Getting It Over With

As I type, it's the night before my regular doctor appointment. Which is a bit misleading, because it's with a nurse practitioner. I like him just fine. He's an affable fellow. Seems to have my best interests in mind. Never gives me any lip. I just hate going to a doctor appointment every six months. It might even be once a year now. I forget. Is that a bad sign? Now that I don't have two insurances, I suppose it does not behoove him to see me so often. That's fine with me! I only go to keep getting refills on my BP and thyroid prescriptions.

Anyhoo... now the clinic has moved out of their regular offices on the floors above the local hospital, into a new building that Hick thinks is about a block behind the hospital. I hate going new places! Now I'll have to find out where my NP's specific office is located within that building. Supposedly they have their own lab on site. So I'll have to figure out where to go to get my blood drawn.

This appointment has been scheduled for over a month. Not a day has gone by that I didn't have it percolating on the back burner of my mind, dreading it. I've asked Hick to drive by when he's over in Bill-Paying Town at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5), just so at least HE will know where we're going. Nope. Too much trouble for him to drive a mile out of his way. At least he will be driving me to the appointment, to drop me off at the door.

Hmm... maybe something interesting will happen that I can blog about.

Even Steven Needs to Spread the Calamities Around

The Pony is not a hog. He will gladly give up some of the recent calamities Even Steven has steered his way. No need to have more than his fair share. As if Tuesday's dog bite on the rumpus wasn't enough for the week, The Pony had a bad Thursday. It started before work.

"Pulled a spider out of my hair in the shower. Great start to the day. Ugh."

"Noooo!"

I choked back my urge to share information about how many spiders the average person swallows in a year. At least The Pony's dog bite was looking better. For a day-and-a-half of healing. Hardly any bruising. I guess that dog couldn't get a good grip, with the location being barely on the rumpus proper, where it joins the upper thigh.

Sadly, a hair spider was not the extent of The Pony's misfortune that day. I got another text when The Pony got home at 5:18.

"Today was not my day. Overbalanced while carrying a 50-pound big package, fell, and busted up my knee. Again!"

"Noooo! I'm so sorry! Want me to look for some new tights/long underwear for you?"

"Nah, I've got a good rotation even if this pair is now deeply bloodstained and another has a dog hole in the ass."

"A phrase I was happily ignorant of until a few seconds ago!"

"Hey, I don't know what else to call the teeth holes."

Once cleaned up at home, the wound itself didn't look too bad. By the next morning, the knee was swollen like it had two kneecaps.

"What kind of package was it? A bag of something? A box?"

"It was an awkward box. As tall as from my waist to the top of my head. I was walking down a slight incline, and it pulled me over. The box said it contained a child's playset. 

A table and four chairs."

Anyhoo... The Pony is surviving. Sunday, I asked if he'd talked to the people with the dog.

"No, I haven't seen them. But they're usually not outside. Funny thing, their RING doorbell is suddenly inactive."

"Of course! They had to destroy any evidence of their dog with its teeth in your butt! Are they that kind of people?"

"I don't think so, no. But it's odd that all at once their RING doesn't work."

"At least that bite isn't hurting you too much."

"Yeah. The knee is worse. It was cold that day, and I rolled up that pants leg to expose it to the coolness. Also, because sometimes people at the end of the route get all pissy if their mail is running late, and that way I could just point to the bloody knee as if 

'THIS is the reason!'"

That's our little Pony, plodding on in the face of calamity.

Val, the Possible Enabler, Has No Regrets

I was in a foul mood coming out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Saturday. YOU KNOW WHY! My handicap space was taken again by the usual suspect. I was right in front of that offending vehicle, going past to get to T-Hoe parked behind in the FREE AIR space, when I heard...

"Hi. Uhh..."

It was a guy I had seen come up from the moat that separates the parking lot from Hick's pharmacy parking lot. Rather than walking along the back alley road that connects them, this guy had just gone down one side and up the other. It's usually dry at the bottom, or just a trickle. 

Moat Guy was in his early 30s, I think. Wearing light colored jeans, a t-shirt, and a gray zip-up hoodie, the hood of which covered his noggin. A noggin that I later found to be bald in front, with the rest of the stubble on his scalp the color of hair. You know that color. Not brown, not gray. Just hair-colored.

Anyhoo... Moat Guy walked over towards the gas pumps leading to the front door. He didn't get too close, but it was clear he wanted to talk to me.

"I've been walking. I haven't had anything to drink for a whole day. My food card is delayed. It won't be here for three or four days. I've been staying with my friend, and said I'd help pay the electric bill."

"Here. I can spare a dollar for you."

I had it right there in my hand, on top of the two crossword scratchers and two Christmas scratchers and the Cash4Life draw ticket that I get every day for The Pony. That dollar was my change, from cashing in a $20 winner and getting those tickets. I couldn't imagine just walking by this guy with that dollar in plain sight. He took it and thanked me. And kept talking!

"I'm on my way over to School-Turn Town. I've got another friend over there. I'm going down the old road. It's only about seven miles. I need to find myself a job so I can earn some money to help out."

"You know what? I never do this. But I want you to have this." I took a twenty out of my pocket and handed it to him. "I don't care what you do with it. Maybe you will find somebody else who wants to help out."

By this time, White Truck Dude was coming out. We were standing right in front of his truck. If only I was evil enough to keep standing there, talking to Moat Guy, preventing White Truck Dude from leaving, heh, heh. He couldn't back up, because T-Hoe was too close, since the white truck was taking up part of the FREE AIR space as well as the handicap space. Alas, I just hastened along as White Truck Dude got in and closed the door.

"I've got to get going. I hope everything works out for you."

As I was walking alongside the white truck, Dude took off. But Moat Guy stayed at the corner of the building, still talking!

"Hey, my house is so dusty, that when I was cleaning it, I looked in the mirror, and thought, 'When did I grow hair?' It was DUST on my head!" He pulled down his gray hoodie, and showed his head. Which was not dusty now. Just bald in front.

I chuckled and gave him a wave as I climbed into T-Hoe. He seemed harmless enough, but I was not about to offer him a ride! Val may be a soft touch for beggars, but she is NOT soft-headed!

I've never seen Moat Guy around here. He wasn't standing outside the store begging. He didn't have a sign. Didn't appear drunk or high. He wasn't stick-thin, and didn't have meth teeth or a beer belly. Just a regular size guy, not dressed for a black-tie dinner, but not in dirty rags. I think maybe he had mental issues, maybe getting his food card because of a disability. He rambled, but knew how to speak in sentences. Seemed a bit lonely.

Twenty-one dollars is not going to bankrupt me. It's not enough that he could buy something that would harm himself. I figure he needed it more than I did. As I went past on the side street at the light, I did not see Moat Guy walking down the road to School-Turn Town. Nor was he outside the Gas Station Chicken Store. Maybe he was inside, buying a drink. Of one sort or another...

My mood had greatly improved.

I Really Hope He Bought These Two Tickets

There's a chance that the last-laugh ball might be back in Val's court. That Val is serving up a heapin' helpin' cold dish of revenge!

Remember yesterday, when I told of White Truck Dude sitting in my rightful handicap space outside the Gas Station Chicken Store, bloviating with an old man in a red truck? And how he drove away when I pulled in behind him, signifying that his business was already done there?

I hope he bought these two tickets:

That's the $3 Christmas ticket that I buy every day at the Gas Station Chicken Store. This is one that I bought on Thursday after regaining my rightful handicap parking space. It won $60!

This is the $10 ticket I also bought that day. It won $100!

I know White Truck Dude buys scratchers there. Also, I've seen him buy these two tickets. I don't know if he buys the same ones every day. Wouldn't it be great if he DID? And if his purchase that day had set me up for these two winners? That's $160 that I got, and he didn't!

I'm going to pretend that's how it happened. The chortle is starting again.

A Got-Val Moment

Darn that Even Steven! Just when Val was chortling with glee over beating White Truck Dude to HER rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Tuesday... the chortle stuck in her craw on Thursday, when the tables were turned.

It was 3:45 when I pulled onto the parking lot of the Gas Station Chicken Store. Running a bit later, because I had been in 10Box picking up the makings of my world-famous Chex Mix. From the stoplight, I could see a white vehicle was parked in that handicap space, with a red pickup truck parked beside it, not in a space, but in the opposite direction, as with two drivers shooting the bull.

Rounding the gas pumps and fighting the blinding sun, I put my visor down and realized it was THAT white truck parked in my handicap space. White Truck Dude must have seen me cussin' him as I looped past the diesel pumps and pulled in behind him. I was shocked to see a HANDICAP PLACARD dangling from the mirror of the red pickup truck!

I had assumed they were good ol' boys a-braggin' about their exploits. I secretly hoped that Red Truck Guy was giving White Truck Dude what-for about parking in that handicap space. After a few seconds, White Truck Dude started his vehicle, and Red Truck Guy drove out the back alley. His business must have already been concluded. Perhaps he had parked at the pumps for gas, and didn't need that space.

Anyhoo... I detest White Truck Dude SO MUCH! I could happily live the rest of my life without ever seeing him again. I wonder if he'd been inside for a long time, monopolizing that parking space while I was over at 10Box shopping. And if he was friends with Red Truck Guy, or getting a lecture on his rumpushole-iness.

A Gotcha Moment

You'll never guess what happened at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Tuesday. Or maybe you will. I was reunited with an old acquaintance.

WHITE TRUCK DUDE!

Heh, heh! I had arrived during my usual afternoon window, between 2:35 and 3:00. I cashed in a $50 winner for some tickets and cash. Talked a minute with Man Owner while the cashier was getting my scratchers. Turned to walk out, and came face-to-face with White Truck Dude. Oh, HE KNOWS! He knows that I know he is the rumpushole who parks in the handicap space every day. You could see it on his self-important mug when our eyes met.

As I rounded the corner of the building, there was his white truck, parked nose-to-nose with T-Hoe. Too bad, so sad that he had to park in the FREE AIR space this time. I was dying to snap a picture for your viewing pleasure, but there was a woman sitting in the passenger seat! Every other time, White Truck Dude has been alone. I resisted the photo op. It's not like she would jump out and try to take my phone away. But I have no issue with HER. She might not even know he parks there all the time. What's he gonna do, start complaining as he drives up: "There's that dang ample-rumpused old handicap lady parked in my space!"

Sweet, sweet revenge, even though it was purely a coincidence. Maybe he thought I'd been tattling on him to Man Owner, who is usually not out front during this time.

Apparently, The Pony Was Clompin' For a Chompin'

Here we go again. Just when I figured The Pony was home safe from work Monday, on our first snowy day, I got a text at 5:33.

"Home. Got bitten by a dog again. Right buttcheek this time."

"Nooo! Can I call?"

Permission granted, I got the details. 

"It was the last 20 minutes of my route. It's a house that always has their dog put up. I was taking them a package when the dog ran up behind me and bit my butt. It ran around to the back of the house after that. It's a medium-sized dog that looks like it might be part dalmatian. A girl came to the door. A daughter, I think. I said, 'Here's a package for you, and your dog just bit me.' She must have seen me coming, because she opened the door right up, and she was hollering at some guy, maybe a boyfriend or brother, to keep the dog in the house.

Since it's always inside, I figure SOMEBODY, probably that guy, just let it out to poop because it was so cold, and he didn't want to walk it on a leash. It tore two holes in my shorts with its teeth. Looks like only one tooth went all the way into my butt. I was pretty upset when I got back. This starts the whole dog thing all over again. Two managers were there. They said I had 24 hours to decide if I wanted to go to the doctor for it, but they won't force me to if I don't want to. I still have the antibiotic ointment from the last dog bite. She didn't mention shots, but they seem to take care of that dog, because it's always inside."

Poor Pony! Here is the initial picture right after it happened:

Lucky that more teeth didn't take hold!

I'd say those shorts are still wearable... 

At the risk of skipping down the road to Inappropriateville, I'm going to show the flesh wound. Don't worry, it's a tight closeup. Just try to forget where it's located!

Not too deep, The Pony says. A little oozy. Kind of painful, but no bruising yet.

Tuesday morning, post-shower, it was looking good enough:

"Morning butt update: it looks more like a single shallow gouge and a few pressure tears, rather than a deep puncture. Still not fun. A bit swollen, no bruising yet, but also I don't have my glasses on while looking. Some further pictures show a bit of a bruise starting and a weird divot, depending on how I am standing."

I got an update at 10:16. "It is thankfully not the load bearing part of my butt. The weight isn't directly on it when I sit in the Metris."

Backroads definitely has a dog problem. Hick says if the dog bit now, it's probably bitten before. I don't know about that. It would explain why they always keep the dog in the house, and it's not out roaming like the other predatory curs that make The Pony's work life a challenge.

The Pony would have been protected from this one, had he been carrying a big fat George Costanza wallet in his pocket!