The Pony Gets A Little Horsey

That's what my dad used to call it when kids were on the verge of being disrespectful to adults. Not me, of course! I must have heard him talking to my sister the little future ex-ex-mayor's wife! Anyhoo... The Pony was feeling his oats and kicking up his heels Sunday night, as we were preparing a deep dish Chef Boyardee pizza for supper.

 

I was parched, having just returned late from my town trip (more on that in the future and elsewhere), and now at 5:30 I was putting off my lupper and magical elixir until supper and dishes were done. The Pony has a collection of two-liter bottles of soda dregs left from his Little Caesars feasts. I have cut back on my bottled Diet Coke, but wanted a cup of soda. The SUGAR variety favored by The Pony.

 

"Which do you want? The Pepsi? Or how about the Dr. Pepper. It's the newest."

 

"Yeah. I'll have some Dr. Pepper."

 

I took a red Solo cup and handed it across the cutting block for The Pony to add ice.

 

"Ask your dad if he wants some of his Wild Turkey before supper. Hey! Do we still have all those packages and packages of Solo cups you told me not to buy? I don't know WHY YOU PEOPLE have to leave a whole package on the cutting block, with only three cups left in it!"

 

"To be fair, Mother, I am not the one using the Solo cups. It's YOU and DAD with your DRINKS! Everyone knows that I drink my wine out of the BOTTLE!"

The Pony went to the pantry to look for the hoard of Solo cups.

"Huh. I don't know where they all went. But here's a pack with... uh... ONLY THREE CUPS in it!"

"So THERE, I was right! That's what you get for being horsey!"

Guess I'll put them on the next Devil's Playground list for The Pony. Then he can chastise HIMSELF for buying extra Solo cups when he finds the rest.

We're Practically Family, Right?

Friday I stopped to pick up the mail on my way to town. Wouldn't you know it? There was my DISH bill. On the 18th. Due the 25th. I figured that if I mailed it THAT DAY, there was a chance it might arrive on time. 

 

Of course, it WAS a Friday, and after the time the mail goes out at 11:00 or 11:30, depending which post office. I decided to drive it over to Sis-Town, to the main post office. That would save me a day, or FOREVER, since the AT&T bill I mailed at the dead mouse smelling post office two months ago STILL has not cleared the bank.

I wrote out my check and stuffed it in the enclosed envelope. Sweet Gummi Mary! I did NOT have a stamp! Even more annoying, I'd just bought 4 BOOKS of stamps on Monday! But they were on the kitchen counter. I was not wanting to turn around and drive back up the potholed gravel road, expending another 15-20 minutes by the time I parked and hobbled up the steps and re-petted the fleabags.

Off I went to town. I had a dollar in my pocket to pay for a single 55-cent stamp. It would have to be a stamp. None of that pressing the postage on it with a hand stamp. The return envelope had a message in the stamp area about paperless billing. How dare they!!!

There was only one guy ahead of me at the main post office. But he had an oblong box that he was jawing about. He had ordered something that wasn't right, and needed to send it back. Meanwhile, the new one he ordered was on the way. According to him, he had a couple thousand dollars in the mail until the matter was resolved. Not that I was eavesdropping, or even wanted to know. It's not an interesting tale. I think he was trying to impress the new counter girl, who is no spring chicken, but maybe a mid-summer chicken.

Anyhoo... he could have been filling out the label she gave him with the marker she gave him, rather than chatting like he was on a first date. Counter Girl was waiting for him to shut up so she could ask him the address, to type in for another label she was printing out with postage on it. I bear him no ill will. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellow. Although inefficient. He might have been miffed at ME for horning in on his pick-up spiel. 

Anyhoo... Counter Girl motioned me to the counter after telling him he could shift over to the side for room to do his label-writing.

"I can help you while he's doing that."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hold up the line."

"That's okay. I don't have anywhere I have to be." [Even though it was already going on 4:00, and I wanted to get home and eat some ham salad for my lupper. It's not HIS fault that I sleep until 11:30, then play Candy Crush until my lives run out.] "I just need one stamp, to mail my bill."

"That is just as important as anyone else's business!"

"Well, I'm not sure I need the royal treatment for a 55-cent stamp!"

"All transactions and all customers are equally important!"

She was the gal who had the TRAINEE notice posted the other day when I bought the stamps. I described her to The Pony.

"Short blond hair. A bob. Almost shoulder length. Not real young or real old. But more young than old."

"That describes about a dozen of the women who work there, but if she was training, she's probably the one I went to orientation with. I guess SHE really listened to the part about customer service!"

Yeah. I guess she did. She was very polite. Then again, maybe she saw the name on the return address, and realizes we're practically FAMILY.

Fortune Smiles Upon The Pony, While Saving Grimaces For Mrs. HM

While I can't get a reasonably accurate fast food meal served to me, The Pony might as well be seated on a throne above the dining area, with silver service and a white linen tablecloth, perhaps a nine-branch filigree candelabra, and eager waitresses coming in on their day off just to fan him with palm fronds.

The Pony stopped by Wok N Roll, our newest Chinese restaurant, this week when he was released early from work. It's in the same building as the old Chinese restaurant that The Pony sorely missed, since it closed while he was away at college.

There are only four tables for dining in. Most of their business is carry-out. They have a drive-thru, just like the old one, but the wait is sometimes 30 minutes. You can call ahead. The Pony didn't mind waiting. He was taking a load off his hot hooves. He brought home his leftovers for me to try.

"It's garlic chicken. There's a little bit of meat left. I don't like the big chunks of broccoli and green peppers, or the mushrooms. And there's rice." 

Indeed there was!

 

The Pony must have also ordered a family serving of crab rangoon, because it looks like he hardly ate anything but the chicken. He's not a dainty feeder. This was delicious! A little greasy on the fried rice, but I usually get mine with white rice, so it might have been normal. There were also big hunks of pork in the fried rice.

The restaurant has a website and Facebook page with a menu somewhere. From reading the comments, it seems like they are not a chain, just family-owned. They are closed on Sundays now, to prep for the week ahead. I guess it takes a lot of chopping for those vegetables! Although the carrots looked like standard Chinese meal carrots, so they might buy them in bulk. The broccoli, though, WAS quite large, and I assume hand-cut.

Anyhoo... not only did I enjoy the Pony's leavings with gusto, but I am in love with the container! Now I have new Chinese Tupperware! It came with a clear lid. Not flat, but raised-up. So maybe The Pony DID have a lot of food in that bowl.

We've already told Farmer H he will be picking up food for us there. He says he's an order-and-wait kind of guy. No call ahead and drive-thru for him! He only recently started asking Casey's to make our pizza for later pickup. We know how THAT turned out...

Sometimes, I Like A Little Ice Cream In My Chocolate Shake

I really should be a secret shopper. I have so many experiences worthy of tattling on incompetent employees. And you'd think I'd become a familiar face, so those employees (if still employed) would mind their Ps and Qs when I rolled up.

Thursday errand day, which means Burger King! I made the same order I always make.

"I can take your order when you're ready."

"I'll have a #1...

I paused, because when I tell them the order straight off, they have to interrupt me to ask me the things I've just told them. They don't listen. But THIS time, she (sounded like the dumb girl The Pony and I had problems with before) remained mute.

"...with no cheese, no lettuce. Make it a large. And with a Diet Coke, no ice. And also a chocolate shake."

She was slow putting it on the screen. It looked okay. But she was slow putting up the shake. Then she said dismissively, 

"That will be $14.07 at the first window."

"Uh... that's... did you add the shake?"

"Yes."

"That's not what it usually is... but oh, well..."

I drove around, thinking that maybe prices had gone up. They're exorbitantly high already, but prices of everything are going up. There were four cars ahead of me. Two had already paid, waiting on the food window. Moving slow.

When it was my turn, a red-headed stringbean boy, who looked like The Shermanator in that naughty movie American Pie, repeated the order:

"You had the Whopper with cheese, no lettuce--"

"No. WITHOUT CHEESE! No cheese. I come here every week, and something always gets messed up."

"NO cheese?"

"Yes. NO CHEESE. I know you' didn't TAKE the order, but I'd just like to get it right."

He turned and told somebody, and I heard that girl's voice say, "No cheese?" Then he recalculated my order to the usual $13.53. I pulled forward, and another stringbean with dark hair handed me my soda.

"Diet Coke, no ice."

"Thank you."

Then he handed me THIS SHAKE:

 

SWEET GUMMI MARY! Did I order a "Dollop of ice cream, fill it with chocolate syrup, shoot some whipped topping on it?" I think not. I ordered a CHOCOLATE SHAKE. Which implies a homogeneous mixture of ice cream and flavoring. Blended.

"Huh. Maybe you could have MIXED IT?"

That was a rhetorical question. Not intended to be, but he had closed the window on me. So I posed it for a picture. When he returned with my food, he said, "Thank you. Have a nice day." Which was a plus, at least.

At first I thought maybe they had mixed the shake like that as retaliation. But it was so melty, I figure it was already made, and waiting, before I paid. Gotta say, my Whopper was the most delicious one in a long time. Just the right amount of mayo, four pickle slices, two tomato slices, and enough rings of onion. 

I'm hoping there wasn't some kind of "special sauce" added after my complaint...

If The Fine How-Do-You-Do Gets Any Finer, I'll Be In Carolina In The Morning

The fine how-do-you-do ain't what it used to be. It's even WORSE!

When I left for town on Wednesday, Farmer H was gone to get a haircut, and The Pony was in his room. He got off work at noon, because the acting supervisor didn't have anywhere to send him. I guess that's a good thing. They have two new workers since last week, and they're probably getting all the practice now.

Anyhoo... with The Pony at home, digesting his Garlic Chicken lunch from the newest Chinese restaurant in Hillmomba, I felt comfortable leaving the kitchen door unlocked. I did my town business, and returned within an hour. I hobbled up the steps, purse on my right arm, 44 oz Diet Coke in my right hand, grasping the rail for safety. All the while chatting with the dogs.

"Hey, Juno. Where's my buddy! There he comes! I don't see Copper Jack. Do you guys want PIE? Want some PIE! Don't look at me like that. Pie is a TREAT! You want a TREAT!"

The wagging of their tails said YES.

Farmer H said he was done with his apple pie that I'd baked last week. The one from the Ponytail Guy. Of course I told him to set it on the counter, but he left it taking up a third of the space on FRIG II's top shelf. So I told The Pony to set it out before I left for town. Not because I care about my dogs eating cold apple pie, but to make it easy for me to reach, right by the door.

Anyhoo... Juno slunk into her house to await her TREAT like a moray eel lurking in a rocky alcove to dart out for food. Jack was underfoot, wagging his whole chubby body that really does not need apple pie. 

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL NOT-HEAVEN???

I almost broke my wrist trying to turn the doorknob. It was LOCKED! Of course I had a few things to say about this as I tried to reach down in my purse to find the key, and manipulate the assorted keys on my key ring to get the house key, which is identical to another key which I don't know the purpose of. Maybe it's the OLD house key. Farmer H switches out doorknobs like he switches lanes on the highway. Too often, and without thought of the inconvenience it causes others.

 

"WHO LOCKED ME OUT? This is ridiculous! HELLOOOOO! Where is everybody? WHY am I locked out of my own house?"

I finally got inside, and brought out the pie pan, to flick fair shares to all three dogs, Copper Jack having made a fashionably late entrance.

 

"Don't throw nothin' on my head! I'm down here!"

 

Oh, come on. It's not like I was pushing pie through the porch cracks. I went to the rail and saw Farmer H in his straw hat, the kind you might see on somebody's old mule, pulling the lawnmower out from under the porch.

 

"Why am I locked out of my own house?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"When I left for town, I left this door unlocked. So I didn't have my keys in hand. I don't know how this door got locked in the time I was gone."

 

"I don't know how you got locked out."

 

"The Pony seems to be still in his room. The TV is off. Did you come in here?"

 

"Yeah. I got back from town. I came in and come down to the basement to come out and get the lawnmower."

 

"So YOU locked the door?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"How can you NOT KNOW? Either you did, or you didn't."

 

"When I came in, I thought you were already home, and down in your office."

 

"So you DID lock the door."

 

"I guess so. I didn't plan to come back out, and I thought you were inside."

 

"Why didn't you just SAY YOU LOCKED THE DOOR? That's all I wanted to know!"

 

It's like living in Crazy Town. Or The Village Of Perpetual Liars.

Yesterday's Chicken Salad Sandwich

This is not a code word for something. A euphemism. I am literally talking about yesterday's Chicken Salad Sandwich. Lest you think I might be exaggerating, I have decided to provide you with photographic evidence. Pics or it didn't happen, as Genius is so wont to decree.

Of course I can't show you a picture of yesterday's Chicken Salad Sandwich. It is currently undergoing the process of digestion. But I DO have a picture of its deli-case mate. They have the same packaging date and expiration date. 

Here is the packaging of my new was-favorite lunch. Lupper. Eaten between the normal hours of lunch and supper.

 

It's all fogged-up, having traveled from FRIG II to my lair. It is 2 croissants with chicken salad, on a bed of romaine lettuce leaves. I started to eat the lettuce one day, but saw DIRT on the leaf! I wiped off the bottom of my croissant thoroughly. What else would you have me do? I'm not a raccoon, ready to scrub it in a creek!

The label says Chicken Salad On Croissant 580 Calories. The label is from the chain that took over Country Mart, but it will always be Country Mart to me.

I've opened up my tasty "sammich," as Farmer H says, to show you what I was talking about.

 

That is the driest Chicken Salad I've ever seen! It's like random pieces of chicken, on a croissant, with a tiny bit of chopped celery, and an afterthought of mayo. There are two of the purple grapes that came in the container. The red grapes are ones I bought at Save A Lot. They're delicious! So crisp and snappy when you bite into them.

I'm sure you would agree that this "Chicken Salad" is a travesty! Though let the record show that I ate every crumb...

Here is something quite disturbing that I only noticed on yesterday's Chicken Salad Sandwich. Can you see what I saw? It involves the packaging. Take a guess. I will reveal the facts in the paragraph after the paragraph below the picture:

 

Just your standard deli container. Plastic. Snap open and shut. A clear top to see what's inside. A label with a bar code listing the ingredients and the expiration date. Do you have an idea?

Give up? Or awaiting your VALidation? You may think that the label doesn't show the dates. Oh, it DOES. But you have to flip the package upside down to see that part. As the cashier has to flip it upside down to scan it. I don't particularly like having my sandwich flipped upside down. But THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM. It's A problem. Nope. The most disturbing thing about the package is:

NOTHING SEALS IT SHUT!

The side that opens does NOT have a label to keep people from flipping the lid and TAMPERING with the sandwich! The label is on the wrong side. A hundred people could have picked up my sandwich, and fondled it, licked it, sneezed on it, poisoned it, or rubbed their rumpus on it!!!

I did not notice this fact until I was done eating the first sandwich. When I went upstairs, I looked at the second one, and the label was the same. Of course I didn't drive it back to town for a refund. You know me! 

However... if the labels are like this next time, I'm going to bring it to the attention of the deli worker, or the service desk. Not that they'll do anything about it. They might slap on another label after the fact. But maybe they'll pay attention to it next time.

It's An Epidemic!

An epidemic of POOR SERVICE! The Service Industry might need to change its name to the Take Your Chances Industry. Maybe you'll get what you asked for. Maybe you won't. Mrs. HM is not the only customer affected!

Farmer H went halfway to the city on Monday. Up around where he used to work. He stopped by White Castle on the way home, for lunch. If you've never had a White Castle burger, my take on them is that they're the original slider. Not just for their size. For their GREASINESS! Of course that's what makes them delicious to me! That grease forming a jelly-like layer between the square burger with holes in it, and the little square bun. Then there's the fried diced onions that also soak up grease from the griddle. Mmm! Genius isn't allowed to eat them if he's going to be in the Mansion. His digestive system has a toxic way of processing these "Belly Bombers."

Anyhoo... Farmer H gave away his secret White Castle visit by COMPLAINING! 

"I ordered 4 White Castles with cheese, onion rings, and a Diet Coke with no ice. I got 4 White Castles with cheese, FRIES, and a Diet Coke WITH ICE!"

"Well, did you go in and complain about it?"

"No. I was already down the highway when I noticed."

I'm guessing there was also at least one other dissatisfied customer! Probably got the orders switched. Or else they were just as competent as the workers I encounter. 

Another thing! I have been enjoying the Country Mart deli chicken salad sandwich lately. It's chicken salad on a croissant, served on a leaf of romaine lettuce, with four green grapes on the side. It's delicious! At least the first two that I had.

The next week, I also bought two chicken salad sandwiches, and they were swimming in mayo! I mean actually swimming! The watery mayo had sloshed over the edge of their lettuce raft. Oh, I still ate them! Even though the green grapes had been left out of one container, and substituted by two purple grapes in the other.

THIS week, I again bought two chicken salad sandwiches. I've only eaten one so far, but it was the opposite of the last ones. DRY! Like some random chicken pieces stirred with diced celery and a few dill pickle particles. Not even enough mayo to stick them together! Barely enough to give them a white color. Goldilocks would've had a heyday if she was their secret shopper, or quality control technician.