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Monthly Archives: January 2015
This post began January 5th, 2015, and finally came full circle months later when I realized I was waiting on the owner of the pigs, as I knew I eventually would. “Have you seen those two big pigs down here? They’re up on the hill…in some chain link fence….” Yankee trails off as I squint my eyes at her, trying to determine if she just launched into this story or if there was a prelude that I hadn’t been tuned in for. Rewind…replay….no. “Which road???” I ask. “Chapman Highway.” Mighty long road. “Where at on Chapman?” “Uhhhmmm…I can’t think….it’s up on a hill….there’s chain link around the property…” She’s vaguely gesturing with her right hand. “What’s the closest business or road to it?” “….I’m not sure….” “Is it before Zion Hill or after?” “After.” “Is it before Sugarloaf Road or after, or do you even know where Sugarloaf is?” “Yeah, it’s after.” “Is it after the Wye?” “No, it’s before.” “Okay, so they’re between Sugarloaf & the Wye?” “No. It’s if you’re leaving Sevierville, before you get to Sugarloaf…
I would like to blame the lack of sunshine for making people crazy, but I know they’re crazy all the time, so that can’t be it. A little while ago, a lady dressed…shall we say…festively…approached the counter & asked if Big Lots sold fishing poles or something along those lines. We’re like, “maybe…” Evidently our answer didn’t satisfy her, because clearly, in addition to knowing the merchandise of our own store, we should keep track of all the surrounding businesses. “Do you all live here?” I was thisclose to saying, “No, I commute from Atlanta every morning.” What the crap? Later, this guy gives me his credit card to pay, I indicate the sig pad with stylus and direct him to “sign here.” “My name?’ ………. I refrained, yet again, from saying what was REALLY on my mind: No, your occupation and blood type, and where you plan to eat supper. I have saved the best for last, & this isn’t someone I think is lacking sense. He’s about my age and farms. He gives me his debit card to pay. It’s kinda warped up and wouldn’t read, which is not unusual in my line of work because typically they’re dirt encrusted. I type it in. …
Hollister makes me claustrophobic. We were at the mall to get my glasses adjusted. I bought them at Lens Crafter’s & don’t trust anyone else to touch them. I also wanted to go get freezer stuff from Sam’s. They were closed (grrr). It seemed like a long way to drive for a five minute trip, so we walked around the mall. My sweet husband thinks I’m a size 6 and that I can wear Hollister stuff, so he goes in to check it out. Their scarves fit me, so I follow. I nearly have a panic attack when this baby in the vicinity of the dressing rooms is screaming bloody murder, and the plants keep brushing me, and it’s so dark you can’t even see halfway to the back of the store, and it’s hot, and stifling, and smells like last years’ cologne and juvenile pheromones. I bumped into a weird wiry girl, I thought she was a mannequin. I apologized and she shook her head back and forth real fast, like she was a refugee or something. Bizarre. I fumble, stumble, and grope my way back to the free air and light, devoid of palm trees & teeny boppers. Geez. I think that will be my last trip in there for my lifetime. …
