I've had enough! People should not be accosted by buggers when trying to enter a business establishment!
I hesitate to call them "beggars," because they obviously are affiliated with a legitimate charity. They wear bright orange vests trimmed with yellow, and have a kind-of label hanging around their neck. It's not that I'm against their cause, which seems to be developmentally-delayed adults. I'm just not in a habit of tossing pocket change into receptacles in front of grocery stores and gas stations. I choose my charities, and donate on a bit of a larger scale, by personal check. So it's not guilt that makes me look unfavorably upon the buggers.
Friday, these people were bugging in front of 4 separate businesses that I entered. I call them "buggers," because they bug me. Even if I WAS a coin-tossing donator, how is the bugger in front of Waterside Mart supposed to know that I contributed money to the bugger in front of Orb K? Uh huh. They DON'T know that. I suppose I could have just said, "I gave at Orb K." But I didn't, because that would be a lie. When directly asked if I would like to donate, I just say, "Not today." Which is most certainly true.
I've got no problem with buggers setting up a table, or even standing off to the side. Perhaps with a sign in larger letters describing their charity. Then a person can walk over and donate at their leisure, without feeling pressured to give. Seeing them standing a couple inches from the entry make me not want to enter that establishment.
It bugs me.
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Saturday, October 6, 2018
You Can't Take The Teacher Out Of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom
Darn it! Now I'm in office supply mode! You know how some women get baby fever after holding a newborn? Not happenin' here! But mention office supplies, and that gets my heart thumping. Sweet, sweet office supplies! I love them! And blog buddy River mentioned them in her comment Thursday. That's what started me down this path. I'd resisted the urge when writing about Genius's clandestine hoarding tendencies. But reading about assorted supplies triggered me!
You can take Mrs. Hillbilly Mom out of teaching...but you can't take the teacher out of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! How may other people do you know who take a picture of their Swingline stapler...and KEEP IT! This was taken back in February of 2016. The year I retired! I loved that stapler. It was the best stapler ever! It's here somewhere, in my boxed-up supplies. I really need to dig him out.
You might also notice the 4 writing implements on the desk. Of course I needed 4 to get through the day. The red Pilot Rollerball Fine Point for grading papers (you can see it's almost empty). The red pen (not my favorite brand, but you work with what you've got) for writing test scores and absences in the gradebook, because the Pilot seeps through the page. The black pen for writing on official hall passes and other documents, and taking notes on stuff. And the mechanical pencil for writing daily scores in the gradebook. I LOVE the feel of a mechanical pencil's lead against paper!
I never loaned out my mechanical pencils. It was precious hard to find the style I like. This is close. I'm not a big fan of those cushion thingies on the end, but the lead itself, and the eraser, were good.
I also happen to have another picture I took of some new office supplies! This one was taken in March of 2017. About a year after retirement. I'm thinking that I needed a mechanical pencil and a cheap calculator for fiddling with taxes, since they are due by April 15th.
Of course Mrs. HM can't buy JUST ONE mechanical pencil. Or cheap calculator. Nope. I couldn't resist that pack of mechanical pencils. When am I going to need 50 pencils? Not even when I was teaching would I need that many pencils! That's two per year for 25 years!!! I have had mechanical pencils that lasted two years or more! At work!
Anyhoo...even though I had my fantastic Swingline stapler, and a couple lesser staplers around the Mansion...I really wanted this cute little PaperPro stapler. It was in my former school colors, too! And those little boxes...well...I don't know what I'll use them for. But they're sitting right here on my desk by New Delly.
My name is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, and I'm an officesupplyholic.
You can take Mrs. Hillbilly Mom out of teaching...but you can't take the teacher out of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! How may other people do you know who take a picture of their Swingline stapler...and KEEP IT! This was taken back in February of 2016. The year I retired! I loved that stapler. It was the best stapler ever! It's here somewhere, in my boxed-up supplies. I really need to dig him out.
You might also notice the 4 writing implements on the desk. Of course I needed 4 to get through the day. The red Pilot Rollerball Fine Point for grading papers (you can see it's almost empty). The red pen (not my favorite brand, but you work with what you've got) for writing test scores and absences in the gradebook, because the Pilot seeps through the page. The black pen for writing on official hall passes and other documents, and taking notes on stuff. And the mechanical pencil for writing daily scores in the gradebook. I LOVE the feel of a mechanical pencil's lead against paper!
I never loaned out my mechanical pencils. It was precious hard to find the style I like. This is close. I'm not a big fan of those cushion thingies on the end, but the lead itself, and the eraser, were good.
I also happen to have another picture I took of some new office supplies! This one was taken in March of 2017. About a year after retirement. I'm thinking that I needed a mechanical pencil and a cheap calculator for fiddling with taxes, since they are due by April 15th.
Of course Mrs. HM can't buy JUST ONE mechanical pencil. Or cheap calculator. Nope. I couldn't resist that pack of mechanical pencils. When am I going to need 50 pencils? Not even when I was teaching would I need that many pencils! That's two per year for 25 years!!! I have had mechanical pencils that lasted two years or more! At work!
Anyhoo...even though I had my fantastic Swingline stapler, and a couple lesser staplers around the Mansion...I really wanted this cute little PaperPro stapler. It was in my former school colors, too! And those little boxes...well...I don't know what I'll use them for. But they're sitting right here on my desk by New Delly.
My name is Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, and I'm an officesupplyholic.
Friday, October 5, 2018
That Darn Jack!
You know I love my little mutt, (formerly known as Puppy) Jack. He's so energetic and happy that he lifts my spirits every time I see him. He's a furry tube of fun, my little half-dachshund half-heeler.
Yesterday, Jack went a little too far. He loves to put his front feet up on my shoulders, while I'm standing on the sidewalk by the side porch, on the way to the garage. I think he remembers his puppy days, when I'd pick him up and he'd climb on my shoulder like a red-spotted white fur stole, and burrow his head up under my lovely lady-mullet.
Well. We'd had heavy rains overnight. As I came around the porch corner, I saw Jack and Juno and Copper Jack frolicking in the front yard. They all stopped, looked at me, and took off at a run. Jack is the quickest. He rushed up on the side porch, hopeful for a petting before jealous Juno could shoulder him away from me.
I was on my way to town, in a solid-color pastel purple shirt. I stepped back from the edge, saying, "Jack! NO!" But it was too late. His muddy paws were already in motion as he reared up on his hind legs, looking for a shoulder-snuggle. I didn't want him to topple three feet down onto the concrete. So I didn't jump all the way back. I leaned back and swiveled at the waist.
Jack's paws caught my right shoulder (instead of the usual left) and boob area. Mostly the boob area. I had a black muddy swipe right over the boob area. That's not an attractive look. It was already after 1:00, and I didn't want to go back in and change. The muddy mark was maybe a an inch long, and as thick as a big fat pencil lead, like used by kindergarteners.
I gave the dogs their anticipated cat kibble, and left for town. I figured that if anybody asked, they wouldn't believe that my half-dachshund half-heeler had really jumped up on me and left a muddy paw swipe on my boob area.
Seriously. They don't hang low enough for that.
Yesterday, Jack went a little too far. He loves to put his front feet up on my shoulders, while I'm standing on the sidewalk by the side porch, on the way to the garage. I think he remembers his puppy days, when I'd pick him up and he'd climb on my shoulder like a red-spotted white fur stole, and burrow his head up under my lovely lady-mullet.
Well. We'd had heavy rains overnight. As I came around the porch corner, I saw Jack and Juno and Copper Jack frolicking in the front yard. They all stopped, looked at me, and took off at a run. Jack is the quickest. He rushed up on the side porch, hopeful for a petting before jealous Juno could shoulder him away from me.
I was on my way to town, in a solid-color pastel purple shirt. I stepped back from the edge, saying, "Jack! NO!" But it was too late. His muddy paws were already in motion as he reared up on his hind legs, looking for a shoulder-snuggle. I didn't want him to topple three feet down onto the concrete. So I didn't jump all the way back. I leaned back and swiveled at the waist.
Jack's paws caught my right shoulder (instead of the usual left) and boob area. Mostly the boob area. I had a black muddy swipe right over the boob area. That's not an attractive look. It was already after 1:00, and I didn't want to go back in and change. The muddy mark was maybe a an inch long, and as thick as a big fat pencil lead, like used by kindergarteners.
I gave the dogs their anticipated cat kibble, and left for town. I figured that if anybody asked, they wouldn't believe that my half-dachshund half-heeler had really jumped up on me and left a muddy paw swipe on my boob area.
Seriously. They don't hang low enough for that.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
I'm Sure It Will Be Found Next To A Stash Of Scissors And Rulers
Like ships and planes in the Bermuda Triangle, scissors and rulers disappear in the Mansion. In fact, I can't think of a single ruler's location, other than my special 20-something-year-old MSTA ruler that I got for free, probably my first year of teaching. The only scissors I can find are in the kitchen silverware drawer.
Before you think that maybe Mrs. HM has simply misplaced a couple of office supplies over the course of her lifetime, let the record show that the Mansion was home to Genius and The Pony. Public school students who were bought school supplies each August. Those supplies always included a ruler and a pair of scissors. That's two boys. 12 grades of school. Which means 24 rulers and 24 scissors have simply disappeared into thin Mansion air. I always accused Genius of hiding them in a hollow under the floorboards. He loves office supplies as much as I do. In fact, his original dream career was "working at Office Max."
Anyhoo...this is the first week of October. The Pony's college money is split between a regular account, from which I draw out money each month for his expenses, and use to pay his rent and what fees his scholarship doesn't cover...and a CD. That CD comes due every year at this time, and I put a new supply of accessible funds into his regular account, and leave the rest to start a new CD. They give me a certificate for that, you know. It IS called a Certificate of Deposit.
Farmer H is in charge of the family jewels (heh, heh) and important paperwork. Not TAX important. I mean UPON DEATH important. Official papers that need to be stored in (one of) the safes.
Let the record show that for the past three years, I have not been able to take that certificate into the office to cash out that CD! Lucky for me (and The Pony, of course) that the credit union keeps a copy, and pulls it out for me to sign, and business goes on as usual. The point is...
HOW CAN FARMER H LOSE THAT CERTIFICATE EVERY SINGLE YEAR?
Oh, he found the original CDs for the boys, from way back in 2009. But that's not what I needed. Those are no good now. Genius is educated, his money used. And The Pony's decreases each year. Right now, the new certificate that I got on Tuesday is laying on the kitchen counter. I pointed it out to Farmer H.
"Here's the certificate for The Pony's new CD. You need to put it up. Where you can find it next October! I'm tired of going in there asking for their copy."
"I know. I'll put it somewhere safe."
Uh huh.
Before you think that maybe Mrs. HM has simply misplaced a couple of office supplies over the course of her lifetime, let the record show that the Mansion was home to Genius and The Pony. Public school students who were bought school supplies each August. Those supplies always included a ruler and a pair of scissors. That's two boys. 12 grades of school. Which means 24 rulers and 24 scissors have simply disappeared into thin Mansion air. I always accused Genius of hiding them in a hollow under the floorboards. He loves office supplies as much as I do. In fact, his original dream career was "working at Office Max."
Anyhoo...this is the first week of October. The Pony's college money is split between a regular account, from which I draw out money each month for his expenses, and use to pay his rent and what fees his scholarship doesn't cover...and a CD. That CD comes due every year at this time, and I put a new supply of accessible funds into his regular account, and leave the rest to start a new CD. They give me a certificate for that, you know. It IS called a Certificate of Deposit.
Farmer H is in charge of the family jewels (heh, heh) and important paperwork. Not TAX important. I mean UPON DEATH important. Official papers that need to be stored in (one of) the safes.
Let the record show that for the past three years, I have not been able to take that certificate into the office to cash out that CD! Lucky for me (and The Pony, of course) that the credit union keeps a copy, and pulls it out for me to sign, and business goes on as usual. The point is...
HOW CAN FARMER H LOSE THAT CERTIFICATE EVERY SINGLE YEAR?
Oh, he found the original CDs for the boys, from way back in 2009. But that's not what I needed. Those are no good now. Genius is educated, his money used. And The Pony's decreases each year. Right now, the new certificate that I got on Tuesday is laying on the kitchen counter. I pointed it out to Farmer H.
"Here's the certificate for The Pony's new CD. You need to put it up. Where you can find it next October! I'm tired of going in there asking for their copy."
"I know. I'll put it somewhere safe."
Uh huh.
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
All Signs Point To Mischief
You know how your eye is drawn to something different? You have no conscious thought of a change, but your brain elbows you in the ribs, and says, "Looky there!" That's what happened when I returned home from a 45-minute trip to town on Sunday for my 44 oz Diet Coke.
As I drove along our property on the gravel road, I noticed that Farmer H's campaign signs were missing. Oh, don't worry. The world is safe. Farmer H himself is not running for office. But he'd allowed two candidates for local races to place their signs out front. It's not like we get a lot of traffic by here. But I guess you never know when somebody taking a headless body up past the Mansion to dump in the septic tank of a vacant house might see them. Or the procession of law enforcement and coroner vehicles that follow...
Anyhoo...I just KNEW those signs had been there when I left. I was certain. Pretty sure. Thought they were. Because I'd looked down into the BARn field, to see if perhaps Farmer H had returned early from the Storage Unit Store, and might be puttering around over there. I'd left about 12:30, and it was now nearing 1:00. If business isn't booming, he leaves at noon. Surely, if those signs had been gone, I would have noticed as I passed by the first time. And I didn't.
Once I parked T-Hoe in the garage, I called Farmer H.
"Did you take down your signs? Your campaign signs? They're laying in the yard."
"No. Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. At first, I thought they were gone. Like maybe the candidates came and took them back. But then I saw them laying flat in the grass."
"No. I didn't touch them. They were there when I came to my store at 8:00."
"I'm pretty sure they were there when I left for town, too. Now they're down."
"Huh. I'll look when I get back."
I asked for pictures before he set them back up. Farmer H said he was going to put something on Facebook about it, on the page that our enclave uses to communicate things like power outages and strange vehicles and INSULTS ABOUT FARMER H's ROADWORK!
I don't know why somebody would take down the signs. I don't even know what political party these candidates represent. Farmer H and I don't have a political affiliation. We vote for the candidate. One of these is a distant relative of Farmer H, running for county clerk. The other is a judge up for re-election, a guy whose brother was in my high school class, and who Farmer H went to fireman training with.
[Maybe Juno was on the case! Looks like she was sniffing something when Farmer H took the photo after he got home. If only she could talk!]
A few minutes later, Farmer H said he put the info on Facebook, and that he let people know he was not happy!
"Oh, great. Now you're going to start a war. It might have been your buddy, Buddy, playing a prank on you. Or maybe it was somebody mad about your bumpy roads!"
"Hah. They would have done it before now."
"Maybe it was kids."
"I think kids would have kicked them down, and they'd be bent."
"I think adults would have taken them! Not just laid them down."
About a half hour late, Farmer H said our neighbor next door put out some info. She'd seen kids walking down the road about an hour previous.
"See? I think it was kids."
"She didn't put out publicly who it looked like, but she told me. And I know that lady was having a birthday party for her teenage daughter today."
AHA! I'm pretty sure we have solved the mystery. Better yet, that lady is also on the Facebook page. So she knows darn good and well if those kids went for a walk. Not that she'll own up to anything. But it's enough that she knows kids were sighted in the area.
I would hope they at least get a good talking-to! A prank's a prank, but you don't go messing with stuff in the country. No siree, Bob! Farmer H is not a person concerned with revenge. But others might be.
As I drove along our property on the gravel road, I noticed that Farmer H's campaign signs were missing. Oh, don't worry. The world is safe. Farmer H himself is not running for office. But he'd allowed two candidates for local races to place their signs out front. It's not like we get a lot of traffic by here. But I guess you never know when somebody taking a headless body up past the Mansion to dump in the septic tank of a vacant house might see them. Or the procession of law enforcement and coroner vehicles that follow...
Anyhoo...I just KNEW those signs had been there when I left. I was certain. Pretty sure. Thought they were. Because I'd looked down into the BARn field, to see if perhaps Farmer H had returned early from the Storage Unit Store, and might be puttering around over there. I'd left about 12:30, and it was now nearing 1:00. If business isn't booming, he leaves at noon. Surely, if those signs had been gone, I would have noticed as I passed by the first time. And I didn't.
Once I parked T-Hoe in the garage, I called Farmer H.
"Did you take down your signs? Your campaign signs? They're laying in the yard."
"No. Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. At first, I thought they were gone. Like maybe the candidates came and took them back. But then I saw them laying flat in the grass."
"No. I didn't touch them. They were there when I came to my store at 8:00."
"I'm pretty sure they were there when I left for town, too. Now they're down."
"Huh. I'll look when I get back."
I asked for pictures before he set them back up. Farmer H said he was going to put something on Facebook about it, on the page that our enclave uses to communicate things like power outages and strange vehicles and INSULTS ABOUT FARMER H's ROADWORK!
I don't know why somebody would take down the signs. I don't even know what political party these candidates represent. Farmer H and I don't have a political affiliation. We vote for the candidate. One of these is a distant relative of Farmer H, running for county clerk. The other is a judge up for re-election, a guy whose brother was in my high school class, and who Farmer H went to fireman training with.
[Maybe Juno was on the case! Looks like she was sniffing something when Farmer H took the photo after he got home. If only she could talk!]
A few minutes later, Farmer H said he put the info on Facebook, and that he let people know he was not happy!
"Oh, great. Now you're going to start a war. It might have been your buddy, Buddy, playing a prank on you. Or maybe it was somebody mad about your bumpy roads!"
"Hah. They would have done it before now."
"Maybe it was kids."
"I think kids would have kicked them down, and they'd be bent."
"I think adults would have taken them! Not just laid them down."
About a half hour late, Farmer H said our neighbor next door put out some info. She'd seen kids walking down the road about an hour previous.
"See? I think it was kids."
"She didn't put out publicly who it looked like, but she told me. And I know that lady was having a birthday party for her teenage daughter today."
AHA! I'm pretty sure we have solved the mystery. Better yet, that lady is also on the Facebook page. So she knows darn good and well if those kids went for a walk. Not that she'll own up to anything. But it's enough that she knows kids were sighted in the area.
I would hope they at least get a good talking-to! A prank's a prank, but you don't go messing with stuff in the country. No siree, Bob! Farmer H is not a person concerned with revenge. But others might be.
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Mrs. HM Gets Spooked
October is barely upon us, and Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is already jumpy. It's not the paranormal that scares her these days. It's the real-life ghouls who set her nerves on edge.
I cruised down Mailbox Hill Monday afternoon, and came upon a White RaperVan at the entrance to our gravel road.
The Pony is the one to thank for that term. He's always referred to white vans that way. I think it was an inside joke amongst his classmates. At first I didn't get my hackles up. Our down-the-hill neighbor drives a white van for his job, which is servicing heating and cooling units for a restaurant chain, if Farmer H is to be believed.
I parked T-Hoe on the edge of the blacktop county road, and walked over to EmBee for our mail. During that task, I started thinking. Why would our neighbor be parked down at the end of the gravel road? He doesn't have kids to pick up when the school bus arrives. And that would be 2-3 hours later in the afternoon. This is not on his work route. He'd just go on up the road and home. It didn't look like the person in the White RavperVan was him. This driver had a thinner (and younger-looking arm). That's all I could see. One arm.
This time, I took a picture. For later reference. Or perhaps evidence! In front of that White RaperVan is a little red car. It might look a bit like Neighbor Tommy's car, but this is a smaller model. It is parked there every day. A fifteen-year-old kid drives it down there to wait for the bus, and drives it back home after school.
Anyhoo...as I turned in and drove past the White RaperVan, it looked like a guy behind the driver's seat, with a phone to his ear. That's funny. Peculiar, not ha-ha. I have no bars down here. I can barely get radio reception. So it seems odd that a person would choose this place to talk on a cell phone.
I went up the road, in the manner of a person who actually lives out here. You know. Not speeding, but not creeping along like a sightseer.
THAT WHITE RAPERVAN PULLED OUT TO FOLLOW ME!
Uh huh. After sitting there for who knows how long, that driver had a sudden need to drive along behind me. At a pretty good clip, too. He was gaining on me. Not that I was trying to outrun him. There's a just-right speed on this gravel, where you don't slide around, and don't hit the potholes too hard. I was at that speed. White RaperVan was exceeding it.
Heh, heh! I hope that dude was hungry, because I fed him enough dust to make a competitive eater throw in the towel. Yes, a huge cloud of dust rose up, making a wall that my rearview vision could not penetrate! I no longer saw White RaperVan. I guess he backed off.
When I turned up the hill to pass by my heating/cooling neighbor's homestead, that White RaperVan kept going on up the other hill, past HOS's house, on the road that comes out on another blacktop county road after two miles.
Here's the creepy part. When I loaded these pictures, and zoomed in to see if there might be a business logo on the side of the White RaperVan...I noticed something odd about the back bumper.
It looks like a cascade of blood might have seeped out!
Probably just my overactive Halloween imagination kicking in.
I cruised down Mailbox Hill Monday afternoon, and came upon a White RaperVan at the entrance to our gravel road.
The Pony is the one to thank for that term. He's always referred to white vans that way. I think it was an inside joke amongst his classmates. At first I didn't get my hackles up. Our down-the-hill neighbor drives a white van for his job, which is servicing heating and cooling units for a restaurant chain, if Farmer H is to be believed.
I parked T-Hoe on the edge of the blacktop county road, and walked over to EmBee for our mail. During that task, I started thinking. Why would our neighbor be parked down at the end of the gravel road? He doesn't have kids to pick up when the school bus arrives. And that would be 2-3 hours later in the afternoon. This is not on his work route. He'd just go on up the road and home. It didn't look like the person in the White RavperVan was him. This driver had a thinner (and younger-looking arm). That's all I could see. One arm.
This time, I took a picture. For later reference. Or perhaps evidence! In front of that White RaperVan is a little red car. It might look a bit like Neighbor Tommy's car, but this is a smaller model. It is parked there every day. A fifteen-year-old kid drives it down there to wait for the bus, and drives it back home after school.
Anyhoo...as I turned in and drove past the White RaperVan, it looked like a guy behind the driver's seat, with a phone to his ear. That's funny. Peculiar, not ha-ha. I have no bars down here. I can barely get radio reception. So it seems odd that a person would choose this place to talk on a cell phone.
I went up the road, in the manner of a person who actually lives out here. You know. Not speeding, but not creeping along like a sightseer.
THAT WHITE RAPERVAN PULLED OUT TO FOLLOW ME!
Uh huh. After sitting there for who knows how long, that driver had a sudden need to drive along behind me. At a pretty good clip, too. He was gaining on me. Not that I was trying to outrun him. There's a just-right speed on this gravel, where you don't slide around, and don't hit the potholes too hard. I was at that speed. White RaperVan was exceeding it.
Heh, heh! I hope that dude was hungry, because I fed him enough dust to make a competitive eater throw in the towel. Yes, a huge cloud of dust rose up, making a wall that my rearview vision could not penetrate! I no longer saw White RaperVan. I guess he backed off.
When I turned up the hill to pass by my heating/cooling neighbor's homestead, that White RaperVan kept going on up the other hill, past HOS's house, on the road that comes out on another blacktop county road after two miles.
Here's the creepy part. When I loaded these pictures, and zoomed in to see if there might be a business logo on the side of the White RaperVan...I noticed something odd about the back bumper.
It looks like a cascade of blood might have seeped out!
Probably just my overactive Halloween imagination kicking in.
Monday, October 1, 2018
Sometimes, You Gotta Let Your Arm Get Twisted
I've been on a losing streak lately with my scratchers. Unless you count those three $100 winners I had a month ago. Of course I don't count them! They were JUST three tickets. I've had a bunch of losers since then.
On Friday, I thought my luck was turning around. I was shocked to have three winners. One of them for $50, one for $40, and one for $15. I figured it was either a fluke, or I was headed for a winning streak. That's usually how it goes.
Saturday, when I cashed in my winners at The Gas Station Chicken Store, my mashed-potato buddy was working the resister. I heard a man in front of me asking for certain tickets, and the Asian Guy Clerk said, "No. No. Uh uh. Nope." That's because he was out of the $2 tickets that guy wanted. So he bought other ones. I didn't see which kind.
AGC cashed my tickets, and I told him I wanted to spend $15, and take the rest back in cash. I took a $10 ticket, and pointed to a $5 ticket. "No." I chose another. "No. You have to take the VOICE, or the crossword." He said it so forcefully. Like I couldn't just decide to take the $5 back.
"Oh, okay. I'll take The Voice. I don't really like it. I've only won once on it, and that was ten dollars. It's too hard to scratch. But if you're going to twist my arm, I'll take it."
I guess it's a good thing for me that AGC was so persuasive. I uncovered the little microphone symbol, which is an automatic winner, on the first number. I was excited. Then I got it on the second number, and was whooping, all alone in my lair, because I knew I'd won at least $10. You can imagine how exciting it was to find winners under EVERY NUMBER. For a total of $100.
We'll see how long my lucky streak can last.
On Friday, I thought my luck was turning around. I was shocked to have three winners. One of them for $50, one for $40, and one for $15. I figured it was either a fluke, or I was headed for a winning streak. That's usually how it goes.
Saturday, when I cashed in my winners at The Gas Station Chicken Store, my mashed-potato buddy was working the resister. I heard a man in front of me asking for certain tickets, and the Asian Guy Clerk said, "No. No. Uh uh. Nope." That's because he was out of the $2 tickets that guy wanted. So he bought other ones. I didn't see which kind.
AGC cashed my tickets, and I told him I wanted to spend $15, and take the rest back in cash. I took a $10 ticket, and pointed to a $5 ticket. "No." I chose another. "No. You have to take the VOICE, or the crossword." He said it so forcefully. Like I couldn't just decide to take the $5 back.
"Oh, okay. I'll take The Voice. I don't really like it. I've only won once on it, and that was ten dollars. It's too hard to scratch. But if you're going to twist my arm, I'll take it."
I guess it's a good thing for me that AGC was so persuasive. I uncovered the little microphone symbol, which is an automatic winner, on the first number. I was excited. Then I got it on the second number, and was whooping, all alone in my lair, because I knew I'd won at least $10. You can imagine how exciting it was to find winners under EVERY NUMBER. For a total of $100.
We'll see how long my lucky streak can last.
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