Karma and Even Steven Need to Redouble Their Efforts

The world is full of scofflaws. I see anarchy on the horizon of Backroads.

Just this morning, my dear sweet mother, she who exalts me alternately as her eight-dollar daughter or her five-cent daughter, was nearly bowled over by a person of Walmart. A person of Walmart exiting through the enter door. Before you go defending the offender because you assume that a person of Walmart can't read the door, so is not at fault, but is a victim of the public education system...let me elaborate on the scenario.

Mom had ridden along to pay the house bill with The Pony and me. Being more of a five-cent daughter today, I asked Mom to meet us along the route so that I would not have to go out of my way to her house and back. Mom was agreeable, because she had plans to stop by the store later anyway. We had a fine time chewing the fat while I piloted the Tahoe to the next town.

Among things I learned on our trip is that Mom has decided she will say what she thinks. "I figure that at my age, I'm done with giving in to people. I went to pay my Christmas club, and the credit union lady asked me if I wanted to be on the board. I told her, 'No. I do NOT want to be on the board. I was on the board one time, and they only meet twice a year. Then I have to see them at the annual dinner, and they all act like they're my best friends.' And there's that one guy (name redacted) I don't like. I wonder if he's still on the board. Surely he's retired by now. Oh! I never could stand him! Those people didn't like me anyway, and then to pretend they were my friends once a year was too much."

Next, Mom said that she was afraid she'd made her friend in Florida mad. "She sent me an email saying that she's been having dizzy spells, so she quit taking her heart medicine. I sent one back saying that I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to just stop taking heart medicine. She has her whole family depending on her. She said that since the dizzy spells, she only drives a block to the grocery store and back. I know how she's trying to be cautious. I'm always really careful that I don't drive through the wall or anything. Did I say that? I mean, I'm careful not to back into a pole or something. But just because she doesn't want to go to the doctor before her May appointment, she can't be deciding on her own to stop the heart medicine. I emailed her that she should call the doctor's office and ask what they think. After I sent it, I thought, 'Well, I'm not going to hear from her for a while now.'"

Among the things my mom learned on our trip is that The Pony is perhaps more visually-challenged than we think. Because when we came up the driveway yesterday, and saw Juno running around to the garage door, we had differing opinions on her limp. I said she was still holding that foot up like she does about fifty percent of the time. The Pony disagreed. "No. This time she has a reason. Look. There's something stuck on her foot." I said it was just the fur between her toes. "Nooo. Look. Something is stuck to it. Like a dead mouse." Really? REALLY? It was just toe fur. I don't know why The Pony thinks a dog would run around with a dead mouse stuck to her foot.

One thought that occurred to me was that I might need to keep closer tabs on Mom and The Pony when he spends the day and night with her. What with them crashing through store walls and hallucinating dead mice on dog feet and all.

Anyway, getting back to the scofflaw who nearly took down my own personal septuagenarian...he KNEW he was coming OUT the IN door. Mom had to jump back behind me, since we couldn't walk in side-by-side with the crowd of scofflaws rushing out. The first guy, with his woman walking right beside him, said, "Oh. Sorry. I think we're going out the wrong door." But he did not stop and step five feet to the left to exit through the OUT door. Nope. He made Mom be nimble and quick to avoid being flattened faster than Sam Bradford of the St. Louis Rams. Let's just say Mom's candlestick-jumping days are over. She tucked in behind me like a NASCAR driver drafting at Daytona. Just in the nick of time to avoid a seven-person pile-up.

This guy probably cut his teeth going up the down staircase. It's a gateway behavior. Now he's graduated to exiting through the entrance door because he knows nobody is going to call him on it.

Look out for him coming at you on a divided highway.