Monday, November 11, 2024

Travels With My Placard: The Third Time Is Not at All Charming

Val's shoulder is sore from all the fist-shaking she's been doing at entitled scofflaws who park all willy-nilly regardless of painted regulations.

Last week at the Gas Station Chicken Store, my rightful single handicap parking space had been usurped by a THREEPEAT OFFENDER! The white-haired lady in the red sedan. She obviously cannot feel shame. I wonder how many other handicappers she has displaced from their rightful parking space. This seems to be an everyday practice for her.


This is right before she came out and sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes. It's the exact same car I "caught" there on May 23 (tale on my supersecret blog), and on July 19 (my last complaint). The headlights, the seats, the mirrors. All identical, even though I don't think I got the license plate in both the other photos. I'll show them below for comparison, in case you don't want to look back at the other posts.

Here is a closeup from November 7:


Here is a closeup from July 19:


And the first offense (that I caught) from May 23:


Same car, three different days. During the latest incident, that same white-haired lady came out and got behind the wheel. Sat a few minutes. I guess my presence made her uncomfortable to sit and scratch her tickets, because she left. Revved up the engine, and pulled past the corner of T-Hoe. Then stopped up by the FREE AIR hose and dumpster, not pulling out into the alley, but sitting THERE. Probably watching me in her mirror as I pulled down into my rightful handicap parking space, and slid out of T-Hoe. Because that's when she drove away. Not a long-enough interlude to scratch tickets, compared to how long she sat in the car before, keeping me from parking there.

Shame, shame, shame. Nobody knows her name. But they DO know her crime. And her car.

Sunday, November 10, 2024

Another Day, Another Rumpushole

As Commissioner of the Backroads Rumpushole Elimination Department, striving to seek out and ban rumpusholes from society, Val submits the following pictorial evidence:


For any closet rumpusholes who might be scratching their head, wondering what is wrong with this, let me answer for you: THAT IS NOT A PARKING SPACE!!!

I see no signage, nor stripeage, designating this location as a parking space for scooters. The back wheel is on the sidewalk, where I limp along to get to the front door of Country Mart if I have to park in one of the handicap spaces farther down. 

Did this scooter obstruct my path on Thursday, when I did my shopping? No. I had the first handicap space. This picture is taken from T-Hoe's window after I had loaded my groceries and was preparing to leave. I heard the sound of a motor. Finished writing down my total in the checkbook register. Put on my seatbelt. Looked around to make sure nothing was behind me. That's when I saw that some rumpushole had parked a scooter beside the STOP sign.

Wouldn't it have been terrible if, upon backing out, T-Hoe's left front bumper hit that scooter? You know, because I could see the brick pillar, and the STOP sign. But not that scooter, which is lower than T-Hoe's hood, giving me poor visibility. I might not even have noticed a metallic rattle, because T-Hoe needs some kind of work on his stabilizer thingy on the front end. I could have driven off, oblivious to a broken scooter lying beside a STOP sign. Perhaps the returning scooter-rider might have recognized The Universe's clue to STOP parking in non-parking spaces. Nah. Probably not.

We can't have rumpusholes parking wherever they want! What's next, a line of scooters parked between those white hash marks next to the handicap spaces??? Or maybe they won't even park, but will ride their scooters inside, grabbing items all willy-nilly from the shelves, before waving their debit card at a register on the way out.

Saturday, November 9, 2024

Tales Out of Fool(s)

Sadly, I do not see a reconciliation in sight for Hick and the denizen of the Senior Center with whom he is feuding

Hick showed up for the meatloaf on Wednesday:

Meatloaf
Mashed Potatoes
Green Beans
Roll
Lemon Meringue OR Pie

I think their menu-typer made a mistake on that dessert listing... Hick said the meal was good. But of course he had more to say than that.

"The minute I walked in, Denizen said, 'Your precinct had the lowest turnout.' I told her it was 62.5 percent. And I went on talking to my buddy. I asked him 'What are you feeding those girls out there? They was all over 6 feet tall!' And he said, 'I know, there are a lot of tall girls for sure.'

Then Denizen butts in and says, 'Hey, you can't talk about the election!' I was gettin' tired of her always being a know-it-all, and I said, 'I'LL talk about whatever I want to!' And she walked off.

One of the other gals said, 'Oh, are you two speaking again?'

And I told her, 'No. We just had words. I popped off to her.'

My buddy says, 'Yeah, he popped off!'"

"How did she know your precinct was the lowest? Was there a list or something in the paper?"

"I don't know. I didn't see no list. But we always know how many show up at where we're working. I looked up the election, and it just said that our county had a 64 percent turnout. So I don't know how we could have been the lowest, for that still to be the average. It wasn't far off."

"Did she work any other precinct, or just at the early voting place?"

"She was just at the early voting place."

"Well, SHE was talking about the election. If people don't know where she got her figures, they might think 'her buddy' Kevin, the county clerk, was giving her confidential information. They don't know otherwise."

"She has always wanted to be a know-it-all, ever since I said I worked at that last election. She started spouting out all the rules, and she was not right. I told her how we brought our own food for a potluck, and she said, 'No, they provide you with food.' I told her they did not! And she had never worked for them then. So I don't know what she was talking about."

Yeah. I don't see a reconciliation between these two anytime soon.

Alternate Title: 
Wordfight at the Okay-Enough Senior Center

Friday, November 8, 2024

Val Unwittingly Solves a Mystery

Every evening when I serve Hick a multiple-Michelin-star dinner by candlelight, I make sure his linen napkin is tastefully folded and ready.

Every evening when I set Hick's baked frozen food on the cutting block, I make sure to include a select-a-size paper towel on the paper plate. Because it's civilized, you know. And because I hate picking up a greasy TV remote after Hick has gone to bed.

Still, even though every night I see Hick take his paper towel with him to the recliner, that remote continues to be slick. I have to use a tissue from the box Hick won at bingo to try and clean it.

Wednesday evening, Hick had three corn dogs and three mozzarella sticks for supper. Yes, I offer him a salad or a vegetable, but he says no, that it's not necessary.

I joined Hick in the living room to watch Survivor. He was on a bathroom break when I picked up the remote to see what I wanted to watch later. SLIPPERY! How in the Not-Heaven does Hick do that??? Of course some interrogation was necessary after he returned, and the next commercial came on. 

"You didn't even use your paper towel, did you? The remote was greasy again!"

"Yes. I used my paper towel. I always use my paper towel. Sometimes, I wipe my hands on my shirt, too."

"Well, it was so slick I had to use a tissue to try and get some grease off. I guess I need to try soapy water."

"Val, there is no way that remote can be greasy! When I was done eating, I wiped it all over with my paper towel, same as I always do!"

!!!

Welp! No need to call Mystery, Inc. Val has solved this one by herself. 

I did not bother to explain to Hick why wiping a remote with a paper towel used to wipe grease from his hands would make it slippery. That's because I made no headway in explaining to my dad that sealing air into the Wonder Bread wrapper like it was a bread balloon did NOT keep it fresher. Plus I had to listen to his explanation that air is an insulator...

Men and their logic. Mysterious indeed.

Thursday, November 7, 2024

Oh, the Lengths Hick Goes to While Trying to Kill Me!

For the past few days, the kitchen door has been sticking when I try to open it. With our record-setting rainfall since Sunday evening, I figured it must be the wood framing swelling with humidity. When I came home Tuesday afternoon, and tossed the dogs their treats... the door didn't close. Oh, it looked like it closed. But I didn't hear the "click" of the lock. I pushed, and that door swung open. 

Welp! We can't have that! I tried again, several times. Nope. The door still pushed open. A good slam didn't even work. I looked at the door frame. Aha! The metal plate with the hole in it for the doorknob latch thingy to fit into was sticking out! The two screws in it were loose!


How did THIS happen? I'll stop short of accusing Hick of loosening the screws a little bit every morning as he leaves. Perhaps those screws just vibrated loose with the daily opening and closing of the door. Of course I did not have a screwdriver handy. Scarlett kept walking into the house. It doesn't bother me all that much, because she just stands in the kitchen beside me, hoping for another treat. But Hick freaks out when a paw crosses the threshold. So I had a furry supervisor as I was figuring out how to handle my lack of a barrier to keep out... oh, I don't know... maybe an inmate escaped from the prison who might want to enter and kill me?

These were screws that needed a Phillips screwdriver. But wait! There on the kitchen table was my metal letter opener with its pointy flat end. It worked like a charm. I repaired the door, and it shut just fine, latching as a respectable door should. Otherwise, it's only as effective as the doors of the Long Branch Saloon. 


Hick gave me this letter opener when I said I needed one. He found it in a bunch of his junk. It has no meaning for either of us, but it works great for opening letters!

When I went to the kitchen to turn on HIPPIE on Wednesday morning at 10:00, I saw light coming from the door frame. The door was not closed! Hick had left at 7:00. I hope he didn't already pay off a prisoner for future duties...

Wednesday, November 6, 2024

Hick Takes the Cake, After Getting Spammed By Val

Being trapped at home Monday was not all bad. I had been trying to figure out what I was making myself for supper. Nothing sounded especially delicious. I had considered going by Dairy Queen while in town, for a cheeseburger and pretzel sticks off their 2 for $5 menu. I haven't been there in months, what with Hick never going anywhere in the evening anymore. Heh, heh. By now it's probably more than $5. 

I had also considered making tuna salad, but my tuna was in T-Hoe's rear, and I didn't want it bad enough to walk to the garage to make before town. Also, I thought of making myself a chicken bowl, which is like the one they used to serve at Hardee's, with refried beans, cheese, salsa, chicken, and sour cream. My sour cream expired in September. I thought it would probably be okay. What could happen? It might get sour-er? Or maybe I would have frozen chicken, with BBQ sauce slaw on the side.

Well. None of those options were needed, because HICK BROUGHT ME A MEAL FROM THE SENIOR CENTER! That was without me even asking. Before we had any inkling that the flash floods would keep us from town that afternoon.

Hick sent me a text around noon, saying he was bringing me a taco lunch.


Look at that! I'm not a big fan of tacos, but that looked fantastic. When I read the Senior Center menu that Hick brought home, I discovered that it was NOT tacos.

Cheeseburger Wrap
Wrap, burger, lettuce, cheese
Wedges
Funfetti Cake OR Fruit

Didn't matter to me what they called it! I ate the whole thing for supper, and added some Frank's Original Red Hot Sauce, salsa, and chopped onions. I was STUFFED! I have been cutting back since May, and this is the most food I've eaten in one day, except perhaps when The Pony came out for grilling.


Oh my gosh! I LOVE Funfetti cake! But I told Hick right away that I was giving it to him. I've lost 65 pounds, and I didn't do it by eating cake. So while I held out on giving him any of the tacos (cheeseburger wraps) and wedge fries, Hick at least had a dessert. Besides, he had the taco meal himself for lunch.

Since I had to come up with something to feed Hick, I gave him fried SPAM sandwiches. He was fine with that. He likes them. With a slice of onion and some yellow mustard.

This put tuna salad on my menu for Tuesday evening, when Hick is working at the election. It's not quite as filling as these tacos and fries.

Tuesday, November 5, 2024

There Was No Joy in Backroads, Scratching Val Could Not Get Out

No scratchers for Val on Monday. The Universe ruled with an iron fist. Rain Sunday night through Monday afternoon. FIVE INCHES of rain. Probably more. That's just what the news reported.

I was hoping for the forecast break in the rain around 3:00. Then I'd be able to get to town for my beloved scratchers before the next wave, with possible tornados, rolled in around 8:30. Hick came home at 1:00 with his BIG SANDWICH that he's taking to the election with him Tuesday.

"You ain't goin' to town."

"Why? There's supposed to be a break in the rain around 3:00."

"Well. You MIGHT make it," said Hick as he put his sweatshirt in the dryer. "There's water on the gravel road along the creek, but you can get through. And down here at the bottom of my [badly blacktopped] hill, the little creek is over about 8-10 inches."

"And you drove THROUGH IT???"

"Yeah. That one ain't no problem."

I've driven through it with five or six inches of water on it. It's a little bridge, about six feet across. Hick was getting ready to leave for an auction around 3:30. I went to have my nap. The rain kept pouring down, even when I got in the shower at 2:30. I decided I was NOT going to town. If I had a problem, Hick would not be around to rescue me. I made him promise not to take his usual backwoods way to the auction, and instead take the interstate and the state highway.

I was pretty sad when I sat down at HIPPIE with a bowl of BBQ potato chips, and no scratchers. Then startled when I heard the dogs barking, and Hick came through the kitchen door.

"I ain't goin' NOWHERE! The water is over the big bridge now!" 

That means we're trapped between two overflowing bridges, even if we make it down to the county blacktop road where Mailbox Row sits. Oh, and we didn't get any mail either! Anyhoo... there's a third bridge that would also be flooded, on our third option out. Leaving only one way, which takes us about 10 miles out of the way, to get on the interstate up by the state park. Even that's not for certain, because there's a little creek on it as well, which would most likely be flooded in a rain of this magnitude.

Hick got some pictures on his attempted trip to the auction.


That's the little bridge, on a usually dry creek that feeds into the main creek. Hick is parked at the bottom of his badly-blacktopped hill, and that's the main gravel road across the water. Taking a right turn there puts you on the main gravel road to get to Mailbox Row and the county blacktop road.


This is the main gravel road. As you can see, the creek has no concept of boundaries! WAY down straight ahead, you can see a portion of a vehicle sitting on the blacktop road, perhaps unsure what to do. I would suggest going back to your home that is between the two flooded bridges! 


This is the concrete edge of the main bridge. Mailbox Row is out of picture frame to the right. Hick is parked on our gravel road, facing the way back home. In all the years we've lived out here, I have never seen this bridge flood! It was a replacement bridge for a low-water version that used to flood frequently. We thought we had it made until THIS!

To give you an idea how high this water is, I'll put a picture of the bridge during normal times.


That's the old bus-waiting shed, but you can see the creek and bridge behind it. 

Don't you worry about Val. At least from the standpoint of flooding. I know not to drive into flowing water. My hillbilly mansion sits high on a hill, more tornado bait than a sitting duck for flooding. We can hear the creek roaring down behind the house, but it's never going to be high enough to even see it through the trees. If I'm absent from the Blogoverse, it's most likely due to the electricity going out.

Hick is hoping the water will go down enough overnight so he can get to his election judge duties by 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday.