the crayon colored couple passed about a half dozen cops wandering around cashier central, while I tried…in vain….to concentrate on Miss Yapping Cashier’s rant. how do you tell a man with a giant butt-crack to turn around so you can work? I dunno. I really dunno, mam. mention something about a plumber? I dunno. i was too distracted by pink-crayon-girl and turquoise-soy boy skipping past the giant rocket advertising Pickup…to engage in intelligent conversation.
Miss Yapping finished her routine, and I pulled out some crisp green bills, grabbed my white racist plastic…three bags…inside other bags…hiding in enough plastic to make a toothbrush,,,and escaped Lunaticland for the never ending parking lot. Out in the rain I searched….while others wandered around doing the same….telling myself I really should use the car alarm to find it…this time…wandering until the lane I thought I was parked in, was actually four lanes from my vehicle.
it always rains really really hard when you realize your car is parked four lanes away. and then it hit me…this never happens to people parking in the handicapped spaces. they are the only spots with nice artwork in the entire parking lot. The rest of the parking lot looks like it was painted by a guy with a 20 degree hip tilt…everything in the asphalt kingdom leaning the same way.
why can’t they paint the parking spaces different colors? that way, I could always park in the plum purple spot and know where to find my stinkin’ car when I get out of Walmart. not like today. or any other day…
it was nice having a fig bar…the kind with lots of sugar so you really don’t taste the figs…and gulping a vitamin water. rehydration and sugarization is good therapy after enduring another round on the merry-go-round. which was particularly necessary today.
it started as I was approaching the deli with my eyes on the rotisserie chicken, only to look up and discover a man with his left hand completely stuck down the back of his pants, as if there was a rectal thermometer buried in there somewhere. you know your stomach is iron-clad when can you say excuse me to the contorted freak and reach in to rescue a warm chicken from 12:30PM, and disappear like Artemi Panarin on a breakaway. The deli girl actually ignored the eejit, but I purposely got her attention, trying to get the eejit to move away so maybe his woman…or whatever gender pronoun she resembled…could rescue the hand from the nether regions.
I changed my mind on the tasteless looking item labelled “potato salad” and headed for the back of the grocery where I could at least find yogurt, if not some peace. maybe.
an older man with one of those neat shopping cars was motoring around the glass cases of eggs and butter, so I asked if he needed any help. of course, I should have ignored him and gone off to my own little world, but it was an interesting five minutes reminiscing about a war I was not alive for. his granddaughter or great granddaughter returned with more food and tried pushing him, to his amusement.
my mind was wandering….when I realized the windshield was lashing with rain, and I thought it best to get home before the road started flooding.
driving down the highway, the rain mixed with some fog…and I was just about to cross a bridge into a small town on my way home when I saw two women…one quite thin, and one behind her rather rotund, walking in the pouring rain along the road. Like most men , I just glanced over for a minute…well, I was going to…but it become brutal outside, so we were nearly stopped in the wrath of the oncoming rain.
she had just enough on that I noticed a nice winter jacket. and that’s all. no pants. absolutely none. she must have taken them off when they got soaked. cars passed, trucks passed, on the other side of the road. we were stopped. maybe there was a train ahead. I dunno. no pants mam walked on, behind a thin wafer of a woman, toward the off-ramp…