The Universe conspired against me on Wednesday, when my weekly errands were fraught with difficulty.
The bank line of TWO CARS took me 15 minutes to get my turn.
A red sports car blocked the parking lot at the Sis-Town Casey's. I thought it was an inconsiderate driver, taking his half out of the middle, until I noticed that it wasn't moving. And it was sitting at an angle with its nose down. After navigating around it to park by a truck that was sitting in half of the handicap ramp access, I saw that the red car HAD NO TIRE ON THE FRONT DRIVER'S SIDE. Not a donut spare. Just that tiny disc about the size of a frisbee, that the wheel gets attached to with lug nuts.
Then the Sis-Town Casey's had a problem with their lottery scanner. Of course the man at the other register wanted five Powerball tickets checked for winnings. So the clerk had to manually punch in a series of numbers on each one. Which left MY clerk standing and waiting to enter my two scratchers, which had no problem once she gained access to the terminal.
When I came out, the tilt-bed tow truck fetching the red car was parked semi-across T-Hoe's right rear flank. I was able to maneuver around it to escape. I almost made it home without further incident.
I heard my phone concertina (I'm using concertina as a verb, because that's the sound I've set for my text notifications) as I coasted T-Hoe down Mailbox Hill. Once I grabbed the lone piece of (junk) mail from the back of EmBee's throat, I closed her gaping maw, and started up the gravel road. NOBODY at the Creach this day, the driverless van I saw on the way out having disappeared.
Just past the bus-waiting shack, I checked my phone. I had a warning from The Pony:
"Bog truck hauling rock just went by in front of the house. Be careful."
That boy has his daddy's spelling talent sometimes. Well-versed in reading Hickinese, I knew he meant a BIG truck. The Rockers are back!
I was on the lookout, and sure enough, just before I reached the flat waterfall entrance, here came a BOG truck. I was able to steer T-Hoe into the foliage and let it pass. Thanks to The Pony's timely warning. On I went, less than a mile from home.
Rounding the curve to climb Hick and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill, I encountered our GARBAGE TRUCK. I was glad to see him, because our trash didn't get picked up last week (nor our neighbors'), so at least I knew our overflowing dumpster had been serviced. But now I had to escape this 0 mph game of chicken.
I had no choice but to guide T-Hoe across the deep rut on the right, left by the torrential storm of Monday night. It might have been about 2 feet deep. Lucky for me, T-Hoe's tire was of sufficient diameter to roll across the narrow (yet deep) gap, to rest on the other side.
Garbage Man gassed his giant vehicle and blew past me. I crept along until I could get T-Hoe back on the gravel where the chasm narrowed. The Pony later said he didn't have time to text me about THAT bog truck, since I turned into the driveway as soon as he'd retrieved the dumpster.
Here's the thing.
In burdening The Pony with my tribulations, he suddenly said,
"You think YOU had it bad? I got up from the new recliner, and something stabbed into my foot! All the way in! I had to sit down and pull it out. IT WAS ONE OF DAD'S TOENAILS!!!"
THE PONY WINS!
I cried because I got stuck in a rut by a passing garbage truck, and then I met a Pony who got stuck in the foot by his father's toenail.
I'd take him for a rabies shot if it wasn't so difficult to see an in-person doctor...