I like to write junk…

One area of interest for me is collecting and researching old postcards. A fancy word for such is ‘ephemera’. I’m not as interested in the photos on front as I am the messages on back. Reading what people had to say one-hundred-years ago can be delightfully entertaining plus highly educational.

Recently I came across an unusual postcard. It’s made of wood and paper. This is the first of its kind I’ve owned. A penny stamp is still attached. The postmark reads October 1907.

The picture on front features a comical looking fellow. He’s an older gentleman sporting a straw hat, goatee, and purse. The card reads: JUST ARRIVED IN ______. The purchaser of this card had to fill in the blank. In this case it reads “ELGIN”.

My newly acquired 4 inch x 6 inch postcard was mailed to Miss Myrtle Holverson – Cedar Vale, Kansas. Something written upside down, underneath ‘Miss Myrtle’ immediately caught my eye. It appeared as if the sender was trying to disguise their message. Four lightly-penned words read, “Many here have heard.”

Wanting to know what they heard had my head spinning. The possibilities were endless. I decided to do some serious sleuthing.

Elgin is or was a city in Kansas. The place is now considered a ghost town. Cedar Vale is only 22-miles northwest of Elgin. Why would someone mail a postcard such a short distance? My first thought being it had to be Myrtle Holverson’s suitor, or as they’re now called, boyfriend.

I equated this to my sending letters across town to my girlfriend before we married. It seems the purchaser of this specially designed card was doing the same. He was letting his sweetheart know he was thinking of her.

I had no problem finding Miss Myrtle ‘Mary’ Holverson. She was born in Cedar Vale, Kansas on May 26, 1887. Her parents were Ole and Frances Holverson. Myrtle had 2 brothers; Herman and Frank. Herman was tragically killed at an early age in a farming accident.

Myrtle Holverson married Orval Younkman on December 31, 1907. This was 2-months after the postmark date. The sender of the card had to be Orval Younkman. His subtle upside-down-message most likely referenced their soon to be wedding.

Orval and Myrtle lived on Oakwood Farm near Cedar Vale until their deaths. Both are buried in the Blackwell Cemetery in Blackwell, Oklahoma. The couple had 2 children; Dolores and Bernadine.

I researched several lines of Holverson and Younkman kin. A good many remained in the Sunflower State.  I was hoping to find a descendant of Orval or Myrtle to pass this card on to. For this to have survived one-hundred and seventeen years tells me the previous owners truly cherished it. How the memento came to be on eBay is a sad mystery. Family heirlooms aren’t meant for such.

Without going into excruciating detail I was able to connect all the genealogical dots. I’m fairly positive I’ve found the gg-niece of Myrtle. This special card will be sent to her from my home in Arizona. Hopefully it’ll be placed once again in a special drawer or box. A most unique artifact of Holverson family history will hopefully be around for years to come!

• Update:I was successful in returning this family heirloom to the proper Holverson survivors. They were ecstatic to receive it in the mail. A local Kansas newspaper ran a featured story on it.

It’s a simple penny postcard.  I came across the memento on ebay while searching for relics of early Alaska.  It was one small item lurking amongst millions on the site.

The postcard was advertised for sale by a simple scanned picture.  Registered seller in Ypsilanti, Michigan evidently did not delve into card’s history or provenance.  A hand-tinted color photo on front was most intriguing.  It shows the J. Heubner drugstore in Douglas, Alaska with 3 employees standing at counter. In period attire they seem poised; ready to help.  Hard to read handwriting says:

“Juneau, Alaska – July 28, 1909 11 P.M. – Having a perfectly gorgeous time, and getting a lot-better. Have seen three glaciers, a big mine, four streams tumbling over a thousand feet – and been to two dances today / work. We own Alaska. Have never seen scenery till now to covet.  Yours, Fred Baker”

Two interesting things to me were the card’s sender Fred Baker, and his designated recipient including address, “Dr. R.L. Doig – Sefton Building – San Diego, Cal.”  The sender’s name Fred Baker rang a bell.  Initially I just couldn’t place why?  R.L. Doig drew a big blank.  I did some serious digging.

Records show R.L. stands for Robert Leeper.  Robert Leeper Doig was born March 16, 1855 in New Athens, Ohio.  His dad James Rolla Doig was a college professor including ordained Presbyterian minister.  James was a founding father of Monmouth College in Illinois.  Robert Doig attended Monmouth, transferring to Cedar Mills, Iowa for enhanced medical studies. By 1883 he was practicing in cow town Ellsworth, Kansas.

On June 12, 1883 Robert married Adaline Frances Jack from Cedar Mills.  Their first child Arthur Haldane Doig was born in Ellsworth December 11, 1884.  Daughter Nellie Elizabeth came along 3 1/2 years later on June 13, 1888.  The couple’s son Lt. Colonel Arthur Haldane Doig went on to a distinguished career in the Coast Guard Artillery.  He’s buried with honors in Arlington National Cemetery.

The family for 10 years called Ellsworth home. Unforeseen circumstances brought them further west to San Diego.  Brother John Doig played a big part in that move.

John Rankin Doig was born 11 years earlier than Robert.  He enlisted in 1862 to serve in the Civil War.  John was 16 at the time.  He mustered out in Selma, Alabama – October 1865 enduring some 3 years of combat.  John attended Washington College afterwards. He went on to study medicine at Iowa University and The College of Physicians and Surgeons in Chicago.

His first practice was in Williamsburg, Iowa.  Larger Des Moines was his next stop.  Records show he then worked in Newton, Kansas for short order before moving to Ellsworth in 1879.  He remained there 1879 – 1886.

In 1886 John and his wife Nell moved to San Diego because of bad health. The good doctor developed serious asthma problems while living amongst wind ravaged prairie.   1894 is the year Robert and his family joined them in California.  The 2 brothers worked out of the same office on 6^th Avenue. Both became prominent San Diego physicians.

Dr. Frederick “Fred” Baker and his wife Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker also had offices on 6^th.  They were located in the Sefton Building owned by local banking magnate Joseph W. Sefton Jr.

Fred and Charlotte are pillars of early San Diego history. Fred Baker was born in Norwalk, Ohio on January 29, 1854.  Charlotte Johnson was born March 30, 1855 in Newburyport, Massachusetts.  The 2 married in 1882 moving to San Diego in 1888.  They became the areas initial husband-and-wife medical team.

Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker was San Diego’s first female doctor.  Their combined list of medical and civic accomplishments is miles long.  San Diego was blessed to have them as residents.  Both worked out of St. Joseph’s Hospital (now Scripp’s Mercy Hospital).

Dr. Harry Wegeforth along with Dr. Fred Baker are key players in development of Scripps Institution of Oceanography. Fred Baker was a naturalist and amateur malacologist.  He traveled throughout the world collecting mollusks which include snails, slugs, clams, octopus and squid.  His remarkable collection was donated to San Diego Natural History Museum, the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, including Smithsonian Institutions.

Perhaps Dr. Fred Baker is best known for being co-founder of the San Diego Zoo.  Both Fred and Charlotte Baker were friends with publishing moguls Edward Willis Scripps and his half-sister Ellen Browning Scripps.  The Scripps’ money played a major part in making the zoo a success.

Other notable mentions for Dr. Fred Baker are his serving on the San Diego City Council.  He was president of San Diego City Schools. Mr. Baker was on board of trustees for State Normal College (now San Diego State University).  Baker Elementary School in San Diego is named for him.

Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker has her own outstanding merits. I’ll mention but a few:  Charlotte was first woman president of the San Diego County Medical Society. She led and was president of the Equal Suffrage Association. Co-founder of the San Diego Y.W.C.A. Mrs. Baker was president of Point Loma Assembly (woman’s club).

She was legislative chairman for League of Social Workers.  Charlotte was inducted into the San Diego Women’s Hall of Fame in 2009.  Her diaries and papers are kept in the San Diego History Center.  Both Dr. Fred Baker and Dr. Charlotte Johnson-Baker are buried in San Diego County. 

I believe it’s safe to say sometimes there’s more lurking in old picture postcards than what meets the eye.  Fred Baker proved such by mailing a simple penny postcard from Alaska to friend and colleague Dr. J.L. Doig in California almost 107 years ago.

I’m sure neither man had a clue back then, that a simple piece of correspondence sent from Alaska would still be making the rounds!

My late father-in-law Herman Freeman was an educator.  With a master’s degree in education he went on to become principal of numerous Kansas schools.  Before that he was a teacher for many years.  Herman gave up the teaching field when discipline was struck from the classroom.

One thing he talked about often was being schooled in a one-room school house.  My mother mentioned the same.  I remember seeing photos of her standing in front of an old wooden building somewhere near Vernon, Alabama.

Back in the day, reading, writing, and arithmetic were the main subjects.  They still are.  Getting a good grasp on those 3 academics is essential.  I wasn’t old enough to attend a one-room school.  My first grade class in Selma, Alabama was a fairly modern brick building containing several grades.  I suppose the thing I enjoyed most from 1^st grade up, besides recess, was reading.

In 5^th grade it got to the point I couldn’t put a book down.  I started falling asleep at my desk because I’d stay up late reading.  Eventually my teacher Mrs. Drake arranged a conference with my folks to see what was going on.  When they discovered “The Hardy Boys” mystery books were getting my undivided attention, a moratorium of sorts was placed on my reading them.

Only through help of a friend was I able to keep this addiction fed.  My pal checked the mystery books out then secretly slipped them to me. Using a flashlight at night I’d crawl under bed covers to get my fix. You could say I was hooked on the books!

I learned more street smarts from Frank and Joe Hardy than I ever did in class.  In seventh grade, a Daniel Boone biography gave me the recipe for making gunpowder. In this book, it showed that a slave named Monk Estill was the person responsible for teaching Daniel Boone how to make the explosive.

Unbeknownst to Monk, his simple instructions taught me the same 200 years later.  Interestingly enough I’ve never forgotten the man’s name. Monk Estill later became a Baptist minister in Shelbyville, Kentucky.

Living close to a drug store I was able to purchase sulfur and saltpeter to begin my experiment.  The granulated charcoal ingredient was obtained by taking Kingsford briquettes and pulverizing them into a fine dust.  It took some doing to get the mixture just right.

I filled a coffee can with my homemade gunpowder and was about to torch it off one chilly September evening. A friend’s mom quickly ran out of her house to stop me.  Had Mrs. Malone not done so I might not be telling this story. My can of gunpowder was confiscated by my mom and and disposed of.

In junior high I found our school library had a whole shelf of “Hot Rod” magazines.  They’d evidently been donated by a student’s parent.  Back then we had mandatory reading so each trip to the library found me grabbing a couple of issues.  The librarian came over to see what I found so interesting.  Seeing it was car magazines she advised me to read other material.  Evidently the woman saw no merit in the publication because all automotive magazines were pulled.

It’s funny but I’ve been a “Hot Rod” subscriber ever since thanks to her censorship.  I still love to read yet there’s one area of study I’ve failed miserably.  The book I need to spend more time with does not show me how to make gunpowder or modify car engines. It is chocked full of interesting stories and useful information.

I believe Monk Estill found this book to be his daily bread.  Just like the one-room school was a pillar in early day education, the Bible in my mind is the foremost manual on how to change life for the better.  I’ll be first to admit I need to pick mine up more often!

I believe in statistics.  Tell me about a great place to invest money and I’ll immediately ask to see numbers.  Same goes for medical advice.

My wife read the other day that green M&M’s are regarded as an aphrodisiac. The only thing M&M’s does for me is spike my blood sugar.

If someone informs me about a miracle health cure, I’ll insist on viewing the documented results first.  There are far too many people believing what they read on the internet.

I know how easy it is for a writer to put information on a hook in anticipation of catching a fish.  When I say fish I refer to the sucker variety. Usually those setting bait have a book they want to sell. I’ve had friends and relatives tell me about get rich quick schemes found on their computers.  They’ve also touted amazing health remedies available in a variety of expensive pills and liquids sold on the web.  When I hear such the old saying,

“If it sounds too good to be true it probably is” comes to mind.

My wife and I were in IHOP the other day for breakfast. We were seated behind 2 young gals.  One had a newborn baby.  The young mom was telling her friend she wasn’t going to immunize her child.  That grabbed my attention because I have friends and family that think along the same flawed lines.

This wiser than thou young woman mentioned the human body having an ability to heal itself of every disease and injury.  I’d wager the gal scraped that malarkey off the internet.  The body does have ability to self-heal but not everything.

The obviously clueless woman went on to discuss preservatives and toxins in foods.  We couldn’t hear the whole conservation yet I took in enough to form a logical conclusion. The gal was nuts.

This mother basically informed her friend that people were healthier before the days of immunization. That was toxic and misleading information.  I’m sure she’s one of those mislead souls proclaiming immunizations result in autism; a myth if there ever was one.

If this mom had merely checked life expectancy over the past 150 years she’d see gross error in her thinking.  In the year 1860 folks were eating grass fed beef with no added hormones.  Fruits and vegetables had no pesticides.  Babies were not immunized back then.  The average life expectancy in 1860 according to government and insurance statistics was 42.

Since food was nutritionally better in the good ole days how come folks died so young?  Jump to 2012 and the average life expectancy for men and women (combined) surges to 78.  Could it be children getting shots to protect against deadly diseases is beneficial to longer life?  The answer is undoubtedly yes.

This young lady with unproven philosophy was putting her child at risk by not immunizing. She’s not the only clueless person doing so. There are thousands.

Logical advice for any young mother is to heed the advice of their pediatrician instead of an internet expert.  In the long run the child will benefit from such. It makes me wonder if this gal even had a doctor for her baby?

I keep waiting for someone to compose a combination book on health and finance. The title would be, “Live Forever & Get Rich Quick!”

Should that manuscript ever come out, I bet the company selling itwould have an automated voice machine in their office.  Each time a gullible customer called with a credit card number, speakers would blast forth,

“Fish on!”

The older I get the easier I take it on my body.  Common sense dictates such. A veteran mechanic gave me advice years ago regarding things mechanical.

“Don’t push ‘Ole Betsy’ to the limit or she’ll blow!”

Just like the dangers of over revving a vintage car or truck engine, parts can fly apart in an aged human body as well.

For several years I rode bikes with an Alaskan friend.  Craig was a few years older but could waste me on endurance rides or climbing hills. We both entered a bicycle race up Arctic Valley Road to a popular Anchorage ski slope.

I took things easy maintaining a pace that didn’t kill me.  My friend burned to the top passing much younger riders along the way.  He took first in his age group and probably some others as well.  I was middle of the pack.  Craig was elated in his accomplishment and rightly so.  I was happy just to finish the race.

I see advertisements all the time about older people claiming to be as competitive in sports as they were at 21.  Generally these guys or gals are hawking some type of vitamin or health supplement.  I often wonder about such products.

When these athletes finally do explode from over exertion, we’ll never read or hear about it.  That type news doesn’t sell endurance elixirs. The company will find someone else to tout their product.

These performance boosters remind me of automotive gimmickry where oil additives are concerned. Certain companies manufacture fluids that claim to lengthen the life of an older engine along with increasing power. Suckers buy the stuff every day.

My goal is to live as long as I can and hopefully stay upright in doing so.  Most everyone tries for the same. While doing so I’d like to motor along without use of wheelchair or walker. I have no problem with canes.  To me canes are stately; very useful in fending off undesirables like thugs and Amway salesmen.

Because so many unknowns can unexpectedly happen during the golden years, my desire to continue walking without aid is much more difficult than it sounds.  I see seniors on a daily basis resorting to ‘help’ devices.  When I say help devices I mean wheelchairs, walkers, and canes. Most of these folks had a simple slip or fall before having to use such.

If I continue to be blessed with good health, one thing you’ll never find me doing is entering athletic competition of any kind. I’ll let others vie for ribbons and trophies. At this point in life I have nothing to prove to anyone including myself.

I’ll be more than content in my golden years, if I’m able to stroll along a country road; an old man simply walking.

Years ago on television there was a show called “Sea Hunt”. My brother and I watched it every week.  The series starred Lloyd Bridges as Mike Nelson; ex-Navy diver.  Mike was called upon to dive and rescue people in all kinds of dangerous predicaments. I could relate to him via name only.

In one episode Mike came to the aid of a pilot trapped underwater in his plane.  Thankfully the airman was saved before limited oxygen ran out.  In another show Mike’s skills were used to recover a nuclear warhead.  As a kid I was intrigued by the cool watch that Mike Nelson wore.  I wanted one.

About 2 years ago opportunity waltzed my direction.  I was watching QVC and they were premiering the Invicta line of watches.  QVC for those not in the know is a home shopping network.

A gorgeous lady on the show demonstrated a diver’s watch capable of surviving 300 meter depths.  That’s a whopping 1000 feet!  She mentioned Arnold Schwarzenegger having one exactly like it.

With their easy payment plan I could have my own by simply dialing a toll free number.  Because they had accidentally manufactured too many of the time pieces, QVC was discounting them for $99.00. Shipping was free.  Talk about a sweet deal. The lady said they were originally over a thousand bucks!

Visualizing that beautiful instrument on my wrist in all its manly glory, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed.  It took a mere 7 days for the package to arrive via Fed-Ex.  The watch was fully protected in layers of Styrofoam. It was carefully embedded in its own custom-fit-plastic-box.  I couldn’t wait to strap it on.

The time piece felt a bit hefty on my left arm. It weighs close to a quarter pound.  That’s no problem for bigger guys.  I suppose small boned fellows might have a hard time supporting the beast.  When my wife saw it she laughed out loud. She wanted to how I could justify wearing such a gaudy monstrosity? If Mike Nelson was in the house he’d praise me instead of ridicule.

The first problem I found with the device, was that it wouldn’t allow my fingers to go all the way in my left jean pocket. I couldn’t retrieve coins or car keys. Not a huge problem. I shifted all such items to the right side.

My watch became a conversation piece especially in restaurants.  One server noticed it and asked if I dived.  What a silly question. Why would a fellow wear a diver’s watch if he didn’t?  Sheepishly I told her,

“No”.

I should’ve remarked that I don’t dive but could.  That answer would satisfy the most inquisitive of minds.

Because my Invicta became a bit cumbersome for everyday use, I only take it out on special occasion.  Last week I wore it to a local burger joint.  The watch looked enormous in comparison to a junior cheeseburger.

Not many people will purposely dive to 100 feet let alone 1000.  It’s reassuring to know should I ever fall out of a boat and sink, my Invicta diver’s watch will survive. I doubt if a Timex or Casio would do the same.

What better justification for owning an Invicta could a person ask for? Would someone please tell that to my wife!

Everyone has pet peeves.  I have a couple:

Have you ever noticed how some household products are misleading in name or advertised abilities?  My wife bought a spray can of “Scrubbing Bubbles”.  I decided to use it to clean a sink.  Spraying the foam on white porcelain finish, I watched as “Scrubbing Bubbles” did absolutely nothing.  It wasn’t until adding ‘elbow grease’ that the sink came clean.  I was the one doing the scrubbing.  The bubbles went along for a ride.

Another misrepresented product is “Handi Wipes”.  They’re handy all right as long as you can find them.  Last time I needed “Handi Wipes” they were nowhere in sight.  My wife had them hidden behind a box of soap.  I used “Brawny” paper towels instead and that’s only because my wife buys that brand.

“Joy” dish soap is another pet peeve.  I don’t know about you, but I find absolutely no joy in washing dishes.  Whoever named it “Joy” must’ve been on acid.

“Brawny” paper towels take the cake for erroneous labeling.  The manufacturer says to tear a sheet off and place it alongside a competing brand in an absorbency test.  I did exactly that using “Bounty”.  Both towels ended up soaked to the gills. What else would you expect?

Tell me there’s brawny in a paper towel and I’ll say you need your head examined.  The only thing brawny about “Brawny” is the picture of that rugged looking man on the wrapper.  I suppose that’s why so many women buy them. On the gossip side of things, I hear the “Brawny” model gets a pedicure each month. What does that tell you about his brawniness?

There’s absolutely nothing charming about “Charmin” toilet paper.

Did you know “Mrs. Butterworth’s” original brand syrup has zero butter inside?  There’s no real maple either.  What’s in a bottle of “Mrs. Butterworth’s” is a mystery.  Hopefully they at least put real high-fructose corn syrup in the mixture.

“Bac ‘n bits” contains zero bacon nor any kind of meat. What is that stuff? Maybe I don’t want to know!

“Jiffy” muffin mix takes at least 30 minutes from start to finish.  If that’s jiffy, then I’m ‘Johnny on the Spot’ with a walker.

I’ve never been a smoker.  I see nothing cool about “Kool” brand cigarettes.  Calling something “Kool” that smolders seems ludicrous.  That’s akin to saying ice is hot.  Git my drift?

“Quaker Instant Oatmeal” has dubious meaning.  Did Quaker actually look up the meaning of instant?  Someone has to make the stuff.

“Cheerios” is one of my least favorite cereal brands.  If my wife says we’re having “Cheerios” for breakfast, a Cheery O attitude will not be found.  Horses might love the stuff, but man does not live on oats alone!

“Sleepytime Tea”.  Tried it a couple of times and found I still couldn’t sleep.  The drink’s supposedly caffeine free.  Maybe someone at the factory is adding caffeine as a prank?  I’ve often wondered about decaffeinated coffee.  What’s to stop someone from switching grinds?

Products taking the grand prize are those labeled organic. Organic is nothing more than a grocery store buzz word. My wife and her sister are big fans on purchasing these items. How easy is it to plop an organic label on a can or box. It’s ink for crying out loud. Hand me a Magic Marker and I’ll mark it for you.

“Rice-a-Roni” advertises as being the San Francisco treat. Say what?  I could never understand why.  What kind of sane person eats “Rice-a-Roni” as a treat?  I love “Rice Krispy” treats but “Rice-a-Roni” is not in the same category.

I’ve raved to friends over the years about “Moon Pies”.  I have no complaints regarding this product.  The name alone says it all. That’s reason enough to buy a box!

I made an emergency trip to the dentist last week. A crown was loose and needed immediate repair.  My dentist glued the porcelain cap back on and the wisdom tooth was good to go.

That set me back a few bucks even with insurance. On the way home I thought back to those simplistic days of “The Tooth Fairy”. As kids, whenever my brother or I lost a tooth, we’d put it under our pillow before going to bed. Next morning the tooth would be gone with money replacing it.

I didn’t mind losing teeth back then. It paid dividends. These days doing so would leave holes in my gums. Thankfully I haven’t had any yanked.

I remember one occasion when I woke up to pennies and nickels under my pillow. The bloody tooth was still there wrapped in Kleenex. Evidently I’d started to wake and mom cut short her fairy gig. I tried cashing in again the next night to no avail.

Back in the day most of my fairy loot went towards candy and pop. I’m sure most dental hygienists would say that wasn’t smart use of the funds.

When my children were young they believed in “The Tooth Fairy”. It took finesse to slide change under their pillows without waking them.

I was chided after telling another parent my kids believed in such. This person thought it just horrible. She had 2 children and I suppose they were perfect.

I told her “The Tooth Fairy” shouldn’t be of much concern, nor should Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. The creatures this mother should worry about were The Drug Pusher, The Pedophile, and devilish ghouls working within the educational system instructing students there is no God.

I’m still acting as “The Tooth Fairy”. My dentist now receives all my fairy loot instead of the kids. When I departed his dental chair I left behind more than spare change. Others do the same on a daily basis.

One thing’s for sure. My dentist collects far more cash than that needed for candy and pop.

A brand new BMW in his parking spot is evidence of such!

I’ll be first to admit that I don’t recall all the rules for English composition. There was a time I could fill in the correct blank on what a preposition is, but I haven’t a clue anymore. Any time I hear the word preposition I think of Preparation H.

I recently composed a short story and utilized actual numbers instead of writing them out. I know the English rules pertaining to such. Numbers 1 – 9 should be spelled.

In my story I was talking about a grocery checkout stand so imagery was important. Have you ever seen nine spelled out above a cashier? Me neither. It’s always number 9. I flushed the English rule on numbers down the toilet on that composition. That wasn’t the only time.

Sometimes I use singular apostrophes instead of quotation marks on word identification. Generally it deals with stories where much dialogue is used. It’s just something I do. I’ve been pulled over by the grammar police many times for improper punctuation.

The way I see things, if a reeder can raed what I worte then I”m sucesful. If someone wants to correct my English go for it. They’ll probably have a field day. Here lately I’ve become an expert at leaving double periods..

Years ago I entered an old vehicle in a car show. A friend and I worked on the Plymouth nearly 24 hours straight, getting things ready for the big event. The paint wasn’t fully hardened.

I was happy just to get it on the showroom floor. Later that day a fellow walked up to me saying,

“I see a flaw.”

He pointed out a tiny piece of pinstripe coming loose by the door. I thanked him then quickly pushed it down with my finger. That’s when the thought struck me. Not one word of praise came from the guy on the rest of my car.

As time goes by and my eyes get weaker I suppose I’ll be making more grammatical errors. Hopefully I won’t let it bother me. I found where the great author Samuel Clemens made simple writing mistakes. Other well-known authors did the same.

I don’t put myself in the same shoes as Mark Twain, but it’s good to know I’m in good company where typos and literary glitches are concerned.

One of my favorite television commercials is the one where a nerdy looking guy wearing black-rim glasses keeps asking,

“Can you hear me now?”

I’d like to say back to him,

“Can you raed this now?”

I’m one of those people never picking the right line.  If you’re like me you always choose the wrong one. Just this week in Wal-Mart, I had a choice of 14 cashiers to choose from. 

Walking down the aisle past each check stand, I analyzed the carts of other shoppers first.  The buggy holding the least amount of items would gain favor. Next on my decision list was visually scoping out the checkers.  I suppose that would be considered ‘checker profiling’ in some states.  Thankfully such a law doesn’t exist in Alabama, Alaska, or Arizona; yet.

My gut feeling when choosing a checker, is always go with the senior employee.  They seem to move customers through at a much faster pace than youngsters.  When I say senior I’m not talking seniority like in a labor union. I’m simply referring to workers 30 years and older.

Last but not least, the check stand number plays an important role in my decision.  If there’s a number 9 and its open, all other criteria for choosing a checkout line flies out the window.

On this particular day check stand 9 was open.  I pushed my cart in behind a twentyish woman with 2 children.  Another gal wheeled in at my heels.  The lead buggy was fairly full but that was okay.  With 9 being my lucky number, I knew it wouldn’t take long.

The checker was a fellow around my age.  His name was CIT or perhaps that was his nickname.  He wore one of those yellow smiley buttons partially blocking the tag.

CIT was moving items through at a fairly rapid pace.  His scanning was as good as it gets.  He did have trouble with produce but what checker doesn’t.  Coupons were another matter but no biggie.  It was bagging skills where the man lacked dexterity.

The fellow was all thumbs in that department.  He couldn’t get plastic bags to open, and when he did groceries wouldn’t go in.  The young mother tried to help, but with 2 struggling infants it was near impossible.

For what seemed like an eternity I stood and watched things unfold.  The poor fellow had sweat dripping down his brow onto tinted scanner glass.  A bit peeved, the woman behind me observed such and moved on.  She voiced her disgust loudly before leaving.

I wanted to follow suit. Fearing such an action might lead to hurt feelings, I stayed put remaining steadfast and calm.  All this was going on while lines on each side moved faster than a Mississippi freight train.  My feet were hurting.  The frozen fish in my buggy were slowly coming back to life.

I stood there 15 minutes before CIT finally took the gal’s money. The flustered employee then praised her for having patience.  CIT was completely frazzled and overwhelmed at this point.  With my stuff already on the conveyor another checker scurried over to help.  An assistant manager appeared as well.

CIT, having just bungled his assignment left in agony with the supervisor.  The new checker looked to be around 20. Kate apologized for my having to wait.  That’s when she told me the rest of the story,

“Poor Hal. It’s his first day of checkin’ solo!”

Kate went on to tell me CIT is an abbreviation for clerk or cashier in training.  Wal-Mart doesn’t like to spell it out, as folks will instantly avoid that employee.

I thanked Kate for her useful information. Before wheeling my buggy out the door, I glanced over at self-checkout. There was only 1 person using it. I thought to myself,

“What kind of person checks their own groceries? There’s far more entertainment standing in the wrong line!“