errands...
11/09/2006 06:24 a.m.

Upon venturing out into this rainy and dark early November evening trying to do a couple of errands and make some use of the time otherwise lost to my convalescing from recent ankle repair, it occurs to me that the Universe is not necessarily or entirely sympathetic. Some of the small details could simply fall into place, providing for ease and comfort when there is precious little of each to begin with. It would seem to me that it should be fairly straight forward and uneventful to go to the store for some Oxyclean. Straight forward and uneventful just did not seem to be the case. For instance:

The compact car that cut me off, forcing me to stomp on my brakes forcefully enough to rearrange the neatly stacked contents of my back seat into what looked like the Pixie Stix of a five-year-old; not to mention the radiating pain from my affected left ankle resulting from having slammed my foot to the non-existent clutch in my over-sized automatic pick-up truck. My instinct led me to depress the clutch as though I were driving in my manual shifting Honda. All of this could have been avoided had the driver sense enough to simply wait, or yield would be the more proper term, for only a mere moment. Rather, she (sorry, ladies) chose to very urgently pull right out in front of me, only to continue in my exact route of travel for the following five-point-two miles at a continual rate of no less than five miles per hour less than the posted speed limit. This I tell myself is likely due to the inclement weather coupled with the built-in cautious or over-cautious nature of most of the females I encounter. She would have succeeded in impeding my entire trip were it not for my expertly executed maneuver quietly excelling into a tiny traffic bubble and passing her. Mario Andretti himself would have approved. This allowed me to nearly reach the posted speed limit of 30mph but I had to turn off into the complex to which I was destined…

…Destined to wait for proximal parking to accommodate my now painful ankle behind a Dodge Caravan full of Nuns; or women appearing to be nuns but who were not in full habit, loading their “need-only basis” items into the rear storage compartment of their aging and sagging minivan. Each item must have needed to be specifically catalogued or undergo some other type of ritual as this palletizing process never reached completion before my choosing a more distant but available space. This would prove not to be in the best interest of parking my full-sized pickup with the quad cab, or for the comfort of my ailing ankle. I got out, locked up, and plodded across the rainy parking area and into the gigantic Club store…

…where it was found that every one of the shopping carts were simply drenched and dripping water. This was remedied, though, by the kindly Greeter-lady who offered to wipe my handle. I indulged her and the already-soaked rag which served only to rearrange the water droplets into a more uniform pattern of equal-sized drops into which I could now place my capable grip. I thanked her all the same and trudged off, making use of the moist and gargantuan cart as a mutant walker, having left my prescribed light weight aluminum crutches lying neatly beneath the Pixie Stix pile on the floor of the back seat of the truck. I found my way to the far, front corner of the building…

…only to find that Oxyclean (“add to every load”) laundry additive is located in the exact opposite corner of the store. This I figure is an opportunity for me to hone my new walking gait and to revel in the therapeutic gain I would surely enjoy. With careful and deliberate steps behind my mutant walker / shopping cart I began my journey, keenly aware of all those sampler ladies who would accost me and get me to try the hot chocolate syrup base (only enough for 160 servings), some new maple flavored (or scented, I suspected) bacon, chimichangas, and some ‘nine-minutes-in-the-microwave and enjoy a delicious dinner with your family’ entrée, the cost of which was certainly not just the $9.95 introductory price, but which would sure include at least one copay for a visit to the Walk-in Primary Care at the local medical clinic. Certainly having made it past all of these without incident, I would be in the clear. Having made it past the gallons of spaghetti sauces and the shrink wrapped eight-packs of cream of mushroom soups my confidence waxed strong, until…

…Until I hear, “Wouldn’t you just love to try some of this new extra, Extra crunchy peanut butter? It is simply delicious! We are promoting it this week, and...” This is coming from a little lady not quite have the size of myself, but who is slicing what appears to be a fairly fresh French baguette by expertly wielding what appears to be the sharpest cutting utensil I have seen since the late-night infomercial for Ginsu knives that could cut through cans and still cut tomatoes thinly enough to keep the in-laws from returning to visit. Her apparent expertise with her razor-sharp Ginsu and my recently acquired lack of ability to make a clean escape were largely responsible for my accepting her offer. My life-long affinity for peanut butter and the quick mind flash that she was quite probably the owner of the khaki-colored Jimmy I had passed in the parking lot with the bumper sticker begging the question, “Gut deer?” which was displayed right next to an NRA membership decal all added up to make me think that this lady was no one to be messed with. I smile while re-reading the label with ‘extra, Extra CRUNCHY’ blaring from the print as I suppose this could mean it is actually just a jar of peanuts! My benefactor returns my smile and immediately my portion is increased. I smile again at the irony of this tiny little open faced sandwich, now heaping with the lumpy spread being so greatly dwarfed by the giant pair of shrink-wrapped peanut spread jars. I thanked the Ginsu peanut butter lady and made it off across the cement floor, consuming the gravelly, fragrant spread and chewy baguette slice in a series of seven delectable little bites. Nibbling one remaining peanut stuck to the edge of the equally tiny beverage napkin given to me with the sample, I am finally nearing the section containing laundry items. Locating and selecting the Oxyclean gives me a great sense of relief until…

…until I realize that I now have to go back to the exact point of my beginning as I have need of Old Spice Red Zone shower gel two packs, along with the coordinating deodorant sticks which will complete the care package needing to be shipped to Iraq on the morrow. One more trip past the sampler ladies; another smiling nod of affirmation from the peanut butter lady who is actively engaged in sharing the infinite culinary possibilities only available with the purchase of pairs of 64oz. jars of peanut butter with another interest-feigning shopper. Finally my trip is complete and it is time to check out…

…which appears to be evidenced by nearly every other shopper in the store as the sudden migration to the cash registers resembles a ‘blue light special’ at the K-Mart. Everyone is quicker than I, especially without my Tiny Tim sticks, and so I wait behind the oversized carts over-filled not because of the intentionally-purchased items, but because of the freezer-to-microwave-to-the-table staples which, as evidenced by the sampler ladies, can entice nearly anyone. There is a commotion ahead of me as what looks like a month’s supply of toilet tissue and a bag of oranges topples off and overloaded cart to the cement below; a similar occurrence happens only two lanes away. I notice no shrink-wrapped pairs of plastic peanut butter jars peeking out of or falling out of anyone’s cart…

I am currently Bemused
I am listening to rain