Pretending To Know

On our ride to meet Genius for lunch on Wednesday, I passed the time chatting with Hick. Not so simple as you might think, since he has the radio turned up loud, and responds in mumbles while his face it turned away, gawking out his window. Even asking him to turn down the radio gets "I DID turn it down! It's down!"

Oh, well. I have a hand to reach out for that knob, even though Hick refuses to lessen the volume by clicking on A-Cad's steering wheel controller lever. Then began the attempt to entertain ourselves.

"I saw a cute thing on the unofficial post office REDDIT that Pony and I read. It was a picture, with a long line of LLVs [Long Life Vehicles], showing their front ends. The closest one had its serial number where you could read it. The guy who put it on there said to comment when you figured it out. This will be easy for you, since I'm saying it out loud, rather than you reading it. That number was 8675309."

"Huh."

"Do you get it?"

"Yeah."

"Then explain it."

"It's like the TV show."

"What?"

"That TV show. You know. About the radio station in Cincinnati."

"WHAT? You mean WKRP in Cincinnati?"

"Yeah. That one."

"That's LETTERS! Not NUMBERS! How in the world did you get THAT?"

"Oh. That's not it?"

Anyhoo... we got to lunch. While waiting for the food to arrive, I told Genius about it.

"Oh! It's that song!"

"Yeah. Which song?"

"I don't remember the exact words. It was before my time. I think in the 90s. But I know the song it's about."

I took Genius's word for it. Later, on the way home, I called The Pony, to confirm the time he and The Veteran were taking Hick out for a belated Father's Day supper.

"Hey, did you see that picture of the LLVs on REDDIT? With the serial number on the first one?"

"No. I was too busy to get on there. What is it?"

"8675309."

"OH!" The Pony started singing the song, with the right melody. Even though he was born after Genius, so it was even more before his time.

Heh, heh. Who would have thought that The Pony would come up with the right answer instead of Hick and Genius.

That song was 867-5309/Jenny. From 1981.

For the record, The Pony also advised me that such a serial number meant that LLV was one of the newer models...

A Disfunctional Dinner With Thevictorians

Genius was passing through on Wednesday, on his way to Missouri Boys' State, where he works every summer, giving back in the form of time and free labor in their technology department. Only this year, he has some other job, supposedly more elevated, in putting out media for future attendees. Or as I call it, propaganda! 

Anyhoo... it's a good program in leadership for high school juniors. Most schools our size can send two students. Friend also contributes in the technology department. So we met them, driving 45 minutes north to a Bandana's BBQ restaurant for lunch. Or dinner. Whatever your region of the country calls it. Around here, the evening meal is SUPPER, and the noontime can be lunch or dinner. Which doesn't really fit the old breakfast, lunch, and dinner saying.

Anyhoo... we had a good visit while chowing down on BBQ.

I chose the Chicken Sandwich, with a side of slaw.

I picked dark meat chicken. Here, I've added two sauces. The Sweet and Smoky in the picture, and Chicago Sweet, which I can't really describe. The bun was buttered and toasted. I ate my sandwich with a fork stabbing the chicken, then taking a bit of the bun. I don't like messy food! The slaw was tasty, looking like the bagged variety, but with too much "juice." It was almost like slaw soup! I mainly ate the top of it, and left the soggy bottom.

Genius also chose a sandwich, the Burnt Ends, as well as slaw for his side.

Genius's sandwich looked a lot better before he put that top bun back on after saucing.

Friend had the Turkey Platter, with Baked Beans and Fries.

This was almost going to be my choice, but I decided on a sandwich.

Hick had the BBQ Baked Potato, with Baked Beans for his side.

This was a travesty! When I used to get the BBQ Baked Potato, it was much bigger. Like a Terrible Tater we get elsewhere. Look at this puny spud! It's almost like a new potato! There IS meat in there. And cheese. Hick has doused it with the butter and sour cream. He had two slices of garlic bread, but the other was tiny.

And now... for the disfunction. When we sat down, the roll of paper towels they have on each table was just a tube with a couple towels clinging to it. I said that when the waitress came to get our order, we needed to ask for more paper towels. Of course nary a one of us opened our mealy mouths to request more. So when the food came, Genius tore off a towel and handed it to me, and then he took the one he had to pry loose from the cardboard. Sorry, Hick and Friend! You're on your own! When the waiter came back to deliver Hick's sad potato, Hick DID ask, and we got a roll of paper towels.

Genius then strong-armed Friend into giving him a slice of garlic bread. That was dirty pool, since Friend had bitten off the small piece, saving the larger one for last. Of course that's the one Genius got. 

When Hick had first ordered his BBQ Baked Potato, he was told he got a side dish, and he said he wanted garlic bread. The waitress told him, "It comes with two slices of garlic bread. Do you want more?"

"Yes, I want my side to be garlic bread."

"Okay. That will be five slices of garlic bread all together..."

"Oh. Well. Then I don't want THAT much. I'll take baked beans."

After hearing Hick grousing to Friend about how they each got one good piece of garlic bread, and a tiny one, I felt bad for Hick. So I gave him half my bottom sandwich bun, which had a nice toast around the edge, plus some sauce that had leaked through my chicken pieces. Hick took it so gladly that I wished I had give him the whole bottom. But not enough to deny myself the other half.

A nice visit was had by all, and the food was tasty.

The Pony Cannot Catch a Break

Poor Pony, struggling through a bout of The Universe serving up crap sandwiches! I think The Pony is due for a platter of filet mignon. Then again, I'm just a hovering parent.

Last week, The Pony encountered a lady out in her yard with her dalmatians. He voiced his concern to me by text.

"These people, insisting their dogs are friendly and fine to deliver mail if they're out. For reference, these are large dalmatians with a habit of jumping up on you, per the resident herself. She even said they knocked her over and she broke an ankle before, and still insisted they're fine to come up and deliver when they're out."

But that's not all. Later that same evening:

"RIP to my NY ice cream, since my freezer apparently didn't close *again* when I got ice for my extra water bottle. Everything else is fine. Just thawed a little."

But wait! Tuesday took the non-existent cake!

The Pony was supposed to be off, since Wednesday, which is the USPS Juneteenth holiday, is his regular day off, and so Tuesday would become the holiday. The Pony volunteered to work Tuesday, to gain extra leave hours. "It will be easy. Only 8 hours for sure, because they don't want to pay any penalty time for going over."

Well. If only. I got another text on Tuesday morning:

"Gonna be a long day. They're strapped for people, and I have three different every door things. Gonna take two and do the overtime. Since it's penalty time to do it on my holiday/day off."

During a break around 2:00, The Pony sent a message about things we read on Reddit on the unofficial post office thread.

"Another burnt LLV on Reddit! Apparently it was 2 minutes start to finish."

"Oh, the MAILmanity! Somebody's bills aren't getting paid this month! Dang. Bless the Metris you drive on your route."

"It makes things more bearable."

"A very thin silver lining."

Until 3 hours and 45 minutes later, when The Pony sent me a video. I won't link it, because I haven't asked permission.

"This is, uh, worrying about the Metris. Uh. It's still running. The key is NOT in it." All shown in the video, the key out, the motor running.

"What are you doing about it?"

"Being careful as I can and getting it turned off however I can with key jiggling. It is getting worse and more regular that it's not shutting off, or where things from turning the key are delayed. Which is definitely worrying because the gearshift is also in that batch of electronics."

"Drive back to the office while you can!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna try to do this next walking bit and then call and ask if I can just finish packages and skip that mail."

"Dad says he can come get you if you're stranded."

"I'll keep you updated."

At 6:22... "Five packages then back, got permission to skip the last bit of normal mail."

Well. Isn't THAT nice of management...

Anyhoo... The Pony was off at 7:15. So much for "volunteering" to take an 8-hour shift.

Can You Believe Val is Annoyed?

Hick went to an auction Monday night! I had a night off from making his supper and cleaning up after him! It's as good as bingo! 

That's not what annoyed me.

With Hick away, I picked up my favorite Dairy Queen supper of soft pretzel sticks and a cheeseburger off their 2-for-$5 menu. The line was not too long. Only four cars ahead of me. It moved quickly. I got my food. The gal didn't even wrap the long receipt around my debit card, but folded it in half and handed it beside the card. I checked in the bag, and my queso sauce was included. Off to enjoy my solitary meal and scratchers and music from Spotify on HIPPIE.

Well. I pulled into the garage, and set my DQ bag on T-Hoe's console, so I could just turn and grab it once I got out with my purse and metal water bottle in hand. No need to walk around and fetch the DQ bag from the passenger side.

What in the NOT-HEAVEN???

That bag tipped over before I could get my door open! Dang those DQ order-packers! I don't know WHY some of them have to use the SMALL bag for my cheeseburger and pretzel sticks. They wad up two or four napkins and stuff them in the bottom. Then put in my cheeseburger. Then put the pretzels on top. That's too much for a small bag! It's TOP-HEAVY! I always pin it to the back of the passenger seat with my purse, so it won't fall over if I have to hit the brakes. It will usually at least STAND UP when placed on a flat surface. Not this time.

I heard something fall out of my DQ bag! I was afraid it was my pretzels, but only one of the three escaped, and was lying on the edge of the console. I quickly stuffed it back in the bag, but my precious queso sauce was missing!

I reached back to the floor behind the console. Felt on both sides, in front of the seat behind me, and the passenger seat. No queso! Dang it! I got out and opened the back door. Felt all around again. Looked. NOTHING! I DID find a dollar, all folded up. So there's that! Finally, I picked up the maroon quilted slick-fabric winter coat I haul around in case I get run off the road in the snow. I moved it farther back. I figure I won't need it for several months. Anyhoo... my queso rolled out! How it got down in some folds where I couldn't see it or feel it, I'll never understand.

Anyhoo... here's the small bag they stuff my food in:

It's so small that the pretzel sticks hit the side, and lose some of their butter coating. Inside, it looks like THIS:

Even if the bag hasn't tipped over, and I've restored a pretzel stick and queso container, the pretzel sticks are always slapped into the cardboard container all willy-nilly. Here's my precious queso that I will forever look for before driving away, since that one time they left it out:

Those pretzel sticks are not the same without queso! And now I have an extra dollar, too, for my trouble!

I really like it better whey they use the large bag, and set the cheeseburger and the pretzel sticks side by side on the bottom. I does not tip over. Nothing gets smashed. And the salt doesn't get knocked off the pretzel sticks like when (EVEN WORSE) they put the burger on top of the pretzels in a small bag.

Through the Eyes, Into the Brain, Over the Head, an Effort in Vain

You may recall that our adopted dog Scarlett (the red Australian Shepherd we rehomed from a former student who works in law enforcement and didn't want to keep her crated 12 hours a day) simply ADORES Hick. He is the one who has always fed her. Made sure she had a house. Let her off her cable when he thought she knew she belonged here. And the one who drove around to get her every time she ran off over the first few months. Also, the one who got her cable tangled around his Gator tire, and almost strangled her to death. Scarlett does not hold that near-fatal incident against him.

Scarlett tolerates me. Runs to greet me. Happily accepts a daily treat. But her heart lies with Hick. I tell him that all the time, and he just says, "Huh." Not in a questioning way, but just like, oh. Scarlett paces the porch when he's inside, hoping he will appear. Which Hick does, sometimes, to go pee off the porch. At which time Scarlett is ready to greet the object of her ADORATION, prancing and jumping, receiving nary a pat, but sometimes gets lucky with a, "Hello, Scarlett."

"You really could give Scarlett a little more attention. She ADORES you!"

I tell Hick that at least once a day. And he either says, "Huh," or something like:

"I'm going out to mow the yard. She'll come with me."

Indeed. Scarlett chooses a shady spot to lie where she can watch Hick on his mower. Not even me coming down the driveway, with Jack and neighbor dog Copper Jack barking their fool heads off to greet me, a treat imminent, can tear Scarlett away from her Hick-watch.

I was reminded of this attachment as I looked for a Father's Day card in 10Box. They have a decent selection, but there were no Father's Day cards. I figured they were on a special cardboard display up front by the service desk. At a spot where I'd have to push my cart as if SHOPLIFTING my groceries, or first check out, get a card, then go back through a line to pay.

It's not that I don't love Hick enough to put out that effort... but WHY, when there were some perfectly good cards for 99 cents right in front of me, that could work just as well as a $5 Hallmark card up front. Granted, I'd have to get one that was blank inside, and write my own message, but I'm a reasonably-educated woman, a former VALEDICTORIAN, you know, capable of conveying my sentiments in a greeting card.

The perfect card caught my eye. A sweet doggie, tilting its head in the way they do when they are trying to figure something out.

Inside, I wrote: 

Happy Father's Day

Even though you are sometimes hard to understand, I still ADORE you!

Well. Hick read the card. It seemed to take him a long time. Then he thanked me for it.

"Do you get it?"

"Yeah."

"Really? Explain it."

Silence. "Well." Hick read it out loud. "It means you adore me."

"You're not getting it. See the dog on the front? How they turn their head when trying to understand? It's like when you 'explain' something to me. You don't make sense. But I still love you. I love you as much as SCARLETT loves you!"

"Okay."

To be fair, Hick is very similar in the way he treats me AND Scarlett. He provides just enough attention to keep us alive.

Disappointed, and Disowned

It's no secret that Val is a fan of reality TV. Not embarrassed to say so. Won't pretend that she threw out her TV twenty years ago, to climb upon her high horse and gallop across the Blogosphere, proclaiming that she is a highbrow who would never deign to waste time in front of the boob tube, preferring instead to grow her own wheat, harvest and thresh it, and bake artisanal bread to show her superiority to the heathens who purchase the sliced storebought variety.

One of my non-guilty pleasures is the reality survival show Alone. Contestants are dumped into the wilderness with only 10 items of their choosing, to build a shelter, find their own food, and outlast the other nine contestants.

Imagine my excitement upon viewing the first episode this week, to see that there was a MISSOURI contestant! Welp. Of course he was the first one to tap out. But now I must disown him!!! His name is Cubby, 34 years old, and upon reading his bio on the History Channel, it turns out he only moved (from Arkansas) to Missouri when he was 32 years old! I cry shenanigans! Plus, he lives in Barry County, which might as well be in Arkansas, because the only thing separating us is the imaginary state line to the south!

Anyhoo... Cubby started out being quite industrious, building the framework for his shelter. He decided on Day 4 that he was hungry, and took his bow and arrows on a trip through his territory, to assess the wild game available. While walking through the brush, an arrow fell out of his quiver, and as he took a step, in pierced his left inner leg near the knee. 

THAT SUCKS!

Anyhoo... Cubby had to PULL OUT THE ARROW, and put a compression bandage on the wound, and try to get back to his camp 30 minutes away. Then he decided to tap out. I don't blame him for that. You don't want to hobble around in the wilderness with a four-inch-deep puncture wound in your inner knee area.

However... I DISOWN Cubby as a Missourian! He's from Arkansas, born and raised. Hasn't even been in (borderline) Missouri for two whole years!

Also, I (in my own challenged way) find it IRONIC that Cubby, who earns his living making bows, was felled by an arrow (that pierced his leg) made by Cubby himself!

Anyhoo... I'll still watch Alone every week. I'll have to pick a new favorite. Probably the one with the least amount of agenda to promote.

Strange Fruit

On the way to town last week, I got a sense that something was not quite right. I was on the gravel road, getting ready to turn onto the county blacktop road down by Mailbox Row. You know how your eye catches something that is different, even if you are daydreaming and not paying attention to your everyday surroundings.

A glance to my right assured me that I was not yet ready for a chorus of crazy temple twirly fingers. Indeed, something was amiss. Something bright red, where no bright red should be.

I took a picture through T-Hoe's window:

What in the Not-Heaven??? It looked like a not-very-sophisticated purse stapled to a tree. There was writing on that purse. A person's name, perhaps? Nope.

That was no purse!!! It was an INSECT TRAP! Did you ever hear of such a thing? I think of a trap like a heavy metal snapper designed to catch bear paws. Or a cylindrical clear mini-barrel with a funky opening in one end to trap minnows. Neither resembles this purse-like 3D plastic envelope.

I suppose there are holes in it somewhere, to let the insects in. Maybe something sticky to hang onto them so they don't get out. Apparently, signs saying PRIVATE PROPERTY do not deter insect-trappers. 

Not saying it's a conspiracy... but their little purse flat-out claims they are government workers.

Val is Once Again ASTONISHED at the Gumption of Everyday People Who Park in the Handicap Spaces

It's almost to the point where the majority of people I see park in the handicap spaces DO NOT HAVE handicap plates, nor placards. I must goad Hick into setting up my proposed handbasket factory! This certainly must be the beginning of the end. 

Thursday, I parked T-Hoe at the gas pumps at the Sis-Town Casey's. I was waiting to cross the parking lot when a car pulled into the HANDICAP space. Oh, and they were way over the line, too, taking up part of the striped walkway I use to avoid stepping up or down from the sidewalk.

Anyhoo... those scofflaws were out of their vehicle, and inside the store before I hobbled over there to pre-pay for my gas. Inside, I saw them at the case by the deli, getting slices of pizza from the round warmer thingy that rotates. Neither of them appeared to be differently-abled. They were late-30s, and argumentative with each other. 

Heh, heh! I was NOT sad that they got in line behind me, dealing with a new cashier, who was quite slow in getting my scratchers, and ringing up the transaction. In fact, she skipped one of  my $5 crosswords, and I had to remind her that I had TWO, and to scan another time, so I didn't STEAL again!

Back at T-Hoe, I pumped my gas, cleaned a squashed bug off the windshield, and climbed inside. The Scofflaws had just returned to their car. In fact, they were making their getaway as I tried to get a picture.

There they are, backing out. When they parked, there was a car next to the white one. But still, a space next to it. So it's not like the handicap space (and the striped walkway) were the only spaces available.

There they go, having procured their pizza slices, for which they could not park in a legal space to shop. Can you believe these people took up a handicap space??? Yes. I know you CAN.

It's not like I wanted that space. I never park in it, because close-parkers will put their car too close to me on the left, and I won't be able to get my door open. I park across the striped walkway, in the space that is not designated as handicapped. Unless I'm at the gas pumps, where I don't need a parking space at all. 

However, you don't know when somebody might need that space, rightfully theirs, being taken up by inconsiderate pizza-eaters.

Back to Wednesday Night Bingo

FINALLY! Hick has returned to playing bingo on Wednesday nights! That's after a few weeks of not playing at all!!! I'm pretty sure I am happier than Hick. His people decided to switch nights, since the Tuesday night version did not have good prizes, and not much of a crowd.

I asked Hick to send me pictures of his food, and the big prize. Of course that's not a simple task for someone like Hick.

"Shrimp and chess sticks"

A typical Hick response. I'm pretty sure he meant CHEESE sticks.

"Mmm. Why do the shrimp look sticky?"

A normal person might have responded with the name of the shrimp. But not Hick.

"They are but they are good"

"I MEAN what flavoring makes it sticky?"

"It's spicy something head sweating"

"Well. I guess you could have read the menu."

So I still don't know what kind of shrimp Hick had for his supper. He said the big prize was 2 tickets to Fort Lauderdale Florida. Which he did not win. However...

"I won a sign"

"WooHoo! At least you won something!"

"It's actually a pretty nice sign"

Yes. Since it was FREE!

The Deed is Done

Val is FREE! Free from arrest, conviction, and incarceration for her shoplifting of two six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew from 10Box! Tuesday, I went in to buy bananas and onions. But the onions released a mini-swarm of some kind of wide-winged gnat when I picked them up. So no go! It wasn't even the Vidalia onions that I had wanted, but a 3-pound bag of "sweet onions" that I would have settled for. Not when I saw something fly out of them!

Anyhoo... I picked up my bananas, and went to the right end of the store to get two 12-packs of Shasta Diet Cola, and one six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew. As well as some sturdy paper plates, because we are running out.

On my way across the front of the store, I saw the Older Lady with long gray hair. She speaks to me on occasion. She is also a frequenter of the lottery machines. I motioned to her when she caught my eye.

"I have a problem. I was here on Friday, and took items I did not pay for. I would like to pay for them now."

"I can do that. What was it?"

"I had three six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew, and was talking to the cashier, and did not tell her I had two more in the cart when she scanned my soda. I figure the EASIEST way to do that is to charge me for THREE of them now, while I'm buying ONE. I know it would probably never show up, but by doing this, it will even out the money and inventory in the long run."

"That's right. I probably wouldn't show up. I can help you."

"Should I go over to the service desk?"

"Yes. That will be fine."

She might have been on her break. She stopped to talk to a young cashier I have rarely seen. I went to the service desk and waited. When Older Lady arrived, she said she could ring up my whole order there. Which was only ONE six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew, two 12-packs of Shasta Diet Cola, six bananas, and a pack of paper plates.

"Thank you for being honest."

Thank YOU, Ma'am, The Universe, and Even Steven. I prefer to be judged on the content of my character, rather than the ampleness of my rumpus, the length of my lovely lady-mullet, or the stickiness of my fingers.

The Universe is Not Only a Narc, But a Harsh Taskmaster

Well. Not only did The Universe tattle on Val to Even Steven concerning her (inadvertent)  crime of stealing two six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew... but it also levied an unpleasant penalty on our (mostly) innocent Val!

Monday, I went in Country Mart while over in Sis-Town at the bank. I picked up Hick's Little Debbie Zebra Cakes, and saw that Diet Mountain Dew was on sale 3-for-$11. They even had it on the shelf! So I BOUGHT three six-packs. Paid for all three!!!

Once home, I opened up T-Hoe's rear to retrieve one to carry in the house. What I saw was a punishment from The Universe for my (accidental) thieving ways.

One of the Diet Mountain Dew six-packs had turned over. It happens all the time. But this one was LEAKING!

What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? I got a stack of Puffs Plus Lotion from up front, and tried to sop up part of the mess. At least it was diet soda, so not a sticky stain. I set that six-pack on the metal chair on the side porch. I noticed that one of the middle bottles was almost empty of liquid.

Of course Hick came up the driveway as I was climbing the steps with the grocery bag and a box of my own Diet Shasta Cola. He has a knack for arriving right after I've carried everything in. As I was setting that stuff down, the kitchen door open to gave my dogs a treat, here came Hick carrying that six-pack of soda.

"Don't bring that in here! It's leaking! Take out the leaky bottle."

Hick's solution was to set the whole thing on top of my Dear Departed Juno's dog house. You know, because it's easier to let ME take it apart and bring it in later.

When I went to look at it closer, I saw the problem. The cap on that middle bottle was not put on straight at the factory. Of course The Universe made sure that's the six-pack I grabbed off the shelf, and the one to turn over in the car.

Not such a bargain after all, I suppose. Seeing as how I didn't get 18 bottles for the $11, but only 17. A lost value of 61 cents. I figure there's still over $9 worth of retribution for my ill-gotten gains left before The Universe is done meting out justice.

Perhaps my debt to society will be paid when I return that shoplifted windfall to 10Box on Tuesday. Then I can return to my regular luck, and spill-free shopping.

Apparently, a Life of Crime DOES Pay. Until Even Steven Catches You.

One day after Val's crime spree stealing two six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew from 10Box (a $9.71 value), she fell rumpus-over-teakettle into a fortune at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

I was joshing with my Favorite Clerk about how her counterpart on the other three days of the week had just sold me a $100 winner two days previous.

"You really need to step it up! She puts you to shame lately."

"I'm trying!"

In fact, Fave had set out my daily Cash4Life draw ticket (that I get for The Pony), and my crosswords, on the counter. She'd seen me drive in. Wasn't busy. So had gotten my tickets ready. She had also pulled out the $10 ticket I always buy, but hadn't torn it off yet.

"I saw you coming. Let's see if I'm right. I didn't tear off the ten, because sometimes you switch things up."

"Well. That is what I was planning to buy. So you did good!"

Back home, I had just sat down to scratch when Hick came fuming through the door, his nose out of joint over shoddy treatment at Walmart automotive department when trying to get a battery for SilverRedO. I lent him an ear, then went back to finish scratching my $10 ticket when Hick sat down in his recliner.

WHOOP-TI-DOOOOO!

 

Usually, Hick's presence is the kiss of death when it comes to my scratcher luck. He's like a "cooler" in a casino. But not this time! See that 50X symbol on the second row, right side? 

I knew I had a good one!

That's a $1000 WINNER, by cracky! I was shocked. 

Sunday, I was on my way to The Pony's house to gather up his half of the flip house costs, plus his monthly house payment. I stopped by the Gas Station Chicken Store to show Fave what she had done.

"Ooh! Take THAT, [Redacted]!"

"Yes. Now you've outdone her. She might as well tie a bandana on a stick and hit the road."

Of course I will be treating Fave to a couple of extra scratchers when I next see her on Thursday. No good deed goes unrewarded by Val. 

I DID, however, have to tell her to put back the $10 ticket she had torn off when she saw me drive in. No way I'm buying another one of those for a while at this store. 

I suppose The Universe ratted me out to Even Steven about the stolen soda. Because when I scratched my Sunday tickets, I only won $5. I shall be repaying my debt to 10Box forthwith.

Is There an Incarcer(VAL)ation in the Future?

After asking for a discount on my expired slaw mix on Friday, I bought my scratchers from the machine, and proceeded back to T-Hoe. I recorded my transaction in my checkbook register, and was surprised at the total. $15.04. Huh. That seemed cheap, considering how I'd bought bananas, pepper jack cheese, discounted slaw mix, and three six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew.

WAIT A MINUTE! They had only charged me for ONE six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew! Oh, no! That was because, as usual, I'd only set one of the six-packs on the conveyor, intending to mention as it was scanned that I had THREE.

In all the talking, I had neglected to mention the other two six-packs in the cart. You know how elderlies despise hefting heavy items onto the conveyor. But I always tell them. Until now!

My knees did not feel like walking back inside and waiting for somebody to come to the service desk. The lady who would do that was busy pulling the expired slaw mix from the cooler. I vowed to take my receipt with me on my next trip into 10Box, when my legs were fresh, whether it be for lottery or shopping, and explain my criminal faux pas, and pay for those two "free" six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew. 

Is this a logical decision? I do not want to be a thief. They are SO nice to me at 10Box. I'm not out to defraud them. I know it won't show up until they do an inventory, or perhaps have an audit. But I want it off my conscience! Stealing, whether by choice, or by neglect, is NOT good karma!

Meanwhile, I had stowed those groceries on the passenger side of T-Hoe. Hick was not available for carrying-in, due to his grilling for the elderlies at the Senior Center. So I only took in one six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew. In fact, that was the only reason I did ANY shopping that day. Hick was out of Diet Mountain Dew.

Oh, he said I didn't have to. Said he could buy a single bottle at the Backroad's Casey's. But you know how it is. Hick's absolving me of shopping before my intended trip was dripping with much put-upon-ness of the permanent victim variety. I know it well! I use this tactic all the time for my own  benefit.

Anyhoo... those two six-packs of Mountain Dew are riding along with me on my trips to town, MOCKING me for being A THIEF!!!

I can't wait until our bananas are used up, and I go back to 10Box for more. At which time I will ask for somebody to come to the service desk, and show them my receipt, and pay for the STOLEN two six-packs of Diet Mountain Dew.

It will be a load off my conscience.

Would you go back and pay? Right then, or the next time? Or would you just figure it was an oversight by the cashier, and revel in your windfall?

Ask, and Ye May Receive

I went in 10Box on Friday, because Hick was out of Diet Mountain Dew. There was no sale, but since he was out, I had to pay regular price, rather than wait for the next sale. The price was $4.15 per six-pack of 20 oz bottles, plus the 10 percent added at the register. Making it $4.565 per six-pack. Still, cheaper than the marked price of $4.99 per six-pack at Country Mart. Anyhoo... I picked up three six-packs of it, as usual. Can't have Hick withdrawing from caffeine! 

My main purpose for going to the store was bananas, but I hadn't planned on doing that for a day or two. Might as well get everything while I was there. The bananas. And some pepper jack cheese, because the pack I saw in FRIG II said to use by November 11, 2023. I tossed that out, even though it wasn't moldy. They were out of Vidalia onions, or the "sweet onions" they sell in their place. So the only item left was the bag of slaw mix. 

The dates on all four packages of slaw mix were 06/06/24. That was the DAY BEFORE the current date of 06/07/24. Still. I really wanted that slaw mix. Not for actual slaw, but because I like to put a little BBQ sauce in some, and eat it as a side dish with chicken patties or regular chicken.

Anyhoo... I got in line. A guy with a little girl about 5 years old was in front of me. She kept gooning at me (my former students' expression for staring) like I had three heads. Finally, I looked her in the eye, and she averted hers. She kept getting in the way, hanging onto the side of the cart, being smashed between cart and the side of the checkout, as the guy was trying to put a loaf of bread, and a case of bottled water onto the conveyor. He didn't interact with her. I'm thinking maybe, since it was the first weekend of the month, it was his visitation with her.

Anyhoo, once I could get close enough, I set one of my soda six-packs on the conveyor. Then the bag of slaw mix. Then my cheese and bananas. It was the cashier who is friendly with me, a fellow lottery player, who always asks if I've won anything lately.

She greeted me with that question. I told her that I won $100 on a $10 ticket, the first luck I'd had in about three months. She shared that she had bought two of the new $50 tickets, and won nothing! While conversing, she scanned my soda. Then as she took the bag of slaw mix, I told her

"It's expired, but I really wanted some slaw mix. There are three more bags back there, all with the same date. Do you think I can get a discount?"

"I'm not authorized to do that, but I can get someone."

"No, that's okay. I want it anyway. But you don't know until you ask."

Just then, the lady who is so nice to me and brings a cart to me on the parking lot came up and handed that cashier a computer printout. I assumed it was the schedule for the next week. Cashier told that gal about the expired slaw, and asked if she could give me a discount.

"Yes. Let her have it for a dollar. I don't remember what the price is. I'll go back and pull the other bags."

I thanked her. I didn't remember the price, but I know it was more than a dollar. Cashier was looking over her new schedule after scanning the slaw mix and my cheese. I put in my debit card. Got my receipt. Told Cashier,

"Hey. It doesn't hurt to ask! Now I have more money to play the lottery!"

Heh, heh. Little did I realize how MUCH more money.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Anticipating a Perk for the GrillMaster's Services

Hick volunteered to grill for the Senior Center on Friday evening. The way that came about is a convoluted tale. 

"Me and one of the residents who is 84 years old were talking, and I told her I had a pool. She said we should have a pool party. I said we couldn't do that, but we could have a barbecue."

"WHAT? It's an above-ground pool! You haven't used it in two years. Why in the world would somebody think you could host a pool party??? Like those old people could get out here and go down the steps to POOLIO and get in the pool!"

"That's why I said we couldn't have it."

"So how did that 84-year-old resident schedule a barbecue using federal funds?"

"She didn't. I talk to more than one person, Val. It was the director who decided on the barbecue. And it's not federal funds. She got donations. She's having 60 hot dogs, 40 sausages, and 40 hamburgers. Plus a tray of whole vegetables, like carrots and stuff. And soda and water."

"That's 100 hot dog buns alone! Plus the meat! That's a lot of donations."

"Country Mart is donating the buns, I think. I don't know about the other stuff."

Anyhoo... this cookout is listed in the monthly newsletter of the Senior Center. An evening of BBQ and bingo on the patio out back. I'm happy that the residents upstairs can enjoy some grilled food.

Hick loaded GassyG Jr in the back of SilverRedO on Thursday evening, to take to town for grilling. The whole thing seems a bit sketchy to me. Hope nobody gets food poisoning!!! Hick said anybody who eats at the Senior Center can go. They were supposed to RSVP so the director would know how many people to expect. 

Meanwhile, Val is hoping that Hick will receive some leftovers to bring home. It's not like they can keep them to serve on Monday. Legally...

Not Sure Why Hick is Privy to This QuickFlip Information

You may recall that there was drama with the QuickFlip house a couple day ago. The previous Half-Owner demanded on Sunday to remove his stuff stored in the garage IMMEDIATELY, at his convenience. The now Old Lady owner said that was not his prerogative. That he could make an appointment to remove "his" property from her now-legal property.

Anyhoo... it really has nothing to do with us. Hick gave the Old Lady buyer the contact number of the previous Half-Owner at closing. Because he was entitled to remove his tractor and a couple lawnmowers from the garage on the QuickFlip property.

Wednesday, Hick sent me a text around 11:00. 

"You won't believe what happened today. (Previous) Half-Owner come to get his stuff out of the garage at the QuickFlip house, and just told the Old Lady that she could have all the stuff. About $2500 worth."

"Maybe he doesn't have anywhere to put it. Or a way to move it."

"He came and took some stuff and said he didn't really have anyplace to put it wish he would have given it to me but she owns it all now."

"Does she want it? I thought she was trying to clear it out."

"Yes she is giving it to her grandson."

"Well. She got a good deal."

Of course Hick is beside himself over losing this windfall. But he is friends with (previous) Half-Owner's brother, not the (previous) Half-Owner himself. 

So... the Old Lady got a good deal, and we got a good deal on the sale. No complaints from Val!

Hick the Wheeler-Dealer Bargains Again

As I was leaving for town on Tuesday afternoon, Hick was mowing the front yard/field. He was parked beside the driveway, motor running, on his yellow lawnmower.

"Do you want something?"

"No. My zero-turn-mower won't start."

Hick had originally come home to fix a flat tire on that zero-turn mower. He got it from some buddy who didn't need it anymore. Tinkered with it every time something went wrong. LOVES the zero-turn, since it is much faster than a regular mower, and has levers for turning, rather than gripping a steering wheel.

"Huh. I guess you could use your fortune from your Storage Unit Store (2) to buy another one."

Let the record show that Hick has been pricing zero-turn mowers at Lowe's and The Family Center, on a tip from another buddy that some were on sale. The cheapest was $5,000. Hick has a regular working mower that he bought without consulting me a few years ago. I'm not about to okay a new mower from our joint finances... (Lest you think I am being unfair to Hick, let me remind you that he has TWO tractors that he said he needed for mowing the acreage. In fact, I gave him approval for buying the second one, with the understanding that he would sell the first. Didn't happen.)

"I heard a guy on the radio today that has a zero-turn mower for $4,000. It's a 2022, with a year left on the warranty."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, as far as I know. He might just buy them and sell them. He said he's asking $4,000, but that cash talks."

"Well. I guess you can take some of your Storage Unit Store profits, and buy it." [Seriously. Selling the two tractors that are not used for mowing would also cover the cost!]

"I thought about taking $3,000 over there, and offering it."

"You never know."

While I was in town, Hick sent me a text that he was going to talk to the mower guy. I passed him on my way home, with his trailer hooked to SilverRedO. I assumed Hick meant business.

Yes, Hick came home with that zero-turn mower. He paid $3,700 for it, and said it was worth $4,500. It has a 54" mower deck. Hick's often-repaired zero-turn mower has a 50" mower deck. And his regular mower has a 48" mower deck. Hick not only mows our considerable acreage, but also the Double Hovel flip house yard, and The Pony's yard, though he charges The Pony. HICK'S money. Not ours.

Anyhoo... I heard that mower mowing before Hick came into the house. I think he is pleased with his deal.

Trouble in QuickFlip Paradise

You may recall that last month, Thevictorians legally sealed a deal on a property that Hick had made a handshake agreement on many months previous. And that about three weeks later from our official possession, we sold that property.

As with most of Hick's deals, there was a gentleman's agreement, recognized by the Old Lady who was the final buyer. That the original Half-Owner could take possession of his 8N Ford Tractor that was in a garage, along with a couple of lawnmowers. 

Fast forward two weeks from the closing. The Half-Owner had still not come to retrieve his tractor and lawnmowers. Which he'd known for a couple months that he needed to remove from the property.

Half-Owner called Old Lady on Sunday morning at 8:30.

"I want my tractor! You changed the locks on my garage! I want to pick up my tractor! You need to get over there and let me in!"

Old Lady was having none of that.

"It's not your garage anymore. It's not convenient for me to go there now. You can schedule a time with me this week and I will let you in to get your tractor and lawnmowers."

"You can't do that! I don't have to make an appointment with you!"

It's not our problem. Old Lady told Hick about it. But we have nothing to do with this feud. We bought the property. We sold the property. It belongs to Old Lady, who had every right to change the locks. Half-Owner has known for a long time that he needed to remove his tractor and lawnmowers from the property. Old Lady is not denying him his tractor and lawnmowers. Only asking that he come at a time that is convenient for her. It's a 30-minute drive for her to get there. She's not living in the house yet.

I'm not so sure that Half-Owner possesses the normal amount of common sense. Hick has said that his buddy, the one who offered him the property, is a well-liked, respected dude. But that many people do not speak highly of Half-Owner, his brother.

Anyhoo... not our monkey, not our circus.

Hopefully, the End is Near

Poor Pony! Still dealing with the mistake of Hick in not getting over to his house to check out the DEAD smell in the attic, after leaving poison for the scampering squirrel in the attic. Not responding for 13 DAYS! There is no excuse for that! The Pony was depending on Hick.

I got a text from The Pony on Sunday, June 2.

"Like, a dozen live flies in my bathroom right now so I guess not all of the maggots came out. At least these are killable!"

"Do you want me to bring a flyswatter?"

"I have mine. The killing field:"

"Yikes! How many have you killed?"

"I killed at least two dozen, unless some weren't dead on the first hit. And 'only' in the bathroom which has no food or anything else, so, got to be from the dead squirrel. Either crawled out of the walls or something."

"Eventually, the massacre will be complete."

I offered to pick up some insect spray for The Pony, but he said his flyswatter is good enough. Dang Hick and his lackadaisical attitude towards The Pony's attic pest.

Another Numbskull Adventure with Val

I left home a little late Thursday, on my way over to Sis-Town for weekly errands. Getting to the bank before it closed was a priority. The Universe chose to put many obstacles in my way, just for chuckles, I suppose. Obstacles like people parked down by mailbox row, waiting for the (summer) school bus. You'd think responsible parents would know to park off the side of our gravel road, and not directly in the driving lanes. Only because they were staggered on both sides that I could weave through. 

Makes me wonder, if you're off work at 3:20 p.m., couldn't you just drive the five miles to the elementary school and pick up your kid? Rather than sitting in your car for 20 minutes, waiting for your little darling to endure a wait for the second-run bus, when they're tired and missing you after a hard day at summer school?

Anyhoo... I was a bit preoccupied on my errand trip. When I got to the stoplight in School-Turn Town, the middle of my back was itching severely, right between the shoulder blades. Probably a tendril of my too-long not-so-lovely lady-mullet that had pulled up roots with the intention of running away.

I reached to the back seat floor area for my wooden backscratcher. Not the good red-colored one that is downstairs by my recliner. The wood-colored one that I keep in the seat-back on the passenger side. It always falls sideways in the seat-pocket, so when we went to sign papers on the QuickFlip House, I had The Pony dig it out and lay it where I could reach it.

Ooh! I was so excited that within seconds my itch would be scratched! I grasped that wooden backscratcher and IT WOULDN'T FIT BETWEEN THE SEATS!

What in the Not-Heaven???

I glanced back, and saw that I was holding my CANE! Which I'd put in T-Hoe to go to the paper-signing at the title company, although I hadn't needed to use it. Well. That was embarrassing. And unfortunate, because my back was still itching!

The light turned. Once I made it through the intersection, and was driving on the 35 mph road to the bank, I reached back again. Felt to make sure I had the flat shape of the backscratcher handle. I did. I pulled it forward and jammed the "hand" part of it down my shirt collar, knowing that relief would be imminent.

It was not.

The dang "fingertips" on the "hand" at the end of my backscratcher were too dull! It felt like trying to scratch an itch with the nubby end of a mini carrot!

At least my recent spate of uncooperative Universe shenanigans has not been as severe as that of The Pony.

Val's Tales of the Unexplained: Birthday Edition

Okay everybody. We don't need any injuries that will keep you from reading Val's subsequent posts! So let's get ready for this tale. Start limbering up. Stretch out your crazy temple twirly finger!

Last fall, I bought a new printer. I might have mentioned it here, or not. It's been a while since we had a working printer, my trusty laser version in my basement lair having gone crazy a few years back, and the giant office version Genius had gotten a bargain on in college only working sporadically. Neither of them responding to my commands from HIPPIE upstairs.

Anyhoo, I know I got this inkjet printer before Sept 6, 2023, because that's the day The Pony set it up for me while he was out here for Labor Day to have grilled steaks. Well. You get what you pay for. My new printer worked a couple times, then quit. It ACTS like it's printing, but the black ink doesn't work. I looked up internet fixes for what seems to be a very common issue with this model, and had no success reviving it. So basically, after my last unsuccessful try in mid-March with tax forms, that printer just sits there in front of the living room window on a TV tray, doing nothing. I didn't even bother to walk over and turn off the power. I wash my hands of this lemon, and will give it away to Hick to distribute to anybody who wants it. That printer is in sight, but out of mind.

Meanwhile, on Friday morning at 6:00, I called The Pony for our daily chat before he gets ready for work. Hick had already left, headed for his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). I didn't have much to say, nor did The Pony. Around 6:05, as we were saying out goodbyes, a BRIGHT FLASH OF LIGHT lit up the living room.

What in the Not-Heaven??? I mentioned it to The Pony.

"Don't know what's going on here! Just had a flash of light! No storms. The sun is just coming up. The living room lights are on, but there was just a bright flash! TV is fine. No phone interference. WAIT A MINUTE! It's my printer! That front window panel thingy just lit up. It's like it took a picture of me! Weird! Why would it do that? It better not be SPYING ON ME!"

Heh, heh. Val is always about her conspiracies. The Pony had no idea why that printer would come on after two months of sitting dormant. It's not like I have the app on my phone and could have hit it with my face. The only place I have the app is on HIPPIE, which was on the kitchen table, turned off and unplugged.

I hung up from The Pony and took a picture of the printer with its window light clearly on:

I intended to send it to The Pony later, at 7:00, when I sent him a wakeup text. As I set my phone down on the table, I realized the date. May 31. That was my mom's birthday! I had been thinking about it all week. Even shouted out "Happy Birthday tomorrow, Mom!" as I drove by the cemetery on Thursday, in a hurry to the bank. So now, I said it again: "Happy Birthday, Mom."

The light on the printer went off.

For years, my mom would call me every weekday morning at 6:00. It was our time to chat, after Hick had left for work, and the boys were getting ready for school. 

I sent The Pony a text:

"Today is Grandma's birthday, and it's the time we always talked to each other. Now there's funny electrical activity. COINCIDENCE???"

"Ghosts!"

"As soon as I took the light picture, and said 'Happy Birthday,' the light went off."

"Awwww."

Not saying my mom lives in a busted printer! Only that there are forms of energy we can't always explain with simple logic.