Hanging out at Walmart is a form of entertainment for those who are really poor, or really bored I guess. Since we’re a bit of both, now that I’m not working, my wife wants to go there quite often anymore. As for me, I don’t bore too easily; I could sit on a stump and watch two pissants fight and be entertained. Still, I have to make allowances for those less eclectic in their interests, so here I sit. It was a little too hot to stay in the truck, so I brought my laptop into the restaurant located inside the front door. I discovered on the drive here that the air-conditioner needs recharged in my truck. It’s out of warranty by two years and 60,000 miles, so it’s time for it to start falling apart I reckon.
A guy was supposed to call about meeting me here to buy the last of my coins. Unfortunately, my phone is at home on my desk from where he called before and I forgot to put it back in my jeans. Better luck next time, I guess. I’m not sure he would have showed up anyway. He struck me as a lonely soul just wanting someone to talk to. It’s a good thing the Lord doesn’t let us see into the future, or a lot of folks would end their days early. Getting old is for the birds, getting old with no-one around who cares about you—doubly so.
Speaking of old, I can’t stand rap. It ain’t music in my book; it’s rude, crude, lewd attitude with a beat. If you listen to the words, it’s soon obvious that anyone who’s into mainstream rap is nothing but a low-life, pathological piece of trash. That being said, I was sitting in the truck the other day, waiting for my wife to get done window-shopping in the craft store, when a car pulled by me and into the space in front of me. The rap was almost rattling my windows as he sat there, so I got out to ask him if he could turn it down a little, and was shocked that it was a white-headed old man that was playing the racket. Perhaps my disgust was reflected in my voice, for his answer was “no, I CAN”T.” A few minutes later, a lawn service guy started mowing the patch of grass beside us, so I moved half-way across the parking lot to keep from getting doubly deafened. Wouldn’t you know that the old codger started driving by my new location and cranking his radio (stereo?) up as he passed. He may not have had the right music for his age, but he certainly had the right attitude for his music! I guess we all handling aging differently.
Speaking of silly old men, another interesting scene transpired in that same location about five years ago. A little red MG or Triumph convertible whisked into a slot in the next row and two grey-headed old geezers started trying to slide their legs rearward and their butts upward to exit the car without opening the doors. Their awkwardness, and obvious stiffness, made it nearly impossible for me to remain quiet, but I stifled my laughter and kept watching. The driver was a string-bean, and the passenger was a bit heavy, giving a Laurel and Hardy appearance to the comedy. I don’t believe I ever saw two people take as long to extricate themselves from an automobile. A few minutes later, they returned and repeated the process in reverse. THAT took even longer. Whether the doors didn’t work, or whether they were trying to relive a time that they could blithely slip in and out of a convertible, I don’t know, but it sure made for a fun time for me!
LATER – On the trip home, it was 90 degrees in the north end of town; half-a-mile into the country it had dropped to 86. I forgot to check what it was when we got home, but I have seen it as much as 11 degrees cooler out here in the boonies. Incidentally, Mr. Lonely hadn’t called about the coins; I hope he had some Sunday company. © 2013-