We had some heavy rain in the wee hours of Monday morning. I heard it pounding down on the Mansion roof, but by the time I got up (9:30, don't judge) it was gone. The creek barely rose, but the ground was mushy, and the dead leaves had washed off the gravel road by the mailboxes.
I entered The Gas Station Chicken Store to see a gory murder scene. Well. IF the victim's veins had contained mud instead of blood. All three aisles were discolored with brown footprints, and each aisle had clumps of solid mud in random arrangements. The Man Owner had abdicated his station behind the counter, and was traipsing around with a broom and one of those dustpan-box things on a stick. You know, how you set it down level, sweep into it, and the dustpan box tilts back as you lift the stick.
"Wow! This is gonna keep you busy!"
"I know. I was thinking, 'Couldn't you knock that off outside?'"
"My husband does this at home, but not on such a grand scale."
"I have to get this cleaned up before somebody steps on it and slips!"
A customer came in, and Man Owner scurried up front. When it was my turn, I told him,
"You know, the worst part about this is that your job is never done. As soon as you get it cleaned up, somebody else will track in more mud."
I'm pretty sure Man Owner realized that, from his heavy sigh. It's terrible when a man has to clean up after another man. Because he knows what's coming.
4 comments:
Hah! Imagine the chaos if he put up a sign saying please remove shoes or boots before entering. perhaps he could install one of those old fashioned boot scrapers near the door. With a sign that most people won't read anyway that says please scrape muddy boots and shoes before entering. or he could hire a teenager who needs cash for his video gaming habit to sweep up on muddy days.
River,
Removing the shoes might be worse than tracking in mud! Especially if the wearers had sweaty feet like Genius and The Pony as teens! I swear, Genius was sitting with his foot hanging over The Pony's computer chair once, working on his desktop, and a PUDDLE actually formed from the dripping sweat! Neither of my boys would wear shoes or socks inside the Mansion. No slippers for them! They'd declare that no, their feet were NOT cold, but were too hot to cover up.
Back when I was teaching at Lower Basementia, we had those metal boot scrapers embedded in the concrete by the front doors. I think the school was built in the 1920s.
A puddle? I've heard of sweaty feet but that's extreme.
River,
I would not have believed it myself, but Genius called my attention to it. Almost as if he was PROUD!
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