One Day at the Piggly Wigley

 

The young boy at the end of the checkout was placing each item in the grocery bag, then once the bag was full he would lift it into the shopping cart. Lois was keeping one watchful eye on him while also keeping track of the totals being rung up at the register.

 

The moment she saw him drop a can of pork & beans on top of her Wonder bread she yelled.  “Young man, you just squished my bread.”

 

The cashier stopped ringing up the items on the conveyer and the store manager, who was standing close by, came rushing over.  He looked into the bag of freshly packed groceries and could clearly see the can-shaped dent in the loaf of bread.

 

“Tommy, go and get this customer a new loaf of bread and then report to my office.”

 

The store manager’s office was up one flight of stairs and had windows overlooking the rest of the store.  Tommy walked in and sat in front of the manager’s desk, waiting for the manager to return to his office. 

 

It wasn’t but a few minutes until the manager walked in and closed the door behind him.  He sat at his desk and looked across at Tommy.  “You have gone through our training program, and you know better.  Tell me why I shouldn’t fire you right now.” 

 

Tommy sat a little more upright in his chair and in a calm voice explained his reason for dropping the beans on the loaf of bread.

 

“You see, Mr. Nelson, Lester was packing groceries at the next station to mine.  He had his back to me and couldn’t see what I was doing.  As you know, he is just back from the war and is still getting acclimated to civilian life.  Any loud or surprising noises can set him off.  I knew that by dropping the can of beans next to the bread they would have struck the countertop and could have startled poor Lester.  However, by cushioning the impact with the soft bread, he wouldn’t have heard a thing, and the bread would have eventually sprung back to its original shape, probably by the time the customer had gotten home.”

 

“Did you just make all that up?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Go down and finish your shift.  When you come in tomorrow be wearing a white shirt.  I can use an assistant manager who can think on their feet.”

 

 

 The story you just read is true.  The bread returning to its original shape may have been an exaggeration. 

 

 

Good Humor

 

In the quaint village of Dormant lived an elite group of 8^th graders.  They were all academically gifted and each already excited to step out into the world to do their part for society.  One day, after the local fire department had put on a demonstration at their school, the children got together and volunteered to take over the town’s emergency medical response program.  By the following year they had all been trained as EMT’s and the oldest was given a permit to drive the response vehicle.

 

In the months that followed they responded to several emergency calls and successfully treated various injuries and resolved a couple minor medical issues.   By the end of the 9^th grade, they had made quite a name for themselves, with write-ups in the local paper and one interview at the local radio station.  They were the buzz of the town.

 

The back room of the fire department had been given to the group for the storage of their equipment and uniforms.  They were also allowed to share in the use of the fire department kitchen, provided they clean up after using it.  So far, everything had been working out well.

 

One Wednesday afternoon, at the Dormant Senior Center, Hamilton McDuff picked up his playing cards, looked at his royal flush and fell over dead.  The other seniors around the table, having already put some serious coin in the pot, scooted Hamilton and his chair out of the way and went on with the game.  Martha’s three of a kind ended up winning the pot and once the hand was over, they called the emergency response team.  The repurposed ice cream truck, with its siren blaring, pulled up to the front door.  As the young EMT’s filed in, Martha was still counting her quarters and Werther's Originals from her winning hand.

 

Mary Ellen knelt beside the body and took his pulse.  “He’s toast, but Larry, get a picture of this royal flush for the paper.”  Despite McDuff’s fingers not being very flexible, Larry was able to snap a great shot of the cards, which made the front page the following day, under the headline, More than Dormant.

 

 

 

Before

After

 

 

 

 

18 cents per gallon

 

A backward glance shows how I was before.

 

Before I knew much at all and without any clue as to my future.

 

Before I went off to war, yet while I was being picked last for the team.  “OK, we’ll take ZC, if we must.”

 

Without direction or a paycheck my friends and I strayed as far as we could, being sure to be home when the streetlights came on.  That was our only instruction and time limit.

 

The car was made of steel, no plastic, no seatbelts and no computerized systems.  No power brakes or power steering, hand crank windows and at 18 cents a gallon our pocket change took us anywhere we wanted to go.  If the car broke down, we could fix it in the driveway.

 

But this is now.  This is the future I couldn’t have envisioned.  Plastic cars full of computers, pumping gas through their system at $3.00 or more a gallon.  Most repairs are a $300.00 computer chip.

 

We have strayed far beyond our pocket change.

 

 

If I didn't do this...

 

I wouldn’t have a podcast.  I’m not a talker.

I could never work for a newspaper.  Having some editor critique my every word or dictate subject matter would drive me bonkers.

Being a teacher is out of the question as I don’t really believe in the current educational system.  When I went through it I found it to be very restrictive and simply cranking a variety of people through a structure designed to have them all turn out the same, think the same and recite word for word a history that was rarely close to the truth.  At least today’s technology is forcing their hand to be more accurate.

Heaven forbid I become a salesman.  I could no sooner talk anyone into anything.  Okay, I take that back.  Pet rocks, I could have sold those.  They don’t break; they always work and never need batteries.  That must be the only product that does what it promises.

I like to think I am too honest to be in advertising, way too honest for politics and much too old for anything else.  So, blogging it is. 

Lucky you.

 

...not that all my posts make sense...

 

 

 

 

 

Exercise

 

Of the five senses the one I like to exercise the most is the sense of smell.  There is nothing like the strong aroma of coffee in the morning, or the heavy scent of fresh popped popcorn at the movies.  It’s amazing. 

Walking down Main Street blindfolded I can tell you when we are in front of the bakery.  Even the smell of freshly cleaned and pressed linen at the laundry has its own attraction.

The unique thing about smells is they can easily ride upon air currents.  The aroma of bacon cooking has been known to travel, undisturbed for six miles through the North woods.  One very lost scout troop found its way back to camp simply by following the scent of breakfast cooking.  The Scoutmaster received a special merit badge for his ingenuity. 

It is a challenge walking through the shopping mall.  There are so many different and strong scents wafting about, it truly gives your nose a workout.  I remember one time becoming a little disoriented by smelling a blend of White Shoulders perfume and freshly burped Tupperware.  I had to sit down on one of their benches and just watch the mall walkers for half an hour, until my nose cleared up.

Of course the dark side to smells can easily be discovered by driving through Tacoma, Washington.  You'll want to do it with your windows closed and whatever you do, don't slow down or even stop at any red lights.  You'll thank me later.

The Storyteller

 

The heat radiated through my ceramic coffee mug and warmed my hands.  Initially it felt hot, but the coldness of my fingers quickly dissipated the sting of the temperature.  I could see my breath, and it blended with the steam rising from the coffee.

 

The falling snow landed quietly on the landscape that stretched out beyond my window.  I clicked the typewriter to life, and the familiar hum broke the silence of the room.  I glanced down at the blank page awaiting my words.  One more sip before I begin.

 

The only thing older than Jake was his rickety poker table, but it was good enough.  This was Friday and the boys would be walking in soon.  He had a fresh deck of cards in the center of the table, trays of poker chips at every position, and the usual matchbook under the short leg to stop the wobble.  As usual, everyone brought what they wanted to drink.  He was not about to supply the beer, not on his meager pay.

 

By 8:30 the game was in full swing.  His stack of chips had all but disappeared.  If he didn’t start winning soon, he’d be sitting out, which was awkward, seeing as he was the host.  It was Larry’s deal and as usual, he jabbered more than he shuffled.  Someone always had to nudge him to keep the game going.  This time, he was going on and on about his new snow tires.

 

Skip interrupted by announcing the pot was light. 

 

“Larry, you didn’t ante yet.”

 

Larry tossed a chip into the center of the table and started to deal.  “We’re playing follow the queen.”

 

As I scooped up my cards I couldn’t believe it.  I had a natural ace high flush.  I tried to control my excitement, but had my luck suddenly changed?  I casually looked around at the other faces to see if I saw anyone else noticing me.   Nope.  This was going to be good.

 

When it came around to me, I tossed two black chips in the pot.  “I raise fifty.”  No one seemed phased and nobody dropped out.  In fact, Gary raised again, another fifty.  This just might be the biggest pot of the night, and here I was with an ace high flush.

 

Then out of nowhere Bob says, “So where did you get your tires.”  He was looking straight at Larry, but Larry didn’t look up.  He tossed his cards face down on the table and started blubbering.  “I didn’t.  I just said that. I don’t know why.”

 

Ned, the odd one of the group said, “What’s going on Larry?”  Larry looked up at him and said, “Marge is leaving me.”

 

All I could think was – let’s finish this hand boys.  I finally got something.  But nobody seemed interested in playing.  Everyone was focused on Larry, who was now lost in Larry land.

I couldn’t help it, I had to speak up.  “Let’s finish this hand fellas and then we’ll take a break.”

 

Lynn tossed his cards down in front of him and said, “Can anyone beat five nines?”

 

It was like someone had let all the air out of me.  I was deflated just that quickly.  I had now lost all but four dollars worth of chips.  My ace high flush wasn’t about to beat five nines.  “Okay, let’s take a break.”

 

Then Ned tosses in, “I thought your wife’s name was Mary?”

 

Larry looks up, “It is, Marge is, or was, my girlfriend.”

 

Bill scooted his chair back and said, “That’s disgusting.  We’re supposed to feel sorry for you?”

 

It felt like this night was about to be over, which was fine with me.  I wasn’t going to get far with four dollars worth of chips.

 

As the last one was leaving, he stopped and looked back at me.  “Invest in a new table.  That matchbook isn’t doing its job anymore.”

 

I clicked the typewriter off and picked up my empty coffee mug.  It felt cold.  Not sure where I was going with this story but for now I needed more coffee.

 

 

Hey Coach!

 

                                                             

TEAM

                You're wrong.  There is an eye in Team.