It's hard out there for a gimp. Thursday is my errand day. I hobble into assorted establishments to accomplish my tasks. It seems that The Universe was working overtime yesterday to conspire against me.
Two separate people (as opposed to conjoined twins, heh, heh) found it necessary to play Indiana Jones with the doors to the Gas Station Chicken Store and the main post office. You know the type. Not only do they neglect to hold open the door for somebody behind them, or even give it that extra push as they walk on in... they slip through a minimal crack like Indiana Jones rolling under a falling temple door. So the person behind them (ME!) has to reach out off-balance to grab the handle, or let it close and then reopen it.
It was bad enough that I had to drive on through the cluster-cluckery of the Gas Station Chicken Store parking lot the first time, and return later to find the situation unimproved. The first time, a 4-wheeler was parked in the handicap spot beside the building, a car with the trunk open and full of clothes was just behind it in the air hose area space, and another car was at the air hose behind it.
When I came back, the clothes-trunk car was finally leaving, the air hoser was gone, and the 4-wheeler started up. That was going to leave BOTH of those spaces empty beside the building. Except the young guy in the little gray pickup truck ahead of me PULLED NOSE IN at an angle, taking up BOTH parking spaces! No. He did not have handicap plates, nor a placard on his mirror. Not even a limp! All he bought inside was a bag of ice.
At the School-Turn Casey's, I handed the cashier 3 winning scratchers. Two of them were $4 winners, and one a $3 winner. She scanned them, and said, "You have $7."
"Only $7? I thought I had $11."
"This one says it's already been scanned."
Indeed, they had all three been scanned! The previous day, at Country Mart's left machine. It told me their winning amount, and asked if I wanted to use the balance to play on. I hit the YES button. The machine showed my balance as 0.00. So I had to put in money to buy more tickets. I slipped a ten in the slot. But then it LOCKED UP! Would not let me buy anything after the initial $3 ticket that it spat out. I had to wait in line at the slow-service desk to get a gal to open up that monster to get my $7 back.
"Oh, this machine does it all the time. I've told them we need a new one."
"You might want to put a sign on it..."
Yet she closed it back up and walked away. Anyhoo... I don't know why only ONE of those three tickets I scanned showed up at Casey's as being already scanned. Now I'm out $4. But it could have been all $11.
When I got home, I stopped by EmBee, our steel-pipe mailbox. I guess we got our mail after dark Wednesday night, and then again at the regular time Thursday afternoon. Three business size envelopes were curled up in the back of the pipe, behind a stack of four catalogs and The Pony's monthly postal worker magazine. As I reached back for them, my badfinger hit the magnet hanging from the top, that holds the round metal door closed. It gouged out a chunk of flesh above my middle knuckle. The good thing was, it was so compressed that the flesh was jammed in the gouge. It swelled up a bit, but didn't bleed. UNTIL I got inside the kitchen after dog-treating, and took off my jacket, and noticed blood running down the finger.
Hick is also on my betrayal list. I woke up Thursday morning with my throat so dry it stuck together. Within a few minutes, I had a sore throat when I swallowed. I blame Hick for giving me his leftover sausage/potato/cabbage plate on Wednesday evening.
"I'm full. I can't eat no more. Do you want me to give this couple pieces to Juno?"
"NO! Let me have it. I haven't eaten since my banana and fake honey nut cheerios this morning [noon:30], and I still have to wash dishes before I make my plate to take downstairs. WAIT! I don't think I want to eat off your fork. You've been sneezing and sniffling."
"I ALWAYS sneeze after I eat. You know that."
"But you've been working with your emergency room man!"
"He ain't really sick. He's just a hypochondriac. He went to the ER on Friday night, but then didn't even fill his prescription till Monday morning at 9:00. I don't know why he didn't go to Walgreens. It's open 24 hours. It's a half mile from the hospital."
"I know you'll make me sick. Here. I'm wiping off your fork."
Yeah. That was a bad move. Although it still could have been from Hick's sneezing. He doesn't sneeze like a normal person, with a petite "Ah-Chooooo" through his teeth and pursed lips. No. Hick sneezes by putting his rather large lips together, then raspberry-ing them like he's motorboating the earth's entire lower atmosphere.
Anyhoo... my nose is back in joint from the Indiana-Jonesers and the Parking Lot Monopolizers. I've resolved to eat the $4 ticket that was actually The Pony's win. I have a bandaid on my badfinger. And after much gargling with hot water in the shower, my sore throat has eased.
I live to be betrayed again.