Val Thevictorian's Negligent Adventure

It's no secret that Val has an addiction. An addiction that took her to the liquor store on Saturday. No, not an alcohol addiction for teetotaler Val. She hasn't fallen OFF the wagon (nor jumped ON the wagon). It's her common everyday scratcher addiction.

Let the record show that I buy my scratchers at four Backroads locations. The Casey's, the Gas Station Chicken Store, Country Mart's machines, and Orb K. About a month ago, I branched out to the liquor store across the road from the Gas Station Chicken Store. No, it had nothing to do with Hick's request to PICK UP A CASE OF BOTTLED BEER for him. I'm not a musclebound freak with the ability to do that.

I don't particularly enjoy going into the liquor store. Not that I'm snooty, or a Carrie Nation without a hatchet. I've spent half my life looking over my shoulder for the morality police, who would love nothing better than to call my employer and declare me unfit for a job that nobody else wants to do. Technically, this place is named a variation of "Inexpensive Cancer-Sticks." But everybody knows it's a liquor store.

Anyhoo... I went in and purchased my tickets, and came back out to T-Hoe. As I rounded the front bumper, I pushed my clicker. I pulled on the door handle, which didn't open! At least it didn't come off in my hand like that one time! I figured I must have hit the button next to the unlock button. So I pushed the unlock button.

HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK...

Well. That's not what I had in mind. I fiddled with the keys. I have one for SilverRedO that is the exact same shape. I finally got the right key, and put it in the door lock.

HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK...

That REALLY wasn't what I had in mind! Louder and more urgent screaming from T-Hoe for HELP! Sheesh! People in the drive-thru line were gawking. People sitting at the 4-way stoplight were gawking. I'm pretty sure the clerk over in the Gas Station Chicken Store was gawking. How embarrassing! The only thing that could have made it MORE embarrassing would have been if I was holding a case of bottled beer.

I leaned in, trying to shove that key in the ignition, turn it, and make that alarm stop. Oh, Val is no stranger to a car alarm. It's happened before, but usually at home, in the garage. Dang it! I couldn't get that key in. I might as well have hoisted my ample rumpus up on the running board for better reach. Because I also have an ample gut-us. Hot-wiring might have been quicker than inserting that giant, extra-long, plastic-ended key in the slot at the right angle!

Whew! Finally! I hope I gave everyone a good show. My scratchers later broke even. So there's that.