Sorry, Was I In Your Way?

Yesterday, about a quarter to one, I decided to take a long walk and then have a very late lunch after that. It was very sunny with beautiful clear skies. About a half hour into my walk I found myself in front of a sedan. As I entered the crosswalk in front of the grocery store exit, I looked at the car and then the traffic light above; both were red. I proceeded and when I was directly in front of the car, BAM, the driver decided and did attempt a right turn. The driver had to be at least late 70’s - early ‘80’s. Not, that her age mattered, but her carelessness certainly did… I tried to break my fall with my left hand and nevertheless found myself in a most undignified sprawl on the hood of the car. Fortunately, I was wearing a new J&M blazer and Tom Ford cologne, but I digress. I looked up at the driver whose expression can only be described as very pissed. I struggled to get to my feet and the driver waited. She did not get out of the car; she just waited with a scowl. I was three-quarters of the way standing again when, the woman just completed her right turn and sped away. With my arms spread wide I demanded, “So, you’re just going to drive off?” Her answer was in her exhaust.



Livid, I made my way home. By the time I got there, I was experiencing a slight pain in the lower right side of my back. I took a couple pain relievers and took to the safety of my bed for a couple three hours and was right as rain thereafter. As I lay there I could not help thinking about the woman. I almost made excuses for her. I pondered that maybe she had been told that if she hit another person she would lose her license; maybe she was preoccupied with the loss of a loved one… (the favorite of her fourteen cats, perhaps); maybe the side effects of her current meds caused her to react as a hateful cow? I could not help thinking about the look on her face. It did not match any of my excuses for her. It was a look of contempt, inconvenience; as if to say “I got things to do. Get the F*** off my hood.” I wondered if that song writer was thinking about people like that when he wrote “I hope I die before I get old.” What a miserable way to be. To go about pissed off at someone because you hit them with your 2000 pound vehicle as a result of inattention or intention is a pretty sad way to be. Finally, in my thoughts I reached the conclusion that I was just glad that I wasn’t her.



For the most part I had little or no physical injuries, but I fear my faith in humans suffered a compound fracture.

...And People In Hell Want Ice Water.

This actually happened yesterday.


The scene is a local grocery store. The following is the one-sided conversation (which I overheard) of a middle-aged guy on his cell phone.


• “Listen, take a pitcher and dump some ice cubes and water in it and put it in the fridge.”

• “A water pitcher… There must be 4 or 5 there!”

• “Look again.”

• “‘cause I want it cold when I get there.”

• “A pitcher, for Pete’s sake. You can so find one!”

• “No, take the ice cubes out of the ice cube tray.”

• “What is there to be confused about?”

• “You can’t make ice water and you are graduating next month?”


(-Inaudible sounds much like a kid makes to indicate another kid is goofy, then rams the phone into his front jeans pocket and makes sounds not unlike a respirator.)


At this point, I so wanted to turn around and say “somebody needs a hug,” but I kinda figured he’d deck me.

The Accidental Wingman

Earlier, I was out for my morning walk. About a mile away from the house, I found myself waiting to cross the street. Suddenly, out of nowhere a young man appeared on a bicycle. He was very thin and I imagine 18 or 19. He was wearing street clothing suggesting that “guy on a bike“ might be more descriptive than perhaps, “cyclist.” He smiled broadly (at my clothing it almost seemed) as if we were old friends. I looked him up and down and could not place him. My task wasn't difficult in that I do not know a huge number of people in that age group. He said "how ya doin', man?" I said "great" and tried to step to the left to clear his bike and cross the street. He extended his left arm and hand out to stop me and offered his hand. Still confused, I shook his hand. Still smiling, he asked “What you been up to? Where you on your way to?” At this point he must have unraveled my nonverbal communication and understood that I needed to know what the heck was going on here. “Man, there’s a girl back there that I want to talk to. Just stand there and pretend you know me,” he pled. I looked down the block and saw the young woman of his intentions. My first thought was that she was way, way, way out of his league. What, was she going to do, ride on his handle bars while her $300.00 pumps swung in the breeze? I looked over at the bike guy and said “I have got to go,” and hurried across the street. He called out to me, “Hey man, you just gonna leave like that?” I pretended not to hear him. To the beautiful woman walking down the street: You’re welcome!

Sit Where You Can

I walked in to the small medical office waiting room. All 13 seats were taken. The oldest person sitting looked about my own age. There was a woman of roughly late thirties-early forties sitting with her four noisy teens. Three were definitely boys and I suspect from "her" attire that the fourth just wanted to fit in. They had defied the “No Eating or Drinking” sign and clumsily dropped a chocolate muffin on to the carpet. “What are we supposed to do now, mom? We’re still hungry.” There was no answer from mom. Near the door was an elderly woman who obviously at some point had confronted the ravages of a stroke. She looked even though the effects of her malady, 70-ish. Her expression was grimaced. I sensed the expression was from bracing herself against the wall for support rather than any permanent effect of her stroke. I offered a sympathetic half smile, but she was beyond empathy/sympathy; old girl needed a friggin’ seat! I looked at each person seated silently questioning, do you see this woman? No one seemed to notice or care. As well, I am not trying to make it their responsibility, but I also wondered why the office personel had not asked someone to give up their seat for the woman? Finally a seat became available. I, of course insisted that the poor woman sit. She gratefully accepted. Most of those seated gave me a look as if I were that arsehole who works too fast on the production line making everyone else “look bad.” The topper was when one of the teens tilted his head towards me and made the international limp-wrist sign. To my shock the teens and their mother had quite the giggle at my expense. While I do believe that manners and good grace are inexcusably important, I had no idea that they were usually accompanied by a limp wrist and thus defined sexuality and as such were laughable. The very idea that one might sit while an elderly stroke victim woman leans against a wall is inhuman. Please understand that I get no accolades for doing what was absolutely correct in that situation either. WTF is wrong with people?

Wrong-Aid

Yesterday, as I walked along around two in the afternoon, I remembered that earlier that morning I had dropped off two prescriptions at a Rite Aid Pharmacy down the hill from the house. The sky was overcast and I was glad that I had my umbrella. I walked at a steady clip in that I wanted to avoid getting caught in the rain. In my right hand, I carried the umbrella and a small bag which contained a bad of Starlight Mints. I had purchased the mints a few blocks back at the Dollar Store. That small bag was twisted as to remove most of the air and fit neatly in my palm. The umbrella dangled from its strap from my pinky finger.

As I entered the Rite Aid Pharmacy store, I continued at the same pace as I had outdoors and made no stops, but went directly to the pharmacy “Pick Up” window. There was a short line in front of that station. There was also a patient at the window receiving service and one in front of me in line. The woman in front of me cooed an infant who apparently was named, “Profit.” My brain quickly pondered whether the mother was deeply religious and or a great fan of capitalism. I was distracted from Profit by what was next transpired.

The pharmacy at this particular Rite Aid location is situated in the back corner of the store. The counter forms kind of a backwards L with the “Pick-Up” counter/window covering the short part of the letter and the “Drop-Off” counter/window at the very end of the long part. As an aside, in third grade I was taught the names of these two parts of the Letter L, but like so much from that simpler time, I cannot recall. As I have stated, my thoughts concerning the motivation of naming a child Profit were interrupted. That interruption took the form of the chubby security man hopping onto the “Drop-Off” window counter to my right. My OCD brain had immediate issues with his big butt sitting on a Pharmacy counter. He stared and I stared back. I assumed that he was staring because he had not quite gotten my mental telepathic message “Get your filthy arse off that counter.” Unfortunately, that was not why he was staring. He was staring because something about me said to him that I had or was going to steal from that store. I don’t know… Maybe, I walked too swiftly when I came in to the store? Maybe, because I had a small bag in my hand when I came into the store? Maybe, it was the tie and starched shirt or the glasses or the blackness or the stupidity of the security man? Perhaps, it was some of these things or all of these things or others that I know nothing about. Never mind that I don’t steal. Never mind that I have never had so much as an overdue library book, that day I fit some moron’s profile of a store thief. I fit that profile so well that the store manager came over and went inside the pharmacy area and also casually stared at me and then she finally made an annoyed look and then left to return to her work (I assume).

Once I realized what was going on, I continued to stare in an attempt to make this fool twice as uncomfortable as he had made me. Finally, he whispered audibly enough for me to hear (to the pharmacist) “Watch this guy.” The pharmacist looked over at me with an expression which suggested he had been told a joke which he did not get. I stared back and the Pharmacist looked away. The security man then hopped down and walked quickly away.


I waited my turn and received great customer service from the Pharmacy Assistant. I thanked her and headed for the door. When I reached the mat of the front door, to the right of me I heard “he’s leaving.”


I looked up at their logo and shook my head "Rite Aid: With Us It's Personal."

Tim Burton Would Be Proud

Just before bedtime last night, I had a cup of calming tea. I woke at around 3:00 a.m. from a nightmare. The best that I could recall was that I was touring what appeared to be a highschool. My guide was a man of maybe early sixties with gray hair. The tour did not seem to end and I starting to get nervous. There were all sorts of students milling about when out of nowhere an old friend appeared. I sensed he was there to get me out of there. My old friend (A guy from school who I have not actually seen in 25 years or so.) gestured to me and tried to get closer. Then the students all closed in on him as they turned into aliens. The next thing I knew, I was in a small room. The voice of the sixty-ish tour guide came out of a wall speaker and said, “This is what happens when your friends intervene.” At this point, my old friend poured down from the ceiling. Yes, poured. He had been liquefied and was brown in color.

I woke scared out of my wits and sat on the side of the bed. My eyes burned as I tried to make sense of it all. I was confused and could make no sense of any of what had happened. I went and got a glass of water and fluffed my pillows and tried to get back to sleep.

At 6:39a.m. I woke up just as startled as before. A cousin who I have not seen in 40 years was involved in this latest train wreck. The best I could tell is that she was instructing me how to prepare meat for tomato sauce. I woke up at the part when I noticed that the huge platter of meat was actually skinned and quartered humans.

I sat confused on the side of the bed again trying to analyze both the first and second dreams. I drew no logical conclusions other than the point in fact that I was starving. I am usually up and about by 5:00 in the morning. I went to the kitchen and toasted a bagel and made a cup of tea. I really did not want the second half of the bagel but, I ate it anyway. I felt extremely sleepy after my meal. I flipped on the television and then realized that it was Sunday and that there would be no harm in returning to sleep if I could.

I got comfortably in bed again. I woke again at 8:37a.m. this time. I was in a cold sweat and felt as if I had been screaming. In this latest nightmare there had been a tall man of over seven feet I imagine who came to the door. He was wearing that familiar brown delivery uniform. He had a couple packages for me so, I let him in. Once in he grabbed my left hand and with a very sharp pen knife he sliced the skin from my knuckles down to the bone. I struggled as he told me that I “should never let strangers in my house.” After he finished with my knuckles he stabbed the knife into the back of my hand and twisted it as I screamed and screamed.

Holy nightlight Batman… I do not remember the last time I had a bad dream and three in one night had me shaken. I wondered if it had anything to do with the chili-cheese-fries with hot sauce that I had eaten earlier. I never eat such things and they seemed like a good idea at the time. When I was a kid such “treats” would give me horrible dreams. It was the best explanation I could come up with. Unfortunately, the only common thread that I could draw with the three bad dreams is that I might finally truly be nuts in a bad kind of way.

I’ve planned a far blander diet for tonight’s dinner. Wish me well!

MucinexD

For the past two weeks and two days I have been fighting some sort of an upper-respiratory ailment. This has been compounded by the point in fact that on the Friday before Christmas I got caught in a chilling downpour while walking two miles from home. That lovely event was repeated on the Tuesday after Christmas. My symptoms have been nasal congestion coupled with chest congestion that has caused me to wheeze as if I were on an iron lung. A few days ago I was told by a couple people to get some Mucinex. I was leery in that I am a great fan of advertising and I absolutely hate their commercials. Later that day, I went to the drug store and discovered the stuff went for $23.99. I could not imagine that it could be worth that price so, cheap bastard that I am I opted for the DayQuil instead. Nothing like making yourself fell better rather than well.

A couple days later (New Year’s Day) I noticed that the Mucinex was on sale at the local Rite Aid. It is just a couple blocks away so, I bundled up much warmer than the weather and made my journey. The display in front of the pharmacy order window offered Mucinex D which has as its active ingredients: Gualfenesin, an expectorant and Pseudophedrine, a nasal decongestant. The pharmacy assistant told me that they kept the Mucinex D behind the counter. She got an 18 count box and asked for identification. I thought it odd that it was kept behind the pharmacy counter and odder still that she was asking for id. I was floored when she typed all of my driver’s license info into her computer. I asked why and was told that it was store policy. My ailment and the fact that she was so cute prevented me from arguing. I’ve always found it impossible to argue with the very cute. Anyway, I just told her that the stuff better work at this price and with such a process. She smiled and I lost my train of thought.

I was to learn later that Pseudophedrine is a main ingredient in Meth. production and is now being controlled tightly by the government. This reminds of gun control in some respects… The jerks making meth are probably not going to be willing to go to the local drugstore and offer up driver’s license id. just as I suspect that people who want guns to kill other people most of the time avoid the legal gun-getting process. –just sayin’.

Well, I hobbled back up that great hill and got back into my bed clothes; read every inch of the packaging and took two of the huge tablets which were to work for 12 hours. “We’ll see” I thought… I fell asleep for a couple hours. I woke up to what felt like someone had shoved an industrial Shop Vac down my throat. I coughed violently for about 45 minutes. A couple times there I thought I was going to lose consciousness. I actually saw stars and deep purple for a second or two. About 15 minutes after that I felt right as rain. My chest was clear and my nasal congestion was 80% gone. Around mid might I took another two tablets. About ten the next morning I again had the same horrifying coughing/expectorating. This was equally productive as the first time. Again around four in the afternoon and equally wrenching and far less productive coughing event transpired. I took another two tablets at bed time and this morning I have to admit that I feel 90% better than before MucinexD. I guess the moral to the story is that, sometimes the process is worth it.