after I carried in my groceries. No comment from Farmer H, who had returned from his de-catheterization crowing that he could now lift 20 pounds.

I think I liked him better when he was really a patient. Later that night, his pee cleared up. He had a shower. He seemed fine the next morning. I'm still waiting to see what he expects me to do for him now.