Monday, September 21, 2020

Half Mask, Full Mask, Out Past A Holler

Sweet Gummi Mary! It seems like I need to undertake a fitness regimen these days to endure my routine errands! After my 27-minute workout at the bank last Wednesday, I thought I'd once again be able to coast through my daily activities again. Even Steven thought otherwise.

I haven't told you about the gauntlet I must run at Country Mart. I'm in there every couple of days, either to pick up groceries on the spur of the moment, or to patronize their scratcher machines. Country Mart has double glass doors. In that vestibule, there is a shelf with free saver papers. And two carts that have a red plastic car attached. And a couple of Old People Scooters.

For over a week, there has been a new addition to the vestibule. A real live person standing behind a table with a podium, hawking windows. The draw is to register for free replacement windows. I saw one man and his adult son filling out the cards. I think they have a pretty good chance of winning, because nobody else wants to stop. It would be great if the same person was there every day, so they'd remember me, and leave me alone. But I've never seen the same one twice! I might as well say, "Oh, I already registered! Can I do it again?" as my usual response of "Sorry, not interested." I don't mean to burst their bubble. I guess maybe they get paid for the day. And maybe more for each person they lure in?

Sunday, I stopped for two items. The Italian Sub sandwiches that The Pony liked, so he and Farmer H can have them for a meal later in the week, like on an auction night. And something from the deli, because there wasn't enough of the main meal for my own supper! That will be a tale here or there, in the future.

The deli has really gone to pot! The selection is down to only a few common items, and they're always running out. Gone are the days when every metal bin had a tempting food. That happened when ownership changed a couple months ago. At least on this day, I saw some chicken fried steaks (small as a McDonald's hamburger), and some chicken livers!

I stood patiently, leaning on my cart/walker. Nobody came to wait on me. There was no little silver dinging bell like on the post office counter. So I waited. Down the L-shaped area behind the counter, I saw a deli worker, mask under his nose, slicing a ham on that big slide-y meat slicer. "I'll be with you in a minute, ma'am!" Okay. I could see that he was busy. I texted Farmer H. I looked around. One bin had a watery broth with carrot slices in it, and something floating on the top. I swear it looked like the little barley things in soup, only more perfectly round, and kind of a gray color. Wait a minute! I think those were PEAS! Shrunken peas! It WAS almost 2:30, so maybe they'd been there since lunch.

Anyhoo... I worked up quite a sweat, standing in front of the hot food counter. Once the ham was sliced, that other customer dared to choose a second chunk of something to be sliced! When Half-Mask finally came to wait on me, I asked how much the chicken fried steaks were. 

"Are they sold by weight, or by the piece? How much would it be if I didn't want it in a dinner?"

"Um. I don't know. How many were you wanting to buy? Maybe I could make you a deal."

"Oh, either two, or four."

"How about four for $3.19?"

"You got a deal!"

"Just the chicken fried steaks? No gravy?"

"No gravy."

My plan was to eat two for my supper, between the top and bottom of a flaky-layers biscuit. They were barely big enough to cover a biscuit!

Anyhoo... then I asked about the livers, because I've been fooled there before.

"Are those chicken livers? Or gizzards?"

"Let me see." Half-Mask grabbed one and squeezed it. "They're livers."

"Okay. I'll take about 2/3 of what's there."

That would be supper for Farmer H and me the next evening, while The Pony had the other two chicken-fried steaks. We have some instant white gravy that will go well with both. And some roasted vegetables that would be left over as well. Mmm...

I was fairly exhausted after that ordeal, but I didn't blame Half-Mask for my wait. He was the only one working. As was the young man at the single open register, who has waited on me before. I'd been eyeing him while cooling my heels in front of the sweltering deli counter. He always wears his mask properly, and is a cheerful sort. Almost as if he appreciates his job.

HE WAS GONE! Full-Mask had disappeared, leaving only the customer standing in front of the card scanner. So I was in for another wait. He finally appeared at the service counter on the front wall of the store, holding two cartons of cigarettes.

"I'm sorry. We only have THIS ONE, and THIS ONE."

"That's okay. That's usually all I can find." Said the woman in waiting, not particular about which form of carcinogen she puts into her body or inflicts on someone else. She took both.

Full-Mask greeted me and scanned my items, working efficiently, and bagging logically. I kept my head down as I traipsed through the vestibule, but the Window-Shouter still asked how I was doing, even though I was doing the same as when I entered, although a bit sweatier, and with less patience for his window spiel. 

I definitely need to improve my stamina before the next visit, and come up with a story about living in a cave or basement house, bereft of windows...

6 comments:

River said...

I remember a certain little silver bell dinger...when my daughter worked in Deli that bell was constantly being dinged by customers even though the staff were run off their feet busy and new customers could clearly see that, but they dinged anyway. So my daughter, as she walked past the bell, ripped it off the counter and threw it out the back where the chickens get put onto the rotisserie spit bars. No one said anything, not even the boss.
I don't understand half-maskers, they are still potentially breathing germs in and out by not covering their noses.

Hillbilly Mom said...

River,
Heh, heh! I love the thought of that dinger bell roosting with the roasting rotisserie chickens! Even at the post office, when I'm the only one there, and the workers are in the shelves in the back room... I am reluctant to hit the dinger bell. The only alternative is to stand there until someone randomly comes out. So I eventually give it a tentative "ding."

As for the half-maskers, I am offended by their slackitude. Like pants sagging off a butt, or a shirt unbuttoned too low, or shoes that have been slid on, and the heels area crushed down by feet too lazy to slip in. I am not convinced that a mask actually protects from the tiny VIRUS, so I stay away from people except for brief interactions when necessary, whether they are masked or not.

People who wear them for "protection" should know better than to half-mask. That's on them. I can understand how workers who are required to wear masks all shift might need to breathe freely if they're not around others. This Half-Masker was turned away from the customer while slicing the ham. They were about 10 feet apart anyway, and the customer himself was wearing no mask at all. So I guess he didn't object to Half-Masker. He wasn't coughing or sneezing on the ham, and I haven't read about any cases where somebody caught the VIRUS from eating ham. YET...

Sioux Roslawski said...

I have a friend who made cornbread (Jiffy) and she put cut-up hot dogs in the batter before baking. A kind of deconstructed corn dog. You might try it. It's a whole meal in one pan.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
I DID try that, on your former recommendation. Are you getting a kickback from Jiffy? Farmer H liked it, but said I didn't include enough hot dogs in each corn muffin. I suppose he wants more of a hot dog with a hint of cornbread on it. Like a dusting of crumbs over a pack of hot dogs...

Unknown said...

No kick-back. Just forgetfulness. I've reached the age where I keep telling the same stories over and over.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Unknown,
I see you've even forgotten your NAME, Madam! Don't you worry about me hearing the same stories over and over. I spent 18 years eating school lunch on the same shift with a teacher who told the same stories EVERY YEAR. Sometimes more than once a year! Ahh...good times. The days of The Semi Weekly Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank.