My husband and I went with a friend to my condo upstate. For some rest, some fresh air, and for me quite frankly, Peter Lemongello. You remember Peter…his Love ‘76 album that sold millions long before Ron Popiel even knew what infomercials were. His face and smile was as much an attention-grabber as his silky sexy voice. He was performing as he has done in the past at a Catskill nightclub. For some reason my husband enjoys watching me make an ass out of myself elbowing old ladies out of the way to get the best seats in the house…front row, center. When I get to the front of the club there is a woman who I have seen many times at his shows. She is probably a bigger groupie than I am but since she is in a wheelchair she was able to get reserved seating. Bitch! Ok so we sat front row, off center. That will have to do. I text a picture of her to my grandsons who, like my husband, get a kick out of knowing that I am like a school girl with a crush when I go to his shows. As he sang and we both swooned, I considered things I could do to “Miss Wheelchair Groupie…but considered the karma aspect and refrained. Instead we ordered drinks and settled in for a great show. I’ll get her next time!
The next day my husband went to a financial seminar at the hotel. The financial wizard apparently also does card tricks and taught the class some tricks to entertain the grandkids. For the next two days my husband practiced his slight of hand, which quite frankly was slight of…well, skill. By the time he finally got to show off for his grandkids he was a master…trouble was they were more interested in whether or not my fish was dead. The distracted audience were only slightly impressed by Papa’s magical talents.
Even though it is only mid August, the Back to School signs are everywhere so I thought I would stop into Kohls to buy some things for the boys. Evidently so did every other parent and grandparent in the free world. The parking lot was full. I circled the lot a few times, eyed the handicapped spots but drove on, circled some more, even considered parking in the pregnant woman’s spot in front of Babies R Us (I can and do pass as pregnant unfortunately) but then decided to just park on the other side of the massive lot and use it as an exercise stratagem. I found a spot and trekked my way to Kohls. Found a wagon…busted wheel. Found another….squeaked like I had run over an injured animal. Found a third….another busted wheel. I’ll just carry my stuff. I headed for the elevator. When the doors opened there was an Asian family inside with baby carriages and unbroken wagons. They made no move to get out and the doors closed. I really gave it no thought until a line had formed behind me now as we waited for the elevator to return. The doors open and guess who is still in the elevator, and still not moving. I asked, nicely….are you getting out? No answer. The lady behind me said rather loudly, “what are they doing?” I had no idea so I asked again, less nicely…are you getting out? They looked at one another, said and did nothing, and then the doors began to close again. I put my foot in the door stopping it from closing just as a huge Russian man with a crew cut and a dragon tattoo on his neck came from the back of the line, and I kid you not, in perfect (I think) Cantonese asked them what they were doing. They smiled, answered him and simply got out. I have no idea what had just transpired, but I was now in the elevator packed with people and babies and working wagons on my way up to the 2nd floor. We all briefly commented on what the hell had just happened and wished that Igor had gotten on with us so that we could ask him how he knew Chinese.
I picked out ‘cool’ clothes for my three grandsons, at least clothes that I thought were cool….looked at sheets that cost more than my damn mattress and made my way to the escalator. Didn’t care to attempt another ride on the Oriental Express. The lines were long but thanks to my clever eye I spotted a shorter line at the very front of the store. I got on line and immediately regretted it. One guy in front of me, three pillows, how long could it possibly take?? One pillow had no price tag…the light goes on for management. The cashier rings the other two pillows as she waits for someone to come over and price the third. The man shows her that the pillows are all the same. She agrees but waits for a manager. As I watch the other lines emptying out one at a time I contemplate switching lines always worried that that one would come to a dead halt as the original one sped up. Decisions, decisions! When the manager arrives, agrees that all three pillows are the same and I think I am in the clear….she needs a SKU number and off she goes to get one. Like a football player with a playbook, I manuever with my pile of clothes from register 2 to register 4 only to be told she is closed and so I quickly regroup and move to register 7. One person in front of me with…no, can’t be….a pillow! (must have been a sale) I asked if there was a price tag on it and she looked at me like I had asked for her social security number. I started feebly explaining why I was asking and she simply turned her back and put the pillow on the counter. A tag….Eureka! One, two, three and I was next. I had just maneuvered myself to the head of the line while pillow-boy was still waiting for his SKU. A few minor glitches at my register and I still made it out before him. I smiled as I carried my bag passed his register.
As I walked out into the ridiculously humid air I realized that I had parked in God’s country. I trudged through the parking lot dragging my bag of school clothes snarling and sneering at the people parking in the handicap spots. ‘So your crippled…big friggin’ deal’ I thought….and then my hip decided to twinge a bit and I thought OK OK I get it, lay off the handicapped. I made it to my car, threw my bags in the back, turned the AC on super-throttle and went into my pocketbook for my phone. I eyed my wallet nestled inside and couldn’t recall putting my credit card back. I looked and it wasn’t there. Damn it…I knew that cashier looked shady. I was NOT walking back to the store so I drove hoping my card was there waiting for me. Of course there still were no spots other than the pregnant woman ones. It’s a boy! (guess where I parked) I got out of the car and went in ready to argue with the cashier for not returning my card when a smile suddenly crossed my face. Pillow boy….still there! When I got to register 7 I realized that she never had my card, that I swiped it in the little machine myself. I leaned on one of the broken wagons and checked my bag again for the elusive card. Not where it should have been, but there none-the-less. Dripping with sweat and feeling like an ass, I made my way passed pillow boy who was now waiting for his pillows to be squished into a not large enough plastic bag. I got to my oh-so-closely-parked car pretending to be pregnant. Two very really pregnant people gave me dirty looks. Hey, I beat pillow boy, found my credit card and not really pregnant…what more could I ask for. It was a good day!
No comments:
Post a Comment