I was without the use of my trusty T-Hoe on Tuesday afternoon. He had to stay overnight at Mick the Mechanic's shop to get his gas tank canister solenoid thingy replaced, and put $988.20 in Mick's pocket. Hick knew I'd been expecting to get T-Hoe back around 2:00. He selflessly volunteered to drive me to town for my lottery tickets. I could have driven A-Cad myself, but I prefer T-Hoe. I'm not one to turn down a chauffeur, even one who sweaves with abandon.
"I want to go to the Gas Station Chicken Store, like I do every day. And also to 10Box for their lottery machines. Do you want to go in the store with me? I can show you how these new machines work, in case I ask you to get me tickets sometime, like in the snow. We can pick up some more soda for you. And some canned mushrooms. We're running low."
"Yeah. I can go in."
"Will you be okay if I'm the one leaning on the cart? I know your knees have been hurting you."
"I'll be fine." By now, we were pulling into the 10Box parking lot. "Where do you want me to park?"
"Uh. The HANDICAPPED space? Because there's one open, right by the door."
We have my second handicap placard hanging from A-Cad's mirror, for when Hick takes me places. Also for when Hick takes A-Cad places, I suspect. I'm sure he could get his own placard, what with his two spinal surgeries and his age.
Anyhoo... I took a cart from the corral, and we started in. Passing through the double set of glass doors, Hick looked at the two beeper carts parked there.
"Heh, heh! I could get me a riding cart!"
"You could. But the way you drive, I don't want you beside me!"
We picked up two 6-packs of Diet Sprite. Hick has switched to that since his surgery in August, temporarily giving up his three or four Diet Mountain Dews per day and all that caffeine. On the way to the mushroom aisle, Hick found a treat in an end-cap.
"Huh. What are these?" He asked, rooting through some orange packages.
"Looks like fake Oreos, with orange filling in the middle."
"Huh. Them might be good."
"Go ahead and put them in the cart."
After the mushrooms, I walked him past the open meat bins. "See? They have really good pork steaks here. And they make their own bratwursts now too, like Save A Lot."
"They do look good."
"Maybe if the weather stays nice, and you want to grill, I'll come back and get some. Now let's get my oatmeal and your breakfast bars. Oh, and we'll go up front to the pastry tables, so I can get another pack of Hawaiian Rolls for your sliders."
"When the weather cools off a little more, I'm coming back to get a bunch of taffy for my store."
"Of course you are. Even though you pretend it's for your customers... Do you see anything you want here?"
"No. Not really. Oh. Honey Buns. I like Honey Buns. Maybe I'll get one. Are they expensive? Huh. 98 cents."
Hick picked up two Honey Buns. Then looked at what remained in the box. Then put his two back, and picked up the whole box of six.
The older checkout gal gave me that look as I put Hick's sugary treats on the conveyor, and he stood in front of the cart, chatting with some guy who recognized him.
"I KNOW! This is what happens when I bring him to the store."
Hick turned and put the soda back into the cart. He had set both 6-packs on the conveyor, even though she could have scanned them on the side of the cart with her handheld scanner. He was grabbing things as they came down the conveyor, dumping them in a bag, then putting the bag in the cart. All the while distracted by talking. The last things to get scanned were two (full-size) cans of mushrooms. Hick picked them up and started rooting at the bags in the cart.
"You can't put them in with your Honey Buns! No, you can't put them in with your cookies! They'll smash anything else in the bag."
Hick laid the two cans of mushrooms on top of the soda 6-packs. They promptly rolled off and clanged into the bottom of the cart.
"Just get them out and put them in their own bag! You can't carry them in the house in just your hands."
For a guy who's really smart about a lot of things, Hick is terrible shopper.
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