Stirring The Pot With The Devil's Angels

The Pony did our Devil's Playground shopping on Sunday. I drove him there, and dropped him off. Good news is that The Devil has stopped his cattle-chute convoluted entry ritual, and is allowing people to enter and leave both sets of doors (at both the grocery AND the pharmacy end) as normal, without yellow caution tape and carts and two workers standing outside to chastise line-hoppers. Bad news is that I let The Pony off as I stopped at one of their stop signs, but it was not the closest one, and he had to walk.

Anyhoo... I was able to nab a really good parking space to await The Pony's exit at the grocery end. It was right next to the space reserved for law enforcement. So virtually on the END of the row, nearest the store. While I was waiting, in the 83-degree heat, soaking up some vitamin D with my left arm hanging out T-Hoe's window... I got some pictures for you.

 

My plan was to show you this kettle corn stand out front. I love kettle corn. The Pony doesn't care for it. I would have liked some, but I didn't feel the urge to haul my ample rumpus across the parking lot and spend money on it. Besides, those dang people were wearing masks outside in the fresh, ultraviolet-light-cleansed air.

 

Anyhoo... while I was readying my phone for this zoomed-in photo, a scofflaw roared up on his hog. I'm pretty sure motorcycles are supposed to abide by the rules of the road. Which I think should include parking. In a space. Like an automobile would park. But this guy thought he was special, I suppose. And parked in the striped area at the end of the row. Which I think is striped to indicate that nobody should park there.

 

I guess this guy considered himself some kind of rebel Not-Heaven's Angel, breaking the parking lot law like that. He and his woman strapped on their masks (heh, heh, not so tough against the VIRUS, huh, sissy-boy) and went inside.

 

Well. Like misery loves company, it seems scofflawness loves company. Because who should appear but ANOTHER ne'er-do-well on his roaring hog!

 

This one was an old guy with a long gray beard, accompanied by his grandson, I assume, a lad of about 10. They also masked up and went inside.

 

The couple returned and roared off into the past-noon-day sun. Then Gramps and Sonny came out with a cart and a couple bags. Gramps handed it to Sonny, opened up the metal saddlebag-looking compartment, and said, "Hand me them Monsters." They had bought a selection of Monster Energy Drinks. Just what a growing boy needs. Because of course we'll assume that Gramps gets his energy from meth.

 

Anyhoo... Gramps told Sonny, "Put that cart up."

Sonny pushed the cart into the empty parking space next to me. Gramps looked at him like he was an idiot. "No. Not THERE."

"Why not?"

"Read that sign."

Sonny read the sign out loud. "Reserved parking for our law enforcement partners."

"Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"It's the COPS! That parking space is for the cops! Get that cart out of it!"

Heh, heh. At least Gramps had a rudimentary sense of self-preservation. Sonny pushed the cart by the yellow pole, amidst the yellow stripes, where the couple had left their cart.

I was SO hoping that law enforcement would show up when the scofflaws were parked. There must be a shortage of Karens to call them.