Thick and Heavy

I'm not absolutely positive on this one, but I think it's been quite a few years since this area of Arkansas has seen that kind of snow (See Scott's blog for pics) in March. I'm officially boycotting the grocery store next time weather armageddon is predicted by the local weather geeks. It's strange that I ran out of bread mid-week since I normally go to the store on Mondays when I'm off. For some reason, I had polished off the last of it during breakfast Wednesday morning. Now, normally this isn't a big deal. I assumed I would just swing by the ghetto Harp's on my way home from work, just as I had done several times in the last couple of years.

Everything that progresses normally during a work day started going awry yesterday at about 4:30. My apparel sales girl first started to complain about getting home safely around this time, and the roads weren't even bad at this point, but I considered the fact that she drives like the Duke boys from Hazzard county (a weaving 75mph across the Midland bridge is the norm) and relented. Not really a big deal, but then a customer came in to return $400 worth of merchandise sold to him by another associate. It seems maybe this saleswoman was drunk when she sold him this item, because the customer was under the impression the single communication system was all he needed to talk to someone else via radio on another bike. It is, sort of. He would need another system (2 systems) to do this and was, naturally, peeved that he was misled into believing $400 would cover it when, in actuality, he would need to spend about $750. Argh.

I managed to blow it off and planned to discuss it with my saleswoman in the morning. I decided I should go by Sally Ann's (a ragged out little quickie mart that carries Murphy's and Boddington's-go figure) and pick up four pints of Boddington's on the way to ghetto Harp's to retrieve my bread. I thought it would be an easy in and out at the ghetto Harp's, but even people with EBT cards freak out when it comes to a little snowfall. I turned the corner to find the parking lot jammed. Ugh. I managed to avoid being plowed by a blue-hair in a 30 year-old Cutlass and found a spot. I made my way in and got my bread and looked for the Sombra rub Angie recommended for my sore neck. No luck. Evidently, it's not a popular product in here. I got the Icy Hot instead and instantly felt old for noticing and taking advantage of an instant $1 coupon taped to the front. It worked well last night even though I smelled like a medicine cabinet packed with menthol. I didn't care because it brought relief.

The bread and muscle rub retrieval went quickly, but I was stymied by a lady that looked like she hadn't bathed properly in several days. To this particular lady, it seemed like a good idea to let one of her little girls commandeer the little electric cart. You know, the ones that look like a
Rascal, but have baskets on the front. These are normally piloted by those that can't motivate properly due to age or some sort of disability. Unfortunately, oily-haired woman had no qualms about the little one smashing it into the checkout area and blocking my path to the express counter. Argh.

Ahhhhh, sweet Boddington's. After making it home alive, I promptly popped the top on my beloved beer of choice, watched the cascade of golden liquid perfection, and all was well with the world. Most of you know the feeling.

CZ