A Day In The Life: A Trip To Wal-Mart
We used to go to Publix to shop. Nice, clean merchandise. Not crowded. Good help. Fairly close. The only problem was every time we went there the bill got higher. We do the major shopping ritual about once every three weeks and the tab at Publix had eventually galloped well past $400 before we took Drastic Action. Armed with clip boards, Siobhan and I attacked Sam’s, Wal-Mart and Publix for a long bout of comparison shopping. We knew Publix would lose but we wanted to see how bad the discrepancy would be. Suffice to say, it was incredible. We decided to make a change.
We don’t particularly like Wal-Mart. We had been there before. The aisles were too small. On some items, the selection was narrow. They wouldn’t give you paper bags. And the merchandise was strewn out from here to Keokuk. You had to get a Passport to visit the pharmacy it was so far away. And what’s with those motorized carts they let everybody drive up and down the aisles? You used to have to be some kind of cripple to get one of those things. Now you only have to be mentally crippled. It was a mess.
We were tolerating it reasonably well, though, until I came across the woman in the Fish Department. To say this person was slow was like saying Adolf Hitler didn’t play well with others. In other markets, I would ask for a certain amount of fish—a half-pound or so—to be cut off and wrapped. In a Kash & Karry I used to visit, the fish lady, Mary, listened to all my requests, took care of business and eventually trooped off to find me and deliver my fish. THIS woman couldn’t grasp the concept of actually cutting the things.
“What’s the matter with this size?”
“Well, it’s WAY too big.”
“What about this one over here?”
“Not big enough. Why can’t you just weigh them like everybody else does?”
“There’s no need to get snippy with me, mister….”
“How about you just get me the manager?”
Siobhan, noticing the foofaraw from a distance, rolls her cart up about the time the manager arrives.
“Are you with him?” the crazed woman wants to know. “You must be a saint. What sign is he, anyway?”
I disembarked for happier ports. The manager resolved the matter to Siobhan’s satisfaction. The loony woman told her to have a “blessed” day. We stopped going there for a while. Later, my gym pal, Sharon Cinnie, told me she had encountered the same woman. You have to understand that Sharon is straight as an arrow, unfailingly polite, but more shocked than most by bad behavior.
“When I went up to the fish counter, I noticed she was wearing only one glove. I’m a little fussy about cleanliness so I asked her if she would put on two gloves. She went back, got another glove and put it on the same hand, over the other one. I just stood there for a minute kind of stunned. Then I said, ‘You know what—just forget it.’ And I walked off leaving her standing there with a quizzical look on her face. She probably still doesn’t know what was wrong.”
So now we go to Publix for fish, chicken and any other meat we’re looking for, to Sam’s for the things they sell which are outrageously cheaper than anybody else sells them for, and Wal-Mart for the rest. We bring our own little bags now and Siobhan traverses the Outer Provinces while I handle the rest. I have discovered it is not actually necessary to push your cart up and down the crowded aisles—you can just park it at the end, march down and select your quarry and avoid the human clutter. And oh, yes, Tuesday might be a good day to go instead of Saturday. I haven’t seen the Fish Woman lately. She probably ran screaming from the building when Siobhan told her I was a Scorpio.
Take Us Out To The Ball Game
Siobhan and I have been going to a lot of Friday UF softball games lately. We take our 86-year-old neighbor, Allen Morgan, for whom these games are clearly the high point of his week. Prelude to the games is dinner at Panera, a sort of blackmail Siobhan insists on if she is to be included in the happy trio, but usually a merry event even though Bill gets a little testy when those rude little student girls and their ever-present computers take up the booths for hours. Don’t parents teach manners any more?
Anyway, as we mentioned, Allen has arrived at 86 years and I do have to confess he is getting a little grumpy at times. Allen thinks the Gators should win every game and if they don’t it’s somebody’s fault. Forget that their home record is something like 19-1 and they have appeared in the last 4 College World Series events, probably alone in that respect. The other night, shockingly, they actually lost.
“I’m not coming any more,” Allen griped, unforgivingly. “They’re not as good as they used to be. What did we get—two hits?”
“The other pitcher is awfully good, Allen. She never gives up much to anybody. Earlier this year, she lost 1-0 in ten innings to Washington.”
“LAST year’s team would have gotten more than two hits!”
“But Allen—last year’s team was almost all seniors—we have a lot of freshmen and sophomores now.”
“I don’t care. Next week I’m going to the opera, instead.”
Here’s The Rub
I used to go to massage people more often. When you lift weights three times a week, your muscles get a little jammed up after awhile. Even though I am reasonably diligent about stretching, after a few weeks a good massage helps. I have been going to a local Ocala woman as a matter of convenience since I can schedule visits on a return trip from the gym, but this has been less than a perfect solution. First, she is a middle-aged lady who works with horses in the morning before going in to her massage studio, so she is not as fresh and strong as a younger, less encumbered therapist. Second, she has had a hard, unsuccessful life and she likes to tell you about all her sad disappointments. Which is alright—once. Twice, I don’t need to know. Three times, I’m out the door. Besides which, she always tells me to have a “blessed” day which brings back awful memories of the Wal-Mart Fish Woman.
Long story short, I found a new girl in Gainesville. Her name is Tiara but she doesn’t look like you would expect a Tiara to look. For one thing, she is about 6-2 and looks like an outside hitter on a volleyball team. I don’t think anybody will be snatching Tiara’s purse in the near future because I have no doubt she could catch them and do serious bodily harm.
Have you ever seen one of those taffy-pulling machines? They used to have one in the window of a boardwalk shop in Daytona Beach and I would always stop and marvel at the stretchability—without fracture—of the taffy. That taffy looked very content if not ecstatic with its stretcher. And that’s how I felt after my first session with my new best friend. It was probably my second-best massage ever. And only because the most memorable came after days of hiking—including one 14-mile hike down the Zion Narrows in Southern Utah—and lactic acid buildup. Siobhan and I pulled into St. George, Utah, for concurrent appointments with two massage therapists after the hiking was over. It was an eye-opening experience. Though I expected instant improvement, the change was profound. Siobhan, who had never had a massage of any kind before, couldn’t believe it. We limped in and we bounced out, almost as if the hiking had never happened.
The big problem with massages, of course, is there is no massage Wal-Mart. These things aren’t cheap. But then again, it’s probably just as well. I mean, geez, you wouldn’t want to show up for your treasured massage and be greeted by—gulp—someone like the Wal-Mart Fish Woman.
News Of The World In Review
Since most of you are very busy people, you probably missed two important news items last week. First, the incidences of heart problems in optimists like me was decidedly less than in pessimists like Siobhan. I pointed this out to her with some degree of satisfaction. Siobhan, of course, can always spoil a person’s Golden Moments.
“Who’s the one who had the heart attack?” she wanted to know.
“But there were mitigating circumstances,” I protested. She wasn’t having any of it, of course. I don’t think she’s mending her ways, either.
The next item was concerning the importance of snuggling in relationships. The non-snugglers had horrible statistics. This doesn’t surprise me one bit. Just the other day, I was telling my gym friend, Barbara (who is very critical of me for having “too many girlfriends” over the years) one of the reasons for my success in these matters.
“Barbara, you should know that one of the secrets of my success is that I have a very large….”
Barbara (holding her ears): STOP! STOP! I’m not listening to this!....”
“…..very large capacity for snuggling. I even have a Masters Degree from USC (Union Snuggling College in Batavia, N.Y.). It’s a little known fact that good snugglers are made and not born. You have to attend classes in “fitting,” for instance. After all, one partner could be 5-3 and the other 6-2. Adjustments would be required. And then, there is the important matter of preferred sides. There has to be agreement on the dominant snuggling side. I mean, you can’t just be getting up and down all night when your partner turns over.”
Barbara: “ I never thought of that.”
Bill: “Of course you didn’t. That’s why I had all the girlfriends.”
Mystery Of The Week
After running logical races her first four times out, Cosmic Crown has been up the track her last two starts. We attributed the first loss to the distance, one mile, a good bit further than she’s ever run before and against $35,000 horses at Gulfstream, a tough assignment.
The other day, however, against a modest field back at Calder, she ran last of six in a six-furlong sprint for $25,000. The track was sloppy but she’s been on a wet track before and ran well. Additionally, she seemed to handle it in the early going, running close to the lead almost to the eighth pole. In the last two races, she got off to her usual good start and didn’t finish. She is certainly well enough rested, with plenty of time between races. There are no signs of any injury and she ate well after both races.
Of course, there is always another possible answer. Maybe after a few months of this racing business she, like Rhett Butler, just doesn’t give a damn.
Next Week:
The latest update on the field for the wide-open Kentucky Derby. Last year, Stuart Ellison got peeved because we didn’t provide him the exact order of finish. This year, we’ll be lucky to pick one of the first four.
That’s all, folks….
