The H*LL Tour

The boys and I spent the middle part of the day running errands. Or as I am wont to call it, The H*LL Tour. Yes. Here is the itinerary.

Save-A-Lot
License Office
Post Office
Library
Bank
The Devil's Playground
Save-A-Lot

Doesn't that sound like a fun-filled trip? Wheeee doggie! And to have traveling companions of 12 and 9 years old, well, that's just the icing on the cake. Buttercream icing, Mabel!

Let's begin by saying that anybody who works in the License Office should expect to sell licenses. Because apparently, the girls did not think this was included in the job description, what with the heavy sighing and eye-rolling when I stepped up to the counter and stated my business. I had all the information. I even had it laid out in an orderly fashion: truck form, inspection, insurance...LSUV form, inspection, insurance...4-wheeler forms and insurance...tax receipts for 2005 and 2006. Yes. It was all there. Oh, but I soon sensed the problem. M-O-O-N! That spells, "It's our day to buy Arkansas watermelons out of the back of a pickup truck from a scruffy redneck who walks up to the counter and interrupts official business of the State of Missouri."

Who knew? They took orders. Yosemite Sam guaranteed them that those darn watermelons were sitting in the field just hours before. My clerk even asked me if I wanted to buy one. Ain't that neighborly of her? I politely declined, paid my $193.50, and left. #2 son and I did not even partake of the free popcorn from the movie-style popcorn popper against the wall, with the paper bags, and sign proclaiming "Free Popcorn".

I sent #1 son in to deal with HH's collector Case Knife Truck thingy at the Post Office. Good thing they didn't send this one UPS so the dog could chew it up. Did the library call? It was missing its grayhairs. I re-checked Commanche MOON, and the boys returned their books, with #2 son getting three more. #1 must be saving his energy for backtalking me, because he didn't want any more books.

The bank had a full house when we arrived. Lucky for me, a truck backed out, so I had a parking spot. Inside, there was a bit of a wait. See, these people would not commit to a line and get in it. It was like the ladies room at the old Busch Stadium. They wait at the door, and then pounce on the first teller to open up. Not that there was a rash of people pouncing on bank tellers willy nilly at Busch Stadium, but they would back everyone up outside the restroom, guarding their spot by the door so everyone knew who was next. I don't suppose men do this. I imagine they just all pee harmoniously with each other at a big communal hole in the ground.

Anyhoo, there were four tellers working. With a person at each teller. And a guy at the door backing everybody up through the outer door and out onto the sidewalk. There were two women behind him, and then me. Then there were three people behind me, but who cares, we're talking about ME. Since I had a bit of time to wait, I read one of about 20 identical signs they had posted around the teller counter. "If I provide exemplary service, please take a rock and put it in the big container." By cracky, each teller had a small fishbowl with her own color of glassy stone. It was, by now, 12:45 p.m. And the big fish bowl only had two yellow stones in it. That was it. They must be very brave, those tellers, to have a bowl of rocks sitting there where the customers can reach them. Oh, and the other thing I had to look at during my wait was the butt of one of the women ahead of me. Normally, I don't make it a habit to look at women's butts. But...this one was wearing black pants. With some dusty something all over the butt. Like she had squeezed between two cars, and didn't know her butt was cleaning the side of one of them. Nobody told her. And nobody walked up and slapped at it to say, "Got dust on your butt." I suppose that would have been inappropriate. Speaking of inappropriate...the door to the safe was standing wide open. Is that common practice? I could have dashed in there quicker that someone slapping dust off my a$$. It was only a hop, skip and a jump from the front door. And I could easily get around the counter. But I didn't. Bank robbing is not in my nature.

The Devil's Playground ripped me off for $5.60 on some frozen Smart Ones lunches. They were placed on the shelf labeled $1.88, yet rang up at $2.44. If I had known that, I would have gone with the Healthy Choice for $1.48. It wasn't worth mixin' it up with the self-checker tender. It was as hot as H*ll in The Devil's Playground. Go figure! I just wanted out of there. HH can get his own Smart Ones and deal with The Devil himself next time.
I'm not sure if the teenage stocker put them on the wrong shelf, or if The Devil programmed his registers wrong to make a few bucks. Remember when they got caught doing that? The Devil needs a good slap on the wrist. Or lower.

We had to swing back by Save-A-Lot to adopt an Ice Baby. It's the Angelina Jolie in me.