Val IS a Logical Suspect

Yesterday I told you about the $50,000 scratcher winner that was bought at 10Box. Turns out I am not the only one curious about the winner.

I didn't go to 10Box on Sunday, because I visited The Pony. Nor on Tuesday, because I went instead to Casey's. I suppose the workers there had missed my almost-daily visit to their lottery machines to buy my crossword scratchers. Other stores run out, and I find myself going in 10Box even on days I had not planned. I'm pretty much a regular there.

Wednesday, I had finished getting my tickets, and was limping towards the door. A worker came over to greet me. Not so much greet, as stand at my shoulder and look at me with raised eyebrows. Much like I might have done to a student on the verge of unacceptable behavior, though I favored the ONE raised eyebrow tactic.

Anyhoo... Worker Gal is some kind of management, because they call her up front when they need somebody at the service desk for a problem, or to redeem a winning scratcher up to $500. She has stepped up to talk to me at the machines before, and bought tickets on her break. She also clears out the losing scratchers people put in the wastebasket between them, or the winners after redeeming them in the machines. They can be scanned on the MOLottery app for points and drawings. 

Anyhoo... I said to Worker Gal:

"I hear somebody won $50,000 on one of your Christmas tickets!"

"Uh huh. We're all trying to figure out who it was." Again, she gave me the raised-eyebrow look.

"It wasn't me! I guarantee you, if I won it, I'd be walking in the doors announcing it to everybody! No secrets for me! Sad thing is, I don't like those tickets, and I quit buying them after I gave them a try."

"I don't like them, either. But I bought some."

"You can bet I won't buy them now! No big winner here again!"

"They came back in and scanned it on our machine to see if it really won."

"Which machine? The one they got it out of?"

"Well, we don't know."

"Don't you have surveillance video you could look at, to see who it was?"

"We don't' know exactly when it was."

That's the thing. Worker Gal only knew what I did, having read it on the MOLottery website News Releases. You don't know the exact date it was bought. Only that she cashed it in during this month. Worker Gal followed me out the doors, to have a smoke break while I was getting in T-Hoe.

"We've been talking about who it could have been. Discussing all our regulars. And then we ask when we see them. We're really hoping it was one of our regulars. SOMEBODY got a nice Christmas present!"

"Yes. I hope it was someone who really needs the money. But who doesn't, right? I hope it's something that can change their life. I'll let you know if I hear anything. You know, sometimes they talk about it in other stores."

So the mystery continues. We may never know. Missouri has a law (since 2021) that they can't release the names of winners without their permission. They used to, listing everything from $1000 and higher, with the winner's name and town. Now it's just the town and the store.

Another Near Miss For Val

You may recall that I've been in a scratcher slump. I hesitate to say "losing streak," because I was still winning. Some. Like $3 here, and $6 there, and sometimes $10. Just not the amounts I'm used to winning. I had to dip into my casino bankroll! Surely you wouldn't suggest I quit playing the scratchers, just because of not-winning!

Anyhoo... last week I had a big turn-around in scratcher luck. [Earmuffs, Even Steven! Cover your ears. Add a blindfold while you're at it. This is not for your eyes.] I think it started on Sunday. Since then, I've only had one day of less-than. The other days, I was hitting a big winner every day. Big for me. A $40 winner, or $50, or $60, and two days, I even had a $100 winner. In fact, I paid back my casino bankroll with more than I had taken out. So there's that. 

Yep. Ol' Val was riding high on the lottery hog, which was strapped atop her high horse. She beamed down with pity at those poor losers who were throwing their good money after nothing. 

Welp! That pride preceded a major head-over-heels tumble for gloating Val...

A $50,000 scratcher ticket was sold at 10Box! I read the news a few days ago. It was a $10 Christmas ticket that I have bought there. Not often. They are hard to scratch. Kind of gummy. More like scrapers than scratchers. So after the initial couple of buys to see what they were like, I gave up on them. Shunned them, actually. And now this.

I hope the winner is thrilled. Who wouldn't be??? I congratulate her, though it is through gritted teeth and gnarled fingers.

Do you understand the gravity of this situation? No more big winners in Backroads for a while! The last big winner in Backroads was a year or two ago. I think it was $100,000. The top prize on a $5 scratcher that Val bought regularly, sold at the Backroads Casey's, which Val frequents a couple times a week. Just like 10Box.

A major prize, virtually ripped from my grasping hands! Oh, well. I'll still keep playing. But you knew that...

Two Wrongs Make It Right

The owners of the house next door to The Pony did some renovations, and put it up for sale during the summer. They moved, and the house was vacant. This was the guy who gave Hick $500 towards cutting down that giant pecan tree that could have fallen on either house. The Pony didn't really interact with them since the guy was gone all the time for work.

Anyhoo... when The Pony got home from work Monday afternoon, he sent me a text. He had walked to work that morning, because he had some dizziness (that later turned into a migraine), and wanted to see if that would clear his head.

"Home with a migraine. Guess the dizziness just showed up before the pain today. Also, my neighbors that moved in Saturday stole my trash can from the curb! Came home to see it there in their driveway. Checked to make sure my lid fit, then stole it back."

"Good for you! Did they see you?"

"I don't know."

"Well. You can always say that you thought it was yours, because nobody lived there. Maybe the wind blew it while you were at work. It was really windy today."

"When I left for work, it was sitting by my mailbox, with the bottom of it full of water. They took it! It had a bag of trash in it! I didn't have any trash in mine."

"What if you see yours laying along the street, and realize that you took your new neighbors' trash can? They are common. A lid might fit more than just yours."

"I walked to work! I would have seen it coming home if it was along the road."

The next morning, on our daily phone call, I asked The Pony where the trash can was now.

"Sitting here in my living room!"

"I guess you can hide it until trash day."

"TODAY is trash day! I only have a couple bags. I'm just going to set them out on the curb."

"Dad says maybe it blew into their yard, and they thought it went with the house."

"HA HA! No. They stole it!"

"Dad says he saw your chair from the back porch in their driveway when he went by the other day."

"I took my chair back when I got my trash can! I need to 'borrow' something from work besides a black marker to write my address on my trash can."

"Wite-Out would work. But that can be chipped off."

"AND it's harder to 'borrow' from work!"

Poor Pony. If it's not one thing, it's a neighbor. I hope this was all just a misunderstanding. The Pony has already lost one trash can. No wonder he wants to hang onto this one.

Val's Interrogation Pays Off

When Hick got home from his SUS2.5 on Sunday evening, I asked him about that sausage in his Reuben Sandwich meal from the Senior Center.

"Where did that sausage come from?"

"My buddy had it at the Senior Center. He sliced it and put it on a plate, and said anybody that wanted some could have it."

"Did everybody take three slices?"

"No. A lot of people took two. They was eating it there."

"Did you just pick it up with your fingers?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of sausage was it? Did he make it himself? Was it deer sausage?"

"I don't know. It looked like salami."

"So people just used their fingers. And you don't know where it came from, or why he was giving it away?"

"I didn't get the craps or nothin'. So it must have been okay."

"You said you ate two of the slices, and gave one away at your storage unit. Was it to Old Buddy?"

"No. It was to [redacted]. OH! He's coming out here tomorrow to look at the Gator."

"To buy?"

"No. To see if he can get it running, so I can ride it around."

"Good thing I asked. Were you even going to tell me?"

"I was gonna tell you when I got home, but then I went down to the basement and forgot."

"So you wouldn't have told me?"

"Yes! When you called me to say somebody was over by the BARn, I would have!"

"What kind of vehicle does he have?"

"An old Dodge truck."

"What COLOR? Like I would know an old Dodge is."

"Gray and red, I think."

Duly noted. Don't panic when the dogs go crazy because a man is over in the BARn field with a gray and red truck. Something I never would have known, except for my mad interrogation skillz.

Hick Supplements His Diet

When Hick brought home the Reubens from the Senior Center on Friday, he carried them in white plastic bags tied at the top. That's how he always brings them home, and I yell at him remind him not to carry them where they dangle sideways, because that's how slaw soup and beet juice get soaked into the bread of the sandwiches. I guess that's how they send out the meals at the Senior Center.

Hick set them on the cutting block to take the containers out of the bags. I asked him to bring one over so I could see the slaw, and if the bread was soggy. He brought both over to the table.

"This one is really heavy compared to the other."

"Oh, that one's mine. A buddy gave me some sausage. You can have a piece if you want."

Inside was Hick's Reuben sandwich meal, with three slices of sausage on top, spread out over the sandwich, crackers, and soup container. I wish I had taken a picture. It was like summer sausage. You know. It looked kind of like salami. About 2/3 the size of a bologna slice, and a half-inch thick.

No, I didn't want any. It was nice of Hick to offer. He said he would take it the next day to his SUS2.5 for lunch. So I asked if he wanted me to put it in a baggie for him. Hick said yes, if I didn't' mind. Later, as I was getting out the baggie, I got to thinking about how Hick got that sausage home.

Where did he get it from his buddy? Did his buddy have a roll of sausage at the Senior Center, slicing it off all willy-nilly? Or was he at the storage units? How did those three slices of Hick's sausage get into the tied-up meals from the Senior Center? Did Hick carry them in his hands, on the dashboard of SilverRedO, and later put them in the Reubens? Or was it from a buddy bagging Senior Center meals who put them in Hick's carryout? Makes you wonder, doesn't it? 

Hick is not here to ask as I'm typing this. I think I need to investigate.

Hick's Newest Business Venture

Hick is quite proud of his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2 new building). He has spent a lot of time getting it ready. That entailed wiring it for electricity, installing lights, putting down flooring, adding insulation to walls and ceiling, and setting up security cameras. Then he began moving merchandise from his still-operating SUS2.

Here is the outside view of the front of the SUS2.5.

Nothing fancy, just a storefront. He had the gravel hauled in. Probably Old Buddy did the leveling of that gravel.

Hick put a window in one of the side walls.

Nothing special, but it lets in light and air, and he can see out that side. These are pictures from September.

By early October, Hick was moving in merchandise. Here are the beginnings.

I think this was taken from the front door. You can see the side window on the right, just past the jackets.

This is a slightly different angle of the same stuff. Hick likes decorating with the fish and deer heads. He had a guy offer to buy one such item the day after he put it up. Hick told the guy that was part of his decorations, and not for sale. The guy really wanted it, and asked how much it would take to buy it. Of course Hick ended up selling it!

This week, Hick was pretty sure he had his shop set up just how he wanted it.

Here's a view from the back, looking forward to the front door and window.

As you enter, here's what you see:

Hick is quite proud of his display cases. This SUS2.5 is mainly for hunting and fishing supplies. That's what he does the most business with. His other items, like NASCAR collectibles, and Coca Cola stuff, and random items, are in the SUS2.

Let the record show that Hick is not some grungy flea market scammer, selling junk that most people don't want. He has all the required local, state, and federal licenses necessary to run his business, and pays state and federal taxes on his business income.

I think Hick has done a fine job turning a storage unit into a store. He thinks so, too.

Reuben Day!!!

Friday was Reuben Sandwich day at the Senior Center. When I asked Hick if he could get us one for supper, he started by saying how he would have to call and reserve them. As if punching in a number on his phone and speaking to people he knows there is so taxing...

Anyhoo... on Thursday night, I asked Hick if we would be getting our Reubens. He said that he had already talked to his buddy who dishes up the meals, and that yes, we would be getting Reubens for our supper. YES!

Here is how they were listed on the menu:

Grilled Reuben

Broccoli Cheddar OR Veg Soup

Slaw

Crackers

Variety of Desserts

Hick brought our meals home shortly before noon, and said that for lunch, he had cherry pie for dessert. I don't really like pie, but I had him look in the containers he brought home. We had brownies! I like brownies, but didn't feel like I should have a whole one, since Hick was giving me his slaw and soup. I decided on 1/4 of a brownie, just to have a taste, so Hick could have the second one the next night.

Different bread, not the marble rye I like so much. They were a little light on the slaw this time! At least it wasn't slaw soup. And for once, the "crackers" listed on the menu actually showed up on the tray. Hick said this was "potato soup," and I can't really tell. There did seem to be chunks of potato in there, and not necessarily broccoli. The sandwich was nice and dry, not befouled by slaw juice or beet juice. Warmed in the oven, it crisped up nicely.

Doesn't that brownie look tasty? I actually saved my 1/4 serving for the next night, so I can't report on the flavor. You can bet I am planning to take that edge portion for my 1/4.

I love Reuben Sandwich day!

Reuben Sandwich day must bring out the best in everybody! Hick reported that the Denizen of the SC who has been so mean to him was "actually nice."

"I went through the line and she said, 'I have your tea half ready.' She had half a glass of tea, but the bucket was out of ice. So she filled the ice bucket, and scooped the ice into my tea. We usually do that ourself. And then she brought my two take-out meals to the table for me."

"Were you nice to her?"

"Yes. I said 'Thank you' when she brought them out."

Well. That's a step in the right direction, I suppose...

I Cried Because I Had No Blogger, Then I Met a Gal Who Had No Internet

Technology has taken over Hick's unofficial pastime of trying to kill me. Four updates in three days. I'm pretty sure it's government spyware courtesy of Bill Gates, but that's just my ECP (Extra Conspiracy Perception).

The last update was Wednesday night. You know, that little yellow dot that says your system needs to update and restart. No getting around that, though I do have some updates turned off. Anyhoo... Thursday morning, I could not get the top line of BLOGGER to come up on my blogs. The part with SIGN IN. I could read a couple of BLOGGER blogs. But then everything BLOGGER went on the fritz. The screen saying the site could not be accessed came up for every BLOGGER blog, and even blogger.com. Yet I had an internet connection, and could visit other sites.

I did a system restore to the time before those updates. It didn't work. I had Hick tromp down to the basement and reset the DISH thingy and the WiFi. It didn't work. And I'll be danged if there wasn't ANOTHER yellow dot that came up saying my system needed to update and restart. Somehow, an hour of that did the trick. So at 6:30 p.m., I was finally able to access my very own blog, and that of others.

It could have been worse...

I was quite angsty on my errand day. That lack of BLOGGER hanging over my head as I gassed up T-Hoe, went to the bank, grocery-shopped, and went in the post office.

At the bank, I discovered by driving through that the drive-thru was still closed. I looped around through the alley to get to the parking lot in front. Pulled into the handicap space, placard swinging, and saw in my mirror that TWO cars had just parked. OH NO! I sure don't want to stand in line in the lobby. Last time I hurt my upper ample-rumpus area. I still get a sharp shooting pain there.

I slid out of T-Hoe, and started hobbling as fast as I could towards the door. That handicap space is at the far end of the building. Lucky for me, they have a long concrete ramp, with a handrail. So I was gimping along grasping that handrail like I was in the gimp Olympics. No hate. I can use that word, you know, because I AM one.

Anyhoo... I stepped into the lobby and was greeted by two tellers. The one on the left said she could help me. Just like honoring a car salesman who greets you first, I took the extra steps to go to her slot. Two women came through the door right behind me. The other teller took one of them, while the other waited halfway between us.

"Oh, you brought a crowd!" said My Teller, a congenial mousy-haired gal with Dorothy Michaels (Dustin Hoffman as Tootsie) glasses.

"Believe me, I saw two cars pull in and I ran as fast as I could to get in here first!"

"Don't do that again! We don't need a line!"

Waiter said, "I would have used the drive-thru if it was open! Last time I was here was when we had all that rain and the flooding, and I said, 'Nope. I'm not getting wet. I'll come back another time.' Is that permanent?"

"No. It's only until we can get more people to work here. During all that rain, our internet went down. We had to do everything by hand, including the count at the end of the day. Which is fine. But I live in Historic River Town. That's a 45-minute drive. I didn't get home until after 7:30."

Well. That's terrible for her. I stifled my urge to tell her that at least she wasn't trapped at home by water over the bridge. Or she might have had her own blog post.

What Kind of Dark Magic is THIS: Food Edition

When The Pony was in high school, and his classmates couldn't figure out a situation, someone would always give the explanation as "DARK MAGIC!" That's what came to mind as I was cooking some supplemental chicken to go with our Chinese dinner.

I had informed Hick that by adding the six eggs, two onions, can of mushrooms, can of baby corns, and 1/3 bag of frozen broccoli to the rice, the amount of tiny chicken pellets that came in the Teriyaki chicken might make each serving meaty enough for him. 

"Here, take a look. I have some frozen chicken nuggets that I got last week, if you want me to warm some up to put in your Chinese."

"Yeah. That would be good. I'd take four or five."

I opened up the bag, part of the 5-for-$25 deal I got at Country Mart. Wow! Was I surprised! They were actual chicken nuggets. As in McDonald's chicken nuggets! I'd been expecting little pellets, like came in the Teriyaki chicken bag, the weight of which was mostly the three sauce packets included.

You never know if what's inside the bag is going to look like what's on the outside of the bag. When I was cooking them, they SMELLED exactly like McDonald's chicken nuggets! And their shape was exactly the same: some squarish, some roundish. They turned out all crisp exactly like McDonald's chicken nuggets. 

Don't get me wrong. I am not a McDonald's chicken nugget aficionado. I can take them or leave them. I haven't been to McDonald's since The Pony was still riding to school with me, and we'd go to the drive-thru. But I do know a McDonald's chicken nugget when I see one.

Since they take 20 minutes to bake, I made enough so as just to warm them for Hick's next meal. Of course I had to sample one, and it tasted exactly like a McDonald's chicken nugget. And look at the top of the bag: RESTAURANT QUALITY!

I think McDonald's gets their chicken nuggets from this same supplier! Imagine the money they're making! I'm sure they get a better deal than ol' Val. They surely buy in a greater quantity!

The innernets tell me that in St. Louis (the closest city to us), the price of a 10-piece McDonald's chicken nuggets is $7.19. That's more than this whole bag that I got for $5. There's gotta be at least 40 nuggets in that bag. Maybe more. Of course, I don't have to pay some emo teenager $20 per hour to cook them. So there's that.

Anyhoo... who knew that you can buy the EXACT same chicken nuggets that McDonald's uses? Sure, you can even chuck them in a Fry Baby if you want. I say they're just fine baked at 425 for 18-24 minutes.

I was Yesterday Years Old when I learned that McDonald's is selling frozen chicken nuggets that regular people can buy in a grocery store.

You Have to Put in the Effort to be Lazy

I'm looking at a four-day vacation. A vacation from making supper. Of course I had to work to earn that vacation. Yesterday morning, I whipped up some Chinese food. Not like I have a secret recipe or anything. I used a frozen bag of fried rice, and a frozen bag of Teriyaki chicken.

But wait! I also added things to the frozen part. That's where most of the effort came in. I scrambled six eggs. Diced two large Vidalia onions and fried them. Opened a can of mushroom stems and pieces, plus a can of baby corns. And excavated a third of a bag of frozen broccoli from FRIG II's freezer. Yes, my skillet WAS overflowing. The Teriyaki chicken didn't even fit. Once it was cooked in the oven, I added it to the rest when I filled the (are you ready for this) Chinese take-out containers that I have saved from carryout.

That gave me five dinners. So Hick is good for three nights. I am fine for two. I can pick up someting for myself from the Country Mart deli when I do the shopping on Thursday. And Friday is GRILLED REUBEN SANDWICH day at the Senior Center. So I'm hoping Hick will bring us home a lunch for supper. 

Whew! My shoulder hurts. Not so much from stirring all that Chinese food. But from patting myself on the back.

'Tis the Beginning of the Season

Seems like Halloween just ended. I haven't even planned my Thanksgiving Dinner yet. But The Pony has customers who are already thinking about Christmas.

The Pony picked up these two letters on Saturday, in outgoing mail from two different houses on his route.

"What do you do with them?"

"Some carriers open them and write back. I give mine to the manager. She likes to answer them. Then I deliver her answer. I can remember where these two came from. The one house is an unusual last name, so there's no confusing it. I'll remember the other one, even though the writing looks like a really young child, and you can't really read what's on it."

"Aww. It makes me happy, but it also makes me sad, in case they don't get at least one thing they ask for."

"Yeah. But they'll get a letter back from Santa."

"Uh huh. There's that."

I'm sure The Pony will be picking up more Santa letters as the season progresses.

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.

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.

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

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.

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...

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.

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.

No News Is Okay News

There's nothing new to report on the Double Hovel flip house. No offers, or walnut-stealers, or signs of real estate agents showing it to prospective buyers. Of course, we don't get notified of showings by our agent, or other agencies. So showings could still be happening.

Hick and The Pony and I are fine with this. We think that people are waiting to see what happens with the election, and what changes might then occur with interest rates early in 2025. A clue is that when I checked yesterday, there were 5 multi-family investment properties available in our county. As I've said before, it's hard to find investment properties around here. They usually go quickly. So it's not that people just don't want our Double Hovel. They don't want anything right now. 

That $35,000 "tear-down" house is still listed. And a house for $1, which requires online bidding through an auction service. The $18,500 house that Hick looked at twice, but declared too money-sucking, is still unsold. Our realtor had 11 properties for sale when we listed the Double Hovel a little under two months ago. Now she has 20 properties. Looks like nothing is moving.

The other available investment properties, through assorted agencies, include a 4-unit apartment building. A house with three outbuildings that are currently occupied, and rented month-to-month, which listed for about $20,000 under the price of our Double Hovel. A house with three mobile homes behind it that are currently rented. And a new duplex that is located in an area that has a 99.80 risk of flooding within the next 30 years. 

As I've mentioned, we don't have a loan on the Double Hovel. All it's costing us is electricity and water. That's about $50 a month for us, and for The Pony. Plus the insurance, which is for a renovation property, since we can't get regular homeowners' insurance because it is not occupied. That's around another $50 per month for each of us. Not a hardship. We are planning to sit tight at the current listing price until mid-summer next year. Then we will re-evaluate our asking price.

Val Grudgingly Allows a Smidgen of Sympathy for Hick

I do feel a bit sorry for Hick, in his ongoing feud with a denizen of the Senior Center. They used to be such fast friends, he sitting at the workers' table, convening for bar bingo once a week, getting texts for objects of interest to him. Now he is persona non grata with that denizen. 

Sure, Hick is a hard-headed know-it-all. That has never stopped him from having a plethora of buddies. He got on quite well with this denizen for over a year. Nobody knows what caused the fissure in their relationship. It seems to be beyond repair.

Hick tries to treat Denizen with a modicum of courtesy. Does not go out of his way to speak. Doesn't gossip. Last week, Denizen had an object on Facebook that Hick wanted. He sent a text that he would take it. No reply. The next day, Denizen responded: "Since you were the first person to ask for it, you can have it." I don't know what it was. Some treasure that Hick bought for whatever the asking price was.

"You know that you were probably the ONLY person interested, right?"

"Maybe."

"Because no way would she have sold it to YOU if anybody else had made an offer!"

Anyhoo... Hick thought that might be a sign that the frosty relationship was thawing. But NO! It seems that Not-Heaven is freezing solid-er!

"I made it over there to lunch the other day, and she was talking about the Christmas party. 'We'll have The Grinch, and maybe a Santa...' After I played Santa last year! I don't know who else she thinks she's going to get. It's like an insult! MAYBE they'll get a Santa!"

A few days ago, Hick went to lunch again. 

"I don't even like going there anymore. I was sitting at the table, talking to Edna, and Denizen came in and sat at the table next to us. She said, 'Edna, come over here and sit with me.' And Edna said, 'That's okay. I'm fine here.' It's like she goes out of her way to be mean."

Seems like it. I feel bad for Hick. Nobody else there has a problem with him, and ask what the deal is with Denizen. Nobody knows. Not even her husband.

Val's Halloween Horror

I went to the bank on Halloween. Not because it was Halloween, but because it was Thursday, the regular day that I do errands in that town. I used to live there, in my $17,000 house, and have used the same bank through two changes of ownership. It was convenient back then. Now, not so much, but I DO have other business over there once a week.

Anyhoo... I hadn't been to the bank for two weeks. That's because I didn't need to withdraw our weekly cash, since Hick had paid us his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) electric bill and Lowe's bill with cash. So I used that in place of making a deposit and withdrawal. Thursday, I was back at the drive-thru for my regular withdrawal.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

The little traffic lights on all three drive-thru lanes were RED! Was the bank closed for Halloween? Was there some other holiday? The venetian blinds (it's an old bank) on the window where the drive-thru tellers look out were down. I pulled into my favorite drive-thru lane, just to get a look at that window and make sure. Besides, that was the only way I could get out of the parking lot. Huh. There was a printout taped to the tube where the cannister comes out. 

EFFECTIVE OCTOBER 28, 2024, NEW HOURS WILL BE:

LOBBY - 8:00 TO 5:00

DRIVE THROUGH - CLOSED

Nooooo! If I wanted to go into the lobby every week, I would go into the lobby! I need my drive-thru! I looped around down the alley, and back to the front parking lot. At least they have two handicap spaces, and a concrete ramp with a rail. 

I hobbled along to the door. A man had come in the wrong one-way direction into the lot, and was getting out of his car. Another car came in the wrong way, and backed into a space. The walking man held the door open for me. I thanked him, and told him to go ahead, since he was ahead of me anyway.

The lobby is small. Only one of the four slots was open. A young black man with shoulder-length braids, in a dark green button-up shirt, was working it, the far left slot. Green is my favorite color! He looked very banky. I have not seen him here before.

Door-Holder was moving money from one of his accounts to the other. He was asked for ID, and presented it. I leaned against the wall by the door, not wanting to sit down in one of the six available chairs. Sometimes it's easier to stand while leaning, than to stiffen up while sitting.

Overall Man came in next. He went to sit down and wait. After about five minutes, a gal came out of the back room. I suppose she had been on her break. It was a little after 3:30. I did not recognize her, either, from my previous views through the drive-thru window. She had short mousy hair, and glasses that kept slipping down her nose. Her attire was a skirt and knit top. Suitable for a bank teller, but a bit frumpy.

I was also depositing a check from my investment company, since there is a certain amount (RMD) that I have to take out every year. I put the check and deposit slip on the counter, along with a withdrawal slip (specifically asking for twenties), and my ID. I don't put both transactions on the same slip, because sometimes they want to say they're holding such a check for 10 days, and don't want to give a withdrawal, even though there is plenty of other money in our account. RULES! They don't always make sense.

Anyhoo... Mousey was working on my deposit. Green Shirt had finished with Door-Holder, and called Overall Man to the counter. He was wanting to withdraw $500, but said he had just come in because the ATM on the back wall by the drive-thru would not give him money. Green Shirt asked if he had the paper slip the ATM gave him. He did.

Mousey opened her drawer to give my cash, and was shocked to see that she didn't have enough twenties. "This never happens to me! Huh. I wonder if HE has enough."

Well. Sometimes that happens at the drive-thru. They say they have to go get it. I imagine them walking into the safe, but I suppose not every teller has access to the safe. That would be a big responsibility for someone who probably makes near minimum wage. Mousey just stood there.

"I can take other bills. They don't have to be twenties."

"Oh, you wouldn't want that. I only have tens and fives."

Well. I'll be the judge of that. I would gladly take ANY money to just get out of there. She had already given me my withdrawal receipt. Just not the cash. I suppose Mousey was waiting for a lull when she could ask Green Shirt about the twenties. Because she walked over there. He hesitated a moment.

"I'll take these right now, and I'll give you a receipt for them in a minute."

She took the bills, and went to the money-counting machine. I heard it whirring. Then she came back to my slot and counted them out in front of me.

"I haven't been here in a couple weeks, and now the drive-thru is closed! Is that ever going to re-open?"

"Yes. It's not permanent. It's just until we can get more people in here to work."

This whole NIGHTMARE had taken me 20 minutes. That's 20 minutes of standing on my knees, though I tried leaning at various angles on the wall, and later the counter. I got a sharp shooting pain above my left ample-rumpus cheek. Not sure what that was. But my point is: SOME PEOPLE NEED THE DRIVE-THRU!

I don't understand how only having the lobby open helps with short-staffing. Unless it deters some customers, and they drive away. The tellers still have to service the customers in the lobby. When the drive-thru is open, they go back and forth between counter and window. It's not like this new process is allowing them to service any more customers.

Hick's explanation was that the business customers can't put all their change and stuff in the cannister at the drive-thru. And...? How does this explain ANYTHING about closing the drive-thru? The business customers with that issue would be going into the lobby anyway!

Seriously. I would much rather sit on my ample rumpus for 20 minutes in T-Hoe's comfortable seat than stand for 20 minutes on my painful knees in the lobby. Am I missing something here?

Nose Out of Joint, Val Nearly Flattens the Bride of Satan

Thursday is my weekly errand day, and the fact that it fell on Halloween made no difference to me. Off to the bank and post office and Casey's and Country Mart. I didn't have a lot to get in Country Mart, and even considered skipping it, but they did have Hick's Diet Mountain Dew on sale until next Tuesday.

We'll begin when my nose was still in joint. I went by the deli, and got a big salad for me, as well as some cold fried chicken. I'm making pasta for Hick, which will last him three days at least. So I'm not going to cook another meal for myself. I'm not a big fan of pasta, but will eat it when there's nothing else for me.

From the deli, I crossed the aisle for nine bananas. Four long ones for Hick, five short ones for me. I ripped a bunch in half to get his, but I didn't want to leave a single banana behind from my bunch. I grabbed a box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes for Hick. He has one every night, and I couldn't remember how many he had left. He keeps them in FRIG II, because he likes them cold. Then it was off to the soda aisle.

There were more people in the store than normal. I always get there between 3:00 and 4:00. Always just one cashier on duty. They kept announcing for somebody to come to the front to check. In fact, when I got in line behind two other customers, they called somebody up. Of course the four teenagers who had just stepped in line behind me went to the newly-opened register. The last come first, I suppose. I guess they had just gotten out of school. They each had one item. I figured they would all be paying separately. Looked like snacks. NOT eggs or TP or other shenanigan supplies for the evening.

Anyhoo... my nose started bending out of joint when the young man who is usually so nice put ALL of my items in ONE BAG! And then double-bagged it! What's the point? It was too heavy for me, and the plastic containers of salad and chicken were on top of my tender bananas! With Little Debbie jammed down on the side. I have extra bags in T-Hoe's rear, for the very purpose of re-bagging what the clueless cashiers give me. So it was not totally unexpected. But then...

Young Man Cashier asked how I was doing. Just making conversation. And I said, "I didn't expect you to be so busy today." You know, because he was the main cashier at the first register, and they kept calling others up to help.

"Reeeally??? On HALLOWEEEEENNNN?"

This is what put me off. Excuuuuuse me for being an idiot who didn't realize that Halloween afternoon was the new Black Friday! In my day, Halloween afternoon was a time to get the kids right home, get homework done, supper eaten, costumes on, and hit the road for trick-or-treating. Not a time to go to the grocery store. What last-minute items could these people possibly need? With the exception of buying shenaniganning supplies, the teens should be getting ready for a night out, and the elderlies rushing home to turn out their lights and sit, barely breathing, until time for kids to be off the streets.

I guess Young Man Cashier was just frustrated from his busy day. The people I saw were only buying normal grocery items. I suppose it being the last day of the month might have had an impact. I was thinking the main rush would be on Friday/Saturday/Sunday, the first weekend of the month.

Anyhoo... in a miniscule fit of pique, I pushed my groceries out to T-Hoe. I got into the driver's seat, and wrote down my purchase in the checkbook register. Then I started T-Hoe, and began backing out of my parking space.

What in the NOT-HEAVEN??? Literally! The Bride of Satan strode out of the pharmacy door, and angled herself across the lot right behind T-Hoe! While I was in motion! Not a straight-across path, either. She made sure to block my path for a long time, while going down the hill to the main parking lot section.

I know she was the Bride of Satan, all decked out for Halloween, because she was wearing a bright red full-length dress with ruffles, and had her jet-black wig in a style like the gals on that old TV show Here Come the Brides, with Bobby Sherman. Not that Bobby was satan or anything. It was just that style of hair.

T-Hoe is from 2008. No backup camera. The backup beeper has been broken for at least 10 years. We had it fixed at the dealer, and it worked ONE DAY. No more money down that rat hole. I guess the Bride of Satan assumed that I would magically see her in time to jam on the brakes and let her pass.

When I told Hick about it, I said, "One day, I'd really like to flatten one of those idiots, just to teach them a lesson. But I figure it would take too much time away from my scratchers to deal with the lawsuit."

Yep! Hick Is Still Tryng to Kill Me!

With my current lack-of-winning streak (that sounds so much better than losing streak), I have depleted my weekly allowance from last Thursday, and had to dip into my casino bankroll. WHAT? Just stop playing for a while? Never!

The problem is that my casino bankroll is in big bills. That's what the cash machine spits out when you cash in your ticket, which I always run up to an even number. I usually send The Pony to cash out my final ticket. If I did it myself, I might run one of those big bills back through the machine to break it down smaller. That's the price of convenience for Val. Having large currency.

Anyhoo... I don't want to be THAT PERSON in a convenience store line who uses a big bill to make a small purchase. Hick usually has a variety of currency, from his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2). On Wednesday morning, I asked if he had change for a hundred dollar bill. He took out his wallet, held closed with what looked like a scrunchie, and said he had five twenties.

"Okay. Do you need your hundred right now? If you do, you can get it from my regular purse. It's folded in half, and stuck in the side where I keep my keys. It's behind the white bank withdrawal slip that's sticking up."

"Nah. I don't need it right now. I'm not going through your purse."

Of all the not-respecting-boundaries shenanigans for Hick to choose to draw the line, it was THIS, when I had clearly given him both permission and directions!

Anyhoo... Hick threw the twenties on the marred coffee table in front of the long couch where he was sitting, then got up leave.

Four hours later, I picked up those twenties to put in my purse. When I sat down at HIPPIE at the kitchen table, I reached for Hick's hundred, to make sure I didn't "forget" to give it to him when he got home.

IT WAS GONE!

What in the Not-Heaven had I done with that hundred? I KNOW I put it right there in the side of my purse. I pulled out the withdrawal slip, and some note cards that I use for my grocery lists. Nope. No hundred. I sent Hick a text asking if he took it.

"Yes"

"Thanks for the heart attack."

Seriously. Could he not have hollered into the living room that he was taking that hundred on his way out the door?

I would swear that he planned this whole episode in an attempt to finally complete his life's mission of killing me. Except I am the one who set the whole thing in motion by asking for change.