Last week when my car's
fuel gauge read 'Empty' and I was in a hurry, I decided to pay
at the pump. I think my credit card choked on the price of the
gas and self-destructed because it never re-emerged. At least
I hope it died and that it didn't float out to cyberspace where
a hacker snatched it and is now enjoying a luxurious all-expenses
paid (by me) romp around the world.
I should have realized
that today was going to be still another one of those days when
I got up, stubbed my toe on the bathroom door frame and glanced
at the mirror. Disaster! I've had more bad hair days than a gaggle
of punk rockers, but this morning's 'do' made those others look
positively chic by comparison.
Ignoring the omen,
I showered (no hot water!), dressed (how did that shirt get so
wrinkled in my closet?), and left in a torrential downpour for
a round of errands. My first stop was to the drug store for AA
batteries — two packs for the price of one, this week only.
They were sold out. Surprise. I had to wait ten minutes until
a fruitless backroom search produced no cache of batteries and
a rain check was eventually proffered. I then handed the cashier
(a new young recruit-in-training) another "twofer" deal of the
week — multivitamins. Both bottles rang in at full price.
A lengthy, high-level managerial conference eventually rectified
that problem. But it didn't end there. The adorable little teddy
bear I had picked up on a whim as a gift for my grandnephew refused
to reveal its price, despite the cashier's multiple desperate
scans of its bar code. At this point, I was sure she was seriously
questioning her career choice and wondering if she wouldn't be
happier elsewhere asking, "Would you like to super-size that?"
My next stop was the
drive-up ATM at the bank. Sheets of rain sluiced into the overhang
that was futilely trying to protect the machine. I was thankful
that I had pulled up close enough to conduct my transaction without
having to get out of the car. I punched in a withdrawal request.
Usually I have to yank the bills out of the slot which never gives
them up without a struggle. This time, however, five twenties
exploded from the contraption. A spray of green zipped past my
hand and hit the puddled pavement in all directions. And because
I had driven smack up against the ATM to avoid getting wet, I
couldn't open my car door. I had to pull ahead and then leap out
to retrieve the scattered, sodden bills before they were whirled
to Oz with the next gust of wind. But at least I wasn't worried
about my hair. It couldn't possibly look any worse than it did
when I left home.
The post office was
my next destination. Four of the five windows were unattended,
and the only clerk on duty was serving a customer. Fortunately,
I was next. I waited patiently for several minutes, and then waited
impatiently for many more as a line grew behind me and the gentleman
in front of me at the window showed no signs of completing his
business. He wondered what special stamps were available. The
clerk showed him several choices. He pondered them carefully.
"Are these the only ones?" he asked. "Maybe we have more," she
said cheerfully. "I'll check." She disappeared, then returned
a few minutes later laden with folders which she spread on the
counter before him. "Oh, look!" said he, "This one says 'Happy
Birthday'! That's nice." "Hmmm..I like this pelican...but maybe
the flowers..? I'm not sure which ones my wife would prefer.."
She understood perfectly and smiled sweetly, offering alternate
suggestions, until he finally made a choice. He paid her. She
gave him change.
Still standing at the
window, he carefully — and slowly — stowed it in his
wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and then — equally
carefully and slowly — folded up his stamps and put them
in another pocket. Oblivious to the growing groans and murmurs
from me and the throng behind me, he and the clerk then exchanged
leisurely farewell pleasantries as he stooped to pick up his umbrella
and two bags of groceries he had put on the floor. He started
to leave. But before I could claim the window, he turned. "Wait!"
he said. "Maybe I'll take a few of those Cary Grant stamps, too.
My wife will like those." "Oh, I'm sure she will!" enthused the
clerk, who was much too young to have any idea who Cary Grant
was. "And maybe some of the flowers." continued the man as he
set down his packages and pulled out his wallet again.
One would think I'd
had enough at that point and gone straight home. But, no. I decided
to stop at the super market, just for milk. It would be quick.
Unfortunately, apparently everyone in town had realized that they,
too, were out of milk. The nearest available parking space was
on the outer fringe of the vast lot. And, of course, the rain
was still cascading like Niagara Falls. But I really did need
that milk. I got out of the car, waded to the market and went
directly to the dairy case, leaving lake-size puddles in my wake.
I grabbed a quart of 2% instead of my usual skim (hey, I needed
some solace after all I'd been through) and headed for the check-out
lanes.
I pondered anew why
all these stores boast at least sixteen cash registers but never
seem to have more than three in operation. I joined the shortest
of the three lines. Big mistake. The woman in front of me, who
was buying only a candy bar, had nothing but a hundred dollar
bill. The clerk had to page a manager for authorization. He was
on a coffee break-apparently in Colombia with Juan Valdez, judging
from the time it took him to respond. The cashier then discovered
she didn't have enough money in her drawer to make change. Another
emergency page for help. No response. Maybe it had to be delivered
by Brinks? She smiled apologetically and paged again.
Meanwhile, in the other
two lanes shoppers whose carts overflowed with enough supplies
to furnish the next five Everest expeditions were being speedily
processed and sent on their way.
I abandoned my milk
and fled — to the liquor store next door. Two percent milk
was not going to fill the solace bill.
I have a new favorite
ad slogan: "Got scotch?"
Rose's new book, The
Stranger in My Mirror and Other Reflections is available by
special order from most book stores, or on the Web at www.amazon.com
and www.barnesandnoble.com
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England theater chain before discovering a passion for
writing.
Her work has appeared
in The Saturday Evening Post, Yankee, Modern Maturity, The
Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's Digest, The Philadelphia
Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, and more than a hundred other
magazines and newspapers. Actually-thousands of newspapers, since
one of her essays, The
Stranger in My Mirror (originally titled, The Stranger
in My House), was reprinted in Ann Landers' nationally syndicated
column in 1999, and after an explanatory exchange with Ms. Landers, an attribution.
Rose's new book, If These Are Laugh Lines I'm Having Way Too Much Fun, is available at bookstores, through online bookstores, and from Pelican Publishing, 800-843-1724. The book was a finalist in USABOOKNEWS.COM's 2006 Best Books Award humor category. Meanwhile, she can reached
by e-mail.
