“These situations need a new word that means something between love and like.”
I was wondering what Miss Purdy thought about the statements “I love you” and “I like you.” Miss Purdy, for those who don’t know, is the name I bestowed upon my AI helpmate. The real Miss Purdy is a character in “The Nutty Professor,” starring Jerry Lewis and Stella Stevens. As a kid, I had a crush on Stella Stevens, as did most boys my age.
According to Miss Purdy, “I love you” means you care deeply about someone and that they matter to you. It can express romantic feelings, affection for family, or a close bond with a friend – not just romantic.
“I like you,” Miss Purdy says, means you think positively about that person and you enjoy their company. Depending on the situation, it can express fondness. As you can see, these two messages can confuse young guys just starting to date, as well as the girls they’re dating. In romantic relationships, the two words matter much more than they do when you’re talking about Mexican food.
If a guy says “I love you” at the end of a date and the girl responds, “I like you too,” young brains can short-circuit trying to figure out what that means. These situations need a new word that means something between love and like.
“I lust you” just doesn’t sound right and could send the wrong message, more so to a female than to a guy. I hashed this over for at least three minutes and came up with “I loke you.” It combines both love and like, and I think it sounds kinda nice.
Miss Purdy told me that “I loke you” is a playful slang blend of like and love. In the romantic sense, it means affection stronger than liking someone but not quite love.
When I first tried this expression out on my wife, she gave me an angry stare, misinterpreting what I said. Unfortunately, loke sounds too much like loathe with my Southern accent, so I had to explain quickly.
Thankfully, I’m well past the dating stage. Young guys will undoubtedly still struggle with when to use love instead of like. If they choose wrong, the worst thing that can happen is that no calls will be returned afterward.
As Grandpa Hankins used to say, “There are more fish in the sea.” He never mentioned that this phrase should never be repeated ‘at all costs’ during a romantic spat!
“Michelle’s message took a while to sink in, and I eventually saw the light.”
It seems everywhere I go ─ someone is complaining about something. I was part of that clique until about 10 years ago, when I drastically cut back on my petty complaints after hearing a minister explain how well citizens in the United States have it.
Pastor Chad Garrison mentioned that the poorest people in this country are far better off than those in third-world countries. He used statistics in his message, but I don’t recall the numbers. No one living here has a true reason to complain, unlike people in other impoverished lands.
Philippians 2:14 tells us: “Do everything without grumbling or arguing.” That is a hard pill to swallow for some because they seem to live to complain. I’m thinking of one person here, and those who know him would wholeheartedly agree. It’s just his nature, and that might be why he’s never kept a wife.
In the 1970s television sitcom “All in the Family,” Archie Bunker would always tell his wife, “Stifle yourself, Edith.” This came after she rambled on and on about a topic Archie disliked. Edith eventually turned the tables on her husband, telling Archie to zip it. I’ve never done that to anyone but would’ve liked to.
Twenty years ago, I was complaining about something political on Facebook when a friend basically told me to zip it unless I had a solution, which I didn’t. Michelle’s message took a while to sink in, and I eventually saw the light. That did set me on a path to complain less, but it didn’t totally end there. I believe Pastor Chad’s message was the final nail in the coffin.
These days, you won’t find me complaining about the food I get at a restaurant, because dining out is a blessing, and I’ve stopped taking this luxury for granted. If mashed potatoes are a little cold, they’ll still go down the yap. When someone drives a bit too slowly, I no longer get irritated because at this age I can go even slower than them.
Late mail is not a biggie. It only prolongs paying those bills, and at this point in life, who cares about their credit score anyway? The neighbors leaving their garbage cans out two days past pickup is no problem for me, since I’ve done the same, and the world kept right on revolving, just like on that soap opera, “As the World Turns.” My wife now tells me that show went off the air. We’ll just act like it didn’t for sake of my example here.
Mismatched socks, who gives a rip. No one looks that far down, as Joleen claims they do. Two different colors are nothing to get all worked up over. I no longer complain about which candidate gets in office, because I pray and vote, and that’s as much power as I have in that department. Whining or grumbling never does anything positive here except irritate those who have to listen.
I could go on and on, but that might come across as griping. I can only say that after a half century, I’ve finally changed, and feel much better for it. My 1970s advice for those feeling just the opposite right now:“Chill!”
“Those joining the “No Kings” rallies fit this mold to perfection. “
Something about the odd decisions that left-leaning people make perplexes me. How do they even accept their line of thinking? Do they vote Democrat merely because that’s what their parents or friends did, or still do?
I’m tired of hearing liberal political gadflies ignorantly whine about anything and everything related to a conservative candidate for no specific reason other than to hear themselves grumble. What they say here now goes in one ear and out the other.
I’ll call this bellyaching, or “flawed thinking,” since some folks simply complain for personal satisfaction. “Shut up!” for goodness’ sake. Not all of us want to hear or read such. Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS) is real, and there seems to be no working vaccination for it.
Those joining the “No Kings” rallies fit this mold to perfection. I suppose they are the same group marching in support of abortion and against cruelty to animals. Flawed thinking at its finest, with these folks evidently having deserted ‘common sense’ on the birthing table. That might sound a bit harsh, but unfortunately, it’s the sad truth.
These are the individuals who advocate no criminal punishment for marijuana use, although that drug is proven to lead to bigger dependency problems. Those who say otherwise undoubtedly have fried brains or hope to capitalize on the money they’d make selling this dope.
I’m talking about the very same folks who have no problem letting people cross our border unvetted, in the name of humanism, although those illegals could destroy the whole country, like they’re currently doing in France and Spain.
I wouldn’t call this misguided logic as containing an iota of common sense. It baffles me why people think that way. Dyslexic personalities perhaps, brain fog, or a lack of Vitamin B12? If the shoe fits, wear it.
Why is it that Democrats focus solely on what President Donald Trump is doing and never bring up their plans for this country? Is it possible they have none? Who do they think should be president? They never say. Why are they supportive of the mutilation of children in gender identity issues? The list goes on and on.
All I can do to correct things is continue to vote for candidates out to protect my religious freedom, rights of the unborn, right to bear arms, and the right to say what I just did without being shut down by a left-leaning Democrat judge. Why those folks on the left vote the wrong way will always remain a mystery to me.
I was blessed with common sense, and with God-fearing parents and teachers who taught me right from wrong. I listened to them and had enough common sense to discern which was best when it came to voting. It’s too bad not everyone saw the same light!
“Here in Havasu, I’ve watched Dr. Thomas Wrona retire, Dr. Pareed Aliyar, and, just recently, Dr. C. Reese Mead, my dentist.”
I’ve had several doctors retire over the years here in Lake Havasu City and in Anchorage, Alaska. Dr. John J. Smith retired after like 50 years of practice in Alaska, with Dr. Ernest Meinhardt taking over some of his family medical patients, with me being one of the lucky ones. Dr. Meinhardt had a dry sense of humor, yet I could make him crack a smile.
Meinhardt was the main flight physical examiner in Anchorage, and he owned an airplane. A picture of the Helio Courier was on his office wall, with the late Alaskan explorer Lowell Thomas Jr. having one almost identical.
Only doctors, lawyers, and successful businesspeople seemed to buy these Helio planes because they are expensive to maintain. I’ve never seen one at the Havasu airport.
I once asked Dr. Meinhardt if he thought I could fly helicopters. Looking at me, with a hardened face, he said, “You’ve got high blood pressure, vertigo, inner ear problems, and I just prescribed Xanax for your anxiety attacks. What do you think?” After that, he let go with a rare smile.
Dr. Joshua Wright II was my Anchorage dentist, and I was his client long enough to see him retire and leave the practice. Dr. Wright was also a politician, and several of my letters to the editor went against the grain on how he viewed things. Wright was a staunch Democrat while I was Republican. Despite this, we still got along, and I trusted his medical advice on teeth and oral health.
Here in Havasu, I’ve watched Dr. Thomas Wrona retire, Dr. Pareed Aliyar, and, just recently, Dr. C. Reese Mead, my dentist. My wife and I attended Dr. Mead’s going-away function outside his office.
A live DJ played music, with free non-alcoholic beverages from Sip Pop Culture and tasty hors d’oeuvres provided by a local caterer. This food was finger-lickin’ good, as the Colonel likes to say.
Dr. Wrona and his wife were there, and she’s also a retired dentist. Listening to the conversation going on around me, there was no lack of professional folks, along with dental clients like Joleen and me, or is that Joleen and I?
Years ago, when Dr. John J. Smith retired in Anchorage, I wanted to wrap a carton of Camel cigarettes as a gift, because back in the 1940s and 1950s, the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company advertised that doctors recommended Camel over all other brands.
Dr. Smith didn’t smoke, and I thought this joke was perfect for his retirement. I didn’t go through with it after being told this was a waste of money and he might be offended.
How I wish I hadn’t listened to that person because I now believe the good doctor, along with his medical colleagues, would’ve thought it hilarious. Dr. Smith lived to be 94, and I hope all of my doctors make it that far or further.
For Dr. Reese Mead’s retirement, a few pieces of Reese’s candy were tossed into his card basket. Someone told me that dentists can sometimes be the biggest candy aficionados. I’m not sure Dr. Mead is, but he can get rid of it quickly with Halloween coming up.
Speaking of Halloween, candy, and cigarettes. Just recently, I saw an advertisement for a box of different varieties of candy cigarettes, undoubtedly meant for the upcoming holiday.
When I was a kid in Selma, Alabama, some parents occasionally gave out these popular candy delights when we trick-or-treated. They all tasted the same to me, much like sweetened chalk.
For a brief two seconds, I thought of buying a carton and sending them to my youngest grandchildren. After thinking it over, kids these days would probably be expelled from school for having such contraband in their lunchboxes. I can still visualize one of them sitting in their school lunchroom, pulling out a pack and passing it around to classmates like soldiers do in old war movies.
This act wasn’t punishable in 1960, but today, being a student and trying to have harmless fun in the classroom without causing a serious nuclear meltdown is a thin line to walk. I would’ve never survived!
“Balance is essential for a model rocket to successfully lift off and go straight up without problems.”
Count me as guilty. I’ve done a few things in my life that violate our country’s laws, like speeding, but I’m fixing that by driving slower than the speed limit. In a couple more years, my slate should be totally wiped clean.
Something else I violated, or at least think I did, was the National Association of Rocketry safety code. This was many years ago, and I can’t remember whether I ever signed the sheet that came with an Estes-brand model rocket.
For several years, my son and I built and successfully flew model rockets. I think that might have helped him eventually join the United States Space Force. I’ll have to ask Gunnar that question sometime.
Being a hot rodder at heart, I couldn’t help but put a couple of solid-propellant rocket engines on a toy car and light them off on Fern Lane. That was the road in front of our house in Alaska. This goes against the safety code.
With a crowd of spectators watching, the car set a new land speed record for that stretch of asphalt before running off the road and crashing into a neighbor’s truck tire. No damage was done.
Knowing I wasn’t setting a good example for my son and other kids, I performed my next experiment in secret, much like Lockheed’s Skunk Works. This entailed stuffing three rocket engines onto one rocket tube. Balance is essential for a model rocket to successfully lift off and go straight up without problems.
Taking my creation to a large field, I lit it off and watched it dance in every direction before heading toward some houses, then changing course. The parachute eventually popped out, and I retrieved things. Some kid had been watching, and he walked up asking me, “You didn’t balance it, did you?”
I quit tinkering with rockets then and experimented with making Gunnar’s gravity-propelled AWANA model cars faster with some illegal modifications. I didn’t know that went against the rules at the time, as I’d never read the instructions. I suppose that’s akin to telling a police officer you didn’t know the speed limit after being pulled over.
One of the first cars I helped Gunnar build, with me doing 99% of the work, jumped out of its lane much like that wayward rocket, and took out several other cars. You guessed it. Improperly balanced.
I’ve had the same problem towing trailers, opening several heavy toolbox drawers at once, including filing cabinets, and leaning out too far while using a ladder. That last one hurt. Just recently, I wrote a song titled “I landed in Heaven.”
It’s an imaginary, humorous tune with a serious, spiritual message. You can find it on YouTube under the same title. Look for a photo of a large homemade rocket ship on the cover, like the one in this story.
Children cheer as handmade cars speed down the Awana Grand Prix track.
“To add more drama to the scene I placed both hands behind my back as if I was being handcuffed.”
I asked a local bakery employee in a grocery store the other day if they offered a baker’s dozen on donuts. The young lady said yes and gave me the price. When I asked if that was for 13, she looked at me as if I were crazy. “No, a dozen is 12!” It was easy to see the gal didn’t know what a baker’s dozen was.
A baker’s dozen means 13 instead of 12, and its history is usually traced to medieval English baking laws—not specifically donuts at first. In medieval England, bread was heavily regulated because it was a staple food. Bakers could be punished for selling underweight loaves.
Since bread weight could vary after baking due to moisture loss, bakers often added an extra loaf when selling a dozen to ensure the customer received at least the required number.
Over time, that “extra” became known as a baker’s dozen. Where donuts are concerned, the phrase carried over naturally because donuts—like bread rolls, pastries, and bagels—are commonly sold by the dozen.
A donut shop offering 13 donuts for the price of 12 is continuing that old “extra one to be safe or generous” tradition, though today it’s more of a customer-friendly bonus or marketing gesture than a legal precaution.
I decided to check around to see if this bakery was the only one not following the old English tradition, and they weren’t. It seems that with the increase in price, a baker’s dozen has been reduced back to 12. Never mind that when you pay, and change is due, you’ll also be shafted any Lincoln pennies.
I believe it’s hocus-pocus how stores now advertise “deals,” as they like to call them. Older folks like me have to carefully read the small print on signs to see just what we’ll be paying.
I don’t know how many times I scanned an item only to see the regular price instead of the sale price at the end of a transaction. Walking back to read the sign, I discovered I needed to purchase another 11 to get the lower price.
Special offers can also be confusing and are undoubtedly subject to change in the near future. BOGO (buy one – get one) will mean exactly that. Folks will be stupefied when they look at their receipt and see they’ve just paid for two.
Shouldn’t this have been BOGT (buy one – get two) to begin with? This reminds me of tactics used by car lots in the 60s and 70s to leave customers mystified. A car would be advertised for a certain price on television, and when a customer came in expecting to buy it, they’d be told it was sold.
Perhaps I am making a mountain out of a molehill. A friend says that when she’s buying a dozen donuts, a thirteenth is stuck in the box without fear. “Who’s gonna open the box and count them?”
It’d be my luck that a store clerk would nab me as I walked away, or worse yet, the AI security camera in the self-checkout would spot things. This actually happened to me with grapes.
I’d placed a sack of them on the scale and in a hurry to get going, picked them up, and put them in the bag without hitting ‘accept weight.’ Everything locked up immediately ─ with a black & white grainy video showing my mistake. The clerk corrected things and said it happens all the time.
By then, those standing in line behind me were watching. To add more drama to the scene I placed both hands behind my back as if I was being handcuffed. Most folks chuckled except one.
The donuts I buy generally go to the chemotherapy lab in Kingman. If they’re short a couple of donuts from here on out it won’t matter as I always take them two dozen.
One thing I’ve been planning on doing but haven’t thus far, is the next time that automated AI produce scale asks if I accept the weight, I’ll decline, just to see what happens. I’m sure I’m not the only person wanting to do that. Will lights and buzzers go off? My wife says that she doesn’t want to be around to see.
“Google makes it easy, with perhaps a million definitions alone for head colds.”
My mother wanted me to become a doctor, but I never made the grade. The closest I got was my first two initials—M.D. She’d be proud of her great-grandson Kevin, who’s now a pre-med student at a college in Ohio.
My career field was automotive, and there is a direct correlation between the medical field and mechanics, as I’ll allude to in a few minutes. First of all, though, I’d like to touch upon some doctor jargon or lingo.
I’ve visited enough doctors over the years to pick up some of their language, as confusing as it is. I believe it’s purposely kept that way to make things tough for patients to ask questions. Most of us don’t want to come across as stupid, so we refrain. I generally go home and look up the medical terms afterward.
Google makes it easy, with perhaps a million definitions alone for head colds. I generally pick the first one, believing it’s probably closest to being correct. Never go to the very end of the list, as that could put you in outer space.
Endoscopy is one of those medical terms that seems twisted. One would think it’s a scope specifically designed to probe the end, yet it can also be placed down the throat. That’s somewhat unnerving to me if you catch my drift.
I’ve had a few sonograms over the past few years and have come away liking them. It’s as close to a massage as I’ll ever get, with the cool-sonogram-gel feeling quite relaxing during hot Arizona summers. The only downside is that it lasts only a few minutes.
Testing me for neuropathy, Dr. Livingstone in Havasu performed what he called an NCS test, short for nerve conduction study. Probes were placed on my legs, and then electricity was induced into them.
This is as close as I’ll ever come to experiencing what death row inmates eventually feel in Texas prisons. NCS should stand for nerve-curdling shock rather than anything else. A very precise test, I came away with the doctor finding I have mild neuropathy, as many seniors do. I highly recommend this test for those with leg pain. It’s the best way to locate the source.
Cardioversion is another one of those technical medical terms. I had a cardioversion when my heart was in atrial fibrillation, with the process thankfully working. If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this.
Probes were placed on my chest and backside, and when I was under anesthesia, my bebopping heart was shocked back into sinus rhythm. I didn’t feel anything other than when they peeled the sticky probes off my skin. That hurt!
Doctor’s jargon and techniques are slightly different than mechanics. Automotive technicians use sonic stethoscopes to listen to an engine’s internal workings. A former coworker wore one around his neck, as doctors and nurses often do, just as an attention-getter.
We used camera scopes as well, much like the colonoscopy and endoscopes. These are used to peer into cylinders through sparkplug holes. The tool helped determine whether there was any damage to the piston or cylinder walls. They can be used for other tasks, such as checking tight spaces for loose wire connections, or looking up one’s nose.
Medical nerve conduction studies (NCS) using electrical impulses are not much different from some circuit tests used by automotive technicians. Voltage is applied through individual wires by a circuit checker to look for shorts or open circuits. Sometimes a wire will come alive and glow if a short is detected, like a faulty nerve.
Instead of performing cardioversions on hearts, jump-starts were quite common for restarting a dead engine. We had mobile battery packs about the same size as those portable defibrillators seen hanging on hospital walls. I have a couple of them in my home garage, mobile battery packs that is.
I can’t tell you how many vehicle cardioversions I’ve done in my life. Many of these rigs were brought in dead on arrival (DOA) on the hook of a wrecker. The difference between a wrecker and an ambulance is minimal in my mind, aside from the cost of transport. A hospital and a garage are also much the same.
No, I didn’t become a doctor like Mom wanted. Instead, I became a practicing mechanic, using my talents to sometimes bring cars and trucks back from the ravages of neglect and poor maintenance.
Given the number of misdiagnoses I made on vehicles over the years, it’s probably for the best I didn’t become a doctor!
“Bicycling is something I was good at, and I still ride, but I learned early on that being the fastest doesn’t always pay dividends in the end.”
Tortoise and the Hare
I’ve never been the fastest at anything other than perhaps eating and reading. Mom was constantly telling me to slow down at meals and chew my food. My wife offered up a serious warning with her lecture. “You’ll choke someday. That’s how Janis Joplin died!” I believe she meant Mama Cass Elliot, but I wasn’t going to correct her.
As for my reading, no one has ever complained. I’ve been a fast reader since the earliest days, with SRA (Science Research Associates) labs in elementary school, fine-tuning my ability. No classmate was quicker, and even with weakening eyes, I’m still a whiz. No brag, just fact!
The phrase “slow and steady” comes from the classic fable of the rabbit and the hare. In this story, the hare is fast and confident, but he becomes overconfident and takes a nap during the race.
The turtle, moving slowly but steadily, never stops and eventually wins the race. The lesson is that consistent effort and patience often lead to success, even if progress seems slow at times.
Other examples include a student who spends little time studying every day instead of cramming at the last minute, who is likely to perform better on exams. Similarly, someone saving a small amount of money each month will eventually build up substantial savings, demonstrating that perseverance often outweighs speed.
Bicycling is something I was good at, and I still ride, but I learned early on that being the fastest doesn’t always pay off. My knees and hips can still function well without needing replacements; this is partly because I didn’t push my torso beyond its limits. I give the bulk of the credit here to Jesus Christ for helping keep me in good health.
Now that I’m an older homosapien male, I have nothing to prove, other than I can still move forward without the assistance of an electric motor. Hopefully, that day never arrives. If it does, I’ll want 36 volts. Horsepower is still king, even on senior-citizen mobility scooters.
Driving around town, I notice lots of potential hares tailgating and trying to push me up the road. If the speed limit says 35, that’s where you’ll find my truck speedometer pegged. Being retired, I’m in no hurry to get anywhere, as those days are long gone.
Walking is the same. No longer do I scurry about a grocery store in a tizzy, burning up calories. Younger folks behind me will just have to safely pass when the opportunity arises. “ Walk and smell the roses” is my motto, although around Havasu it’s more like inhaling mesquite and paloverde pollen while popping Allegra tablets.
Joleen says that I oftentimes don’t walk a straight line in stores or while hiking numerous trails in Rotary Park. I’ve noticed that myself, blaming it on my shoes or deteriorating asphalt, neither of which is the problem.
It appears that my slow and steady gait is turning to slow and unsteady, a problem that many seniors have. Despite this, if I keep each foot moving forward, all is good. Slow and unsteady still beats not moving at all.
I’ll end this with a bit of humorous wisdom that a coworker gave me years ago. I was around 30 at the time, while Martin Allen was in his 70s. Martin grew up in Arizona, where he worked in the copper mines of Bisbee before moving to Alaska. Some of his words have been changed to make it acceptable to all readers, although some might still be offended.
“Two bulls were standing on a hill looking down upon a group of heifers. The youngest bull, full of testosterone, snorted and boldly proclaimed, “I’m gonna run down there and make love to one of them bovines.”
The older bull, chewing on a blade of grass, shook his head in disagreement before replying. “Not me, I’ll walk down there and make love to them all!”
I suppose only a few got the hidden message. As a young man, it took a moment to fully understand what Martin was trying to say. After it sunk in, with me being a rookie mechanic, his lesson was on the same level as Albert Einstein, at least to my brain it was.
I’ve never forgotten Martin Allen, often putting his wisdom to good use in other areas of life. Before closing, I took a popular John Deere advertisement regarding their lawnmowers and twisted it to fit this story.
“It’s not how slow you mow – it’s how well you mow slow!”
After hundreds of crazy and oftentimes inflammatory Facebook posts, perhaps a couple of thousand over 20 years, I wanted the last post to be totally special. To me, this is like retirement all over again.
For this final project, my new and improved AI (artificial intelligence) photo generator asked for early ‘facial only’ images of 12 friends, with the 12th being me. Twelve bodies were all that would fit on the merry-go-round.
This was a tough assignment, yet I succeeded by snipping and copying school yearbooks and classroom photographs. No names or personal information was supplied.
AI somehow aged these people to make them appear in their late 70s, as if that was hard to do. We all look pretty much the same at that stage. If you see a similarity, it’s probably you, but my lips are sealed on exactly whose mugs were submitted.
I’m extremely happy with the outcome, especially with my early-Alaska-pioneer resemblance. That leather jacket is striking. I was so impressed that I ordered an 8×10 print for the office. That’s a first for me in framing something created entirely by a computer program.
From this day forward, many of my biking, hiking, Jeep adventures, and car show experiences will be permanently housed on the following website: www.michael-hankins.com.
That site and the associated email section are monitored daily, unlike fb. The latest goal is to start producing drone videos of mysterious areas that are unreachable by foot, car, or plane, and to preview them on YouTube. Arizona is full of such inaccessible places.
I’m still kickin’, but I’d much rather use my rapidly diminishing time to create entertaining videos watched by many, rather than continue posting redundant info, stories, humorous memes, and photos seen by a few on fb. Nevertheless, I’ll still write for my blog and various periodicals, especially “The Today’s News-Herald.” A short update post will appear on April 9 each year.
YouTube seems to be growing, while Facebook continues to suffer from declining group participation. Always one to take an unknown path, new adventures and discoveries hopefully await me around the bend. The ability of drones to scour the desert for treasure has great potential. “I’m very excited” is more than an understatement here. 😊
“Everyone goes to Walmart, including the Clintons…”
I might be running out of good material to write about, as the low-hanging fruit in our town and neighborhood has already been picked. ‘Low-hanging fruit’ refers to topics or ideas that are easy to write about because they’re familiar, straightforward, and commonly discussed.
These include personal anecdotes, popular trends, well-known events, and topics extensively covered in the media, such as Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. Taking the easy way out, I tackled these subjects first because they required less research and creative effort compared to more complex, obscure, and off-limits topics, such as family and friends.
Telling my wife, Joleen, that I finally reached writer’s block, a goal I’ve not achieved before, she suggested a few topics, with Walmart being one of them. I’ve never written about our trips to Walmart, figuring they weren’t print-worthy.
Everyone goes to Walmart, including the Clintons, with nothing out of the ordinary ever happening there, at least I’ve never seen or read about anything terribly strange occurring at ours.
People sometimes walk the wrong direction in Walmart aisles, yet they do that in all stores. The right side is for all traffic going forward, while the left is for the opposite. This might not seem like a big deal, but it can be if a person’s not paying close attention.
I’ve never had a big problem because I walk slowly, as older people are expected to. With a fully loaded buggy and wheels that don’t easily turn, moving too fast without brakes is an invitation to sideswipe someone. Thankfully, that’s never happened to me, but I have lightly ‘tapped’ the back of a few shoes, namely, Joleen’s.
Folks sometimes wear strange clothing in these stores, with the Walmart in Kingman easily beating out the one in Lake Havasu City in this department. That might have something to do with I-40 being close by Kingman and lots of California travelers dropping in.
During the last holiday season, just for kicks, I walked up to a life-size cardboard replica of Patrick Mahonnes in Walmart, jokingly asking where the Pop-Tarts were. Joleen saw what I was doing and quickly scurried ahead to escape the embarrassment.
A kindly female employee with red hair, who’s been there for many years, evidently overheard my question and walked over, telling me, with a straight face, that they were next to the cereal section. Caught off guard, I didn’t expect this, with me saying, “Thank you!” in return.
Strangely enough, that woman didn’t act as if ‘my comedy routine’ was anything out of the ordinary. Joleen later told me that some Walmart shoppers undoubtedly chatted with that cardboard replica all the time, and that it was no big deal to workers. To that seasoned clerk, I was just another one of their “special customers.”
