It just gets weirder all the time.
They are indeed gargantuan. Therefore, they are hogs. They are gray & white in color.
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. Couldn’t hardly make out the three digit code on the back, but I thought I had it. Nope. Decline.
Try again. Nope. Got it to run, but it declined. I know this guy has money, so I cross my eyes, hop on one foot, pray to the Moon Goddess, and try it again. It worked. He says to me (super heavy drawl, talks slow), “You might have a little trouble gittin’ that to run…I washed it in the washin’ machine, and then I microwaved it.”
I thought I was gonna fall out. I advised him to get a new card pronto tonto, because most people would have given up after the decline, but I knew better. I’m still laughing.
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.
I have been at work for just over an hour and all this has already transpired:
A regular comes in and I ask if he’s ready for Christmas.
“NEVER!” He goes on, “My wife asks me for the most impossible things! This year she asked for two feeder calves!” At this, he rolls his eyes. “All the feeder calves I’ve seen are going for like two THOUSAND dollars! So I get to messin’ around on the internet and I finally found ONE for three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Well, that’s good!” I chirp.
“Yeah, but it took me half the day to find it and it was on the other side of Clinch Mountain so it took the other half of the day to go get it and bring it back. And he only had the one. While I was there, I bought a turkey. So I guess she’s getting a calf and a turkey for Christmas.”
I’m hee-hawing. He continues, “Usually I ask her and she’ll come out with the most outrageous things. Like, ‘happiness!’. Give me a break. It’s always a major undertaking. And then I go to the trouble of getting it and she says, ‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t gotten me this…you could have just gotten me {Whatever}.”
At this point, I can tell his head is on the verge of exploding just talking about it. “Why didn’t you TELL me?!?!”
And she’ll say,”Well, I hinted…”
Women: get a clue. Men don’t take hints. Spell it out for them.
PART TWO:
“Sales, could I help you?”
“Yes, the batteries you have on sale, are they alkaline?”
“Uhhhmmmm….” I will be the first to admit I’m not always abreast of the sales. So I’m stalling for time, grabbing for the small sales flyer on the counter.
“Is it a car battery or….????”
“They’re $4.99. On the back page of the paper.”
“Back page of the Cooperator or the Mountain Press?”
“The Mountain Press.”
I look around wildly. I’m all alone. I call John, who sometimes does advertising. No answer. Of course. I wouldn’t answer the girl who made up a song about me & an alpaca, either. Here comes Dylan. He has no idea, but joins in the search via promos in inventory. I call Clint, who just thinks it’s funny.
“Brion, you got batteries on sale?” he asks, aside to the tire shop manager who was evidently upstairs with him.
“No.” Comes the answer.
“What kind of batteries is it?” Back to me.
“He’s asking me! I don’t know! I would imagine small ones if they’re $4.99…”
“Right. We got those Duracells in…”
“Yeah, but they’re coming up $5.99.”
“Is he the first one to call?”
“Yes, but it’s still pretty early in the day…”
“Go out & buy a paper.”
“I don’t think we sell them anymore since we quit getting it.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, and I’m by myself I can’t even go look.”
“Ok, I’ll come down there.”
“Wait! Here’s Terry. I’m on it.” I hang up. “Terry, you’re in charge,” I direct, grabbing a dollar in quarters & dashing out the door.
“Check!” Terry says, manning my post.
The dang machine takes my dollar.
I dash back in. “Am I free to go?” Terry asks, at attention with his mop.
“No.” I grab another four quarters, tell the man on the phone I haven’t forgotten about him, amd here I go back out. The machine opens, I got my other quarters back, & a paper.
“Ok, I’m back,” I inform everyone. “Sir, I have today’s Mountain Press in my hand. You say it’s on the back page?”
“Yes. Of the sale paper. The seventeenth. Says it’s the last day.”
“Ummm…” this is where things are looking suspicious. “I don’t see anything.” The back is a full page ad for Leconte Medical Center, which is where I’m fixing to need to be sent, probably to the psychiatric ward, or at least back to the cardiologist.
“You don’t see it?” His voice is incredulous. “The Jobsmart batteries?”
Jobsmart? That’s not a brand we’ve ever stocked…We don’t have a sale paper in the paper this week. I’m beginning to think he’s got an old paper. “I have Belk, CVS, Kmart…”
“Yours doesn’t a supply paper?”
“Excuse me?” I have a sinking sensation forming.
“The Supply paper?”
“TRACTOR Supply?”
“Yes!!!”
“No, I don’t….but sir, you’ve called the Co-op.”
“Oh.”…..He disconnects.
And that, my friends, is a small sample of my day.
P.s. BEST PART: I was just waiting on a couple from New Jersey and I asked what brought them in to the store & they said, “Your big sale!” and I was like, “Uh, funny story.” I relate the tale of Battery Man. They’re nodding along the whole time, then they say, “We were just over there laughing about a man measuring them in the packs. He had his tape measure out & everything! He was still there when we left.” We were laughing so hard.
So I met this girl the other night while at dinner with Johnny’s friends. I say girl but she was probably my age. Anyway, she doesn’t like cream cheese.
This is incomprehensible to me.
After she makes the statement, I sit there in shock for a minute and say, “I guess it’s an acquired taste. I didn’t like it till I realized it was in a lot of my favorite dishes. Do you not use it in casseroles?”
“I don’t eat casseroles. People hide stuff in them. Like cream cheese.”
I look at her husband. He shrugs like, “tell me about it. I’ve been trying to reason with her for years.”
“It’s in a lot of desserts, too…do you not eat, like, cheese balls or anything?” I persist.
“Nope.”
This all came about because we were at a Japanese restaurant chowing down on sushi. Someone had offered her a portion of theirs and she turned it down because it had cream cheese in it. I’m thinking she lives a very limited existence and studying on all the wonderful things she is missing out on, and how she would probably starve at my house.
“Gosh, I can’t imagine. I use cream cheese in lots of stuff. Like, I made lemon bars the other day and used a block.”
“You put cream cheese in your lemon bars?”
She’s obviously horrified.
“Yes, they have a cheesecake layer. Do you not eat cheesecake, either?”
“Just key lime.”
“Key lime pie or key lime cheesecake?”
“Key lime cheesecake.”
I pause for effect & try not to grin like the Cheshire cat. I drop my bomb.
“But cheesecakes are made from cream cheese.”
She gasps & covers her mouth with her hand. “No!!!”
“Yes.” I nod sagely. “How did you not know that? What did you think they were made from?”
“I don’t know….” She turns to her husband, who is smirking. “Is that true? Is she right?”
“Yes. I always wondered why you wouldn’t eat it in anything else.”
She’s about to meltdown. I’m feeling slightly guilty.
“I thought you knew….that’s like saying this furniture is made of wood…what else would cheesecakes be made of?” I ask. It’s unbelievable. I have ruined her day. I wonder if she will stop eating them now, or maybe branch out. I wonder if maybe she just tried a bite of cream cheese once like I did, thinking it would be sweet like cheesecake filling and that’s where she went wrong and never recovered. Anyway. I thought it was worth sharing.
My grandmother, a few of you know, was a bit of…how shall I say???…loose cannon? You’re a pistol growing up, and if you achieve adulthood & are still out there tenaciously fighting tooth and nail, you are a warrior. I can tell these stories now that she’s gone. She was married for awhile, but her husband was a bit of a spendthrift (among other things, I gather). Once, he came back to the house for a “chat” & she pulled a gun on him. He scoffed that it wasn’t loaded, and she shot the dirt from under his feet 25 feet away.
That was the last time he visited.
Oh, I know that .38 pistol well. I pulled it on Johnny one morning when I thought he was an intruder. Luckily, he was expecting it & came through the door hollering, “it’s me, baby, don’t shoot!” I reckon he’s always known me pretty well. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She knew me better than anybody. I always think of the time me, her, & mom were sitting on the front porch breaking beans & mom said I better hurry up & get married before the government enlists the draft & grandmother looked at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears & said, “Jody, do you not know your own daughter? Amy would rather fight a war than get married!” And at that time, it was true.
She wasn’t scared of a thing except snakes. She liked her Jack Daniels, her cigarettes, her fake eyelashes & Chanel #5. She loved fall and hated cut flowers because they made a mess. She wasn’t what I would describe as classy, but she was the first to call me out for wearing shorts too short or a top too low. If I heard it once, I heard it fifty times, “Just where do you think you’re going looking like that?” More often than not, just Megan’s pool or White Star, but I would still have to change into something more presentable that I could be seen in & not be labeled a tramp, or worse. If all these young girls had a Grandmother like mine, they wouldn’t be caught dead at the Wal-Mart in pajama bottoms. That’s a travesty. She would berate me for all the weight I’ve gained, too. Not that she was slim & trim, mind you, but no matter. We’re talking about me, I would be swiftly reminded. And straighten up, while I’m at it.
So she built a house, worked second shift in factories, & managed to raise two children with a little help from her momma & daddy, who lived next door. Her crazy grandmother, Octavia, was the force from across the field everyone tried to avoid, or ignore.
Now that you have a feel for my grandmother, let me tell you why I don’t miss her so much (never mind the tears welling in my eyes as I describe her).
Because she’s still here.
After being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, being the steadfast woman she was, she mapped out a game plan. She didn’t want to pass away in this house because she didn’t want me to be afraid to stay here alone. Not that I’m a scaredy-cat, but it would work on anybody’s nerves. So we arranged for her to spend her final days at St. Mary’s Hospice Home in Halls, a brand spanking new facility, complete with bird feeders outside every room. It really was a cozy place. Mom was with her when she departed. Everything was fine except….she didn’t want a funeral of any kind. It was specified in her wishes at the funeral home. She had already paid for everything years ago, of course, always prepared. She didn’t want a notice in the paper, either. Her reasoning being that she didn’t want everyone looking at her while she was laying there dead. She would want to sit up & have a big laugh with you, but that wouldn’t be possible. Well, selfish creatures that we are, we need an outlet for grief, so we held a small receiving friends, with no preacher. Grandmother loved preachers, but only the ones who weren’t hypocrites, so as you can imagine, leaves a minute percentage. Mom giddily staked out a corner, telling the guests that “momma’s gonna haunt me for sure, she didn’t want any of this…” And the guests would laugh lightly, unsure of what to make of our lot. We had a really good turnout, Grandmother was loved by her old coworkers & plenty of family.
Anyhoo, fast forward five years. Johnny & I bought my Uncle’s half of the house, and we’d been living here peacefully for some time. I had cleaned all her stuff out within a year of her passing, but I still occasionally run into pieces of her. (See accompanying picture of bullets in eyelash case)
prime example, found last week when I was digging for batteries in a junk drawer I know I cleaned out forever ago. Anyway, I would come in the kitchen & a roll of paper towels would be lying on the floor. I didn’t think much of it until about the third time that week I had to pick them up. The way they are stacked on top of the fridge makes it virtually impossible for them to fall off. They wouldn’t tumble off due to vibration, either. Sometimes a month would go by & none would fall, other times it would be RIGHT AFTER you picked them up. I even drug a chair over to make sure there wasn’t something on top of the fridge causing them to fall. One night, Johnny was helping me in the kitchen & they flew off right into his hands. It was spooky, to say the least. Around this same time, I noticed my picture frames facing the wrong way. I confronted Lisa about this, as it’s a trick we used to play on each other. She hadn’t done it, and we had very little other company. These were pictures on the buffet that you couldn’t easily knock into or shuffle around by accident. After a few months of this, things quieted back down. I asked one of my good friends who is in touch with her spiritual side about it. She’d visited the house a few times in the past. “Well, I’ve always said you weren’t alone in your home. I can feel something there. It’s not a malevolent spirit, so I suggest you talk to her, see what she wants. Probably, she’s just missing you. I don’t get the impression she’s angry or anything.” This may sound hokey, but this chick grew up with a poltergeist in her childhood home, and later in Savannah, encountered many ghosts at her work and also her home on Gaston Street. I value her opinion, she can back it up all day.Like I said, things gave been quiet again for awhile until about a month ago, when Johnny said something snarky to me. It was a joke, but about six DVD’s came shooting out of the cabinet & landed all over his feet and in his path. “Sorry, Grandmother,” he said, without missing a beat. Grandmother would adore Johnny, if she had ever had the opportunity to meet him, but we didn’t date till after she was gone.
Evidently, she’s gotten bored of hanging out at the house & has followed me to work. The other night, Yankee & I were manning the counter. It was after five, and quiet. I was helping a customer in the pesticides & Yankee was at the counter talking to one of the warehouse guys. I heard a terrible crash of horseshoes, but that’s nothing unusual, farriers get their hands full & drop them. I get back to the counter & Yankee’s like, “Didja hear all those horseshoes?”
“Yeah! Who was it?” I asked, because there was nobody around.
“Nobody,” Brent said with a shudder, looking a little pale.
“I guess it’s your granny, because there was nobody near them,” Yankee said. See, I’ve filled her in all all the other occurrences. I shrug. Whatevs. I pick up the horseshoe & put it back in it’s bin. And not an overflowing one, I might add.
A few days later, I’m chatting with a lady about spirits while I ring up her dog food (don’t ask, I have no idea how we got on the subject). Yankee springs to life, eyes wide. “I forgot to tell you! She’s here now! I came in the other morning & all those brushes were in the floor!” She points. Brushes that have never left their wire basket home. Brushes that couldn’t just jump under their own power.
I hope this doesn’t prevent you from shopping with me. All old stores need a ghost
😀So this is why I don’t miss my Grandmother. Happy Birthday. Hope you have a good time, just not at my expense.
As I’ve heard tell,
She went to market
Her eggs for to sell;
She went to market
All on a market day,
And she fell asleep
Upon the King’s Highway.
There came by a pedlar
Whose name was Stout,
He cut her petticoats
All round about;
He cut her petticoats
Up to her knees,
Which made the little old woman
To shiver and freeze.
When the little old woman
First did wake,
She began to shiver
And began to shake.
She began to wonder,
She began to cry,
“Lauk a daisy on me, this can’t be I!”
“But if it be I,
As I hope it may be,
I have a little dog at home
And he’ll know me
If it be I
He will wag his little tail,
And if be not I,
He will loudly bark and wail.”
Home went the little woman
All in the dark,
Up got the little dog
And he began to bark.
He began to bark;
So she began to cry,
“Lauk a daisy on me this is none of I.”
I dearly love Chick-fil-a. Really. Truly, madly, deeply.
But they have massively screwed up with the addition of double drive thru lanes that merge. I sympathize with the pedestrians in the parking lot, as well.
I shoulda went to Frank Allen’s and had a cheeseburger.
I’ve had a communication problem today.
First, I’m at a lunchtime meeting with my supervisors to discuss horse feed. Before we started, I turned to Lynwood, whom I had been making small talk with about this insane weather we’ve been experiencing.
Me: “What about Buffalo?!?”
Lynwood: “Pardon?”
Me: “What about Buffalo??!”
Lynwood: “Buffalo?” He looks perplexed.
Me: “Yeah, they’ve got like, eight feet of snow!” (Thinking, how did he miss this?!?)
Lynwood, laughing, : “Oh! I thought you wanted to know about buffalo eating Pinnacle feed. I was gonna say we haven’t field tested anything but horses at this time.”
Hardy harhar.
Next, this afternoon, Whitney answers the phone & then turns to ask me, “Do we have a Marine working here?”
Totally out of the blue. But Whit is pretty random, so I just rolled with it.
“Yeah, Brion’s a Marine…and the new guy, Phil…” Thinking of their slogan ‘there are no FORMER Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.
I’m getting the bewildered expression for the second time today. “What?” I ask.
“No, not a Marine, MAUReen!”
“Oh. Yeah, she’s at Waynesville.”
Hilarious.
I look a little crazy today. I blame the wind. It’s like those Santa Ana winds that drive people to suicide…mine just drove me to indecision about my jewelry for today. I’m telling everyone I’m going with the Johnny Depp look. Shoulda tied a scarf around my arm too, dang it…
Also, I wore a lipstick shade that is out of character for me (pink–it was the first one I came to), & the wind was whipping this morning & blew my hair in my face. I worked about an hour, walked into the bathroom, & it looked like a cat had scratched me all over my face.
Thanks, coworkers, for the heads up.
While I was sitting in the waiting area of my eye doctor, sans glasses, some wormy guy went walking by, took a double take, stopped, and pulled out his camera. I hopped up & went to the desk, behind the safety of a potted plant. The girls looked at me expectantly.
“I don’t want anything, but there’s a weird guy out there, and if I’m gonna hafta shoot him, I’m gonna need my glasses.”
They quickly handed them over & one of the girls was like, “What’s he doing?”
“Just being weird. I think he was taking my picture. I dunno. I couldn’t see.” (Taking advantage of my disability!!! The SHAME!)
She took a card to go out & help him & he went on his way.
I love my new optometrist. She took this picture & told me to drink gin & tonic for my eye twitch.
