More Questionable Behavior From The Man With No Common Sense

When Farmer H got home Tuesday evening (without my precious T-Hoe!), he plopped down in his recliner while I started his supper. Nothing special. Just warming up two of the bratwursts frozen after our last cookout, and some waffle fries.

When he gets home in time, Farmer H likes to watch Emergency. It's an old TV series from the early 70s. As you might imagine, it's about paramedics and the hospital they work out of. I could hear the dialogue from the kitchen. 

I also heard Farmer H checking his voice mail. It was a woman's voice. I figured maybe somebody from his doctor's office, or one of the elderlies from the senior apartments. I heard her giving a number to call her back. I didn't get all the details, because I wasn't that interested, and because the paramedics on TV were going on a call. The sirens were blaring. I heard Farmer H keep re-playing that voice mail. Three or four times!

"IF YOU TURN DOWN THE TV, MAYBE YOU CAN HEAR THE MESSAGE!"

"What?"

"IF YOU TURN DOWN THE TV, MAYBE YOU CAN HEAR THE MESSAGE!"

"I just cain't make out the phone number."

"TURN DOWN THE TV!"

Just as he finally did, his phone rang again.

"Maybe that's her!"

Farmer H took the call. It sounded like somebody wanting something from his store. When he got off the phone, he said,

"That was some lady wanting to know if I have duck decoys. I have a whole bunch of them. She was trying to describe what she wanted. She said DUCK decoys, but then something about geese. And Canada. I told her just come down and look at them, and see if they're what she wants. I'll sell them to her for $2.50 apiece."

Farmer H needs to realize that he is mostly deaf. And that he needs to cut out the excess noise when he's trying to hear something. At least I've (mostly) trained him to mute the TV when I holler to him from the kitchen. Baby steps...

You'd Think A Man Could Do Such A Simple Thing

But you'd be wrong!!! We're not talking about taking T-Hoe for an oil change. Something even easier. A child could do it. But not Farmer H.

Let's start at the beginning. Tuesday morning at 5:50. I was looking on the TV, reading the program guide to see what else was on, since we were in a commercial during Ridiculousness. Farmer H was on the long couch, looking up on his phone how much it costs to replace shocks and struts on a Chevy Tahoe. The TV went to a screen showing SIGNAL LOSS DUE TO WEATHER. We had a short spate of heavy rain.

In a few minutes, the DISH signal came back. And the show playing was the one I had been reading about on the program guide. I had NOT pushed the button to watch it. That was uncommon. It should have gone right back to playing Ridiculousness. 

"Huh. That's weird. It should be on the other show. I guess the signal got messed up with the rain."

I picked up the remote and pushed in the Ridiculousness channel, 160. But the show stayed on Young Sheldon, and the numbers on the screen changed from the 160 that I pushed in to the 139 of Young Sheldon. I did this three times. Farmer H watched. He agreed that was weird. But then he said,

"Give me the remote."

"Oh. So you think I'M doing something wrong. And only you know how to change the channel with the remote."

"Just give it to me. Sometimes it depends on where you push."

MALARKY!

Farmer H did the same thing I did. Pushed in the 1-6-0. But the numbers went back to 139, and Young Sheldon stayed on the TV.

"SEE! Either the receiver is messed up, or it's the remote. It HAS been saying LOW BATTERY for a couple weeks. Go get some batteries."

Farmer H went to the kitchen to get batteries out of the third drawer. That's all that's in there. Different size batteries, and a few of those gripper thingies for opening stuck jar lids. Both the pot-holder-looking kind, and the long handled circular kind.

"Welp! There goes that!" Said Farmer H after I heard a clunking noise. "The knob come off in my hand."

What in the NOT-HEAVEN???

How can a man not open a drawer without destroying something? The knob wasn't loose. Here's the thing. That drawer STILL has a childproof stick thingy on the inside! I'm pretty sure it's safe for The Pony to get into the battery drawer now. For some years now, even. But Farmer H has never taken that gadget off. The drawer will open about an inch, then a half-arrow shaped part of the white plastic gadget catches, and prevents further opening. 

Farmer H yanked so hard on that drawer that he pulled the knob off!

"Well. It's in two parts. I cain't find the other one." Farmer H brought the batteries. I put them in the remote, and the TV channels worked right again.

"What are we going to do about the drawer?"

"Well, HM, I'll have to see if I can find a knob to match it..."

I fully believe Farmer H planned on leaving, with my drawer knobless, to go about his merry way. But by my questioning him, he took another look on his way through the kitchen, and miraculously found the knob and put it back on.

In a normal household, the Farmer H would have removed such childproofing, once the younest child was past self-harm from getting into stuff. Not at the Mansion. The gadgets in the other three drawers have broken off the half-arrow part. The stubs are still there.

Farmer H is no stranger to fetching batteries. He should know that childproof gadget is still on that drawer. And not YANK so hard as to pull the knob off the drawer. Even a childproofed child could have figured it out.

Mrs. HM's Weirdo Magnet Has ReCharged

Mrs. HM's weirdo magnet has not gone the way of our generator battery. Nothing dead there! No need for a jump. The weirdo magnet is working at full capacity. As evidenced last week in Save A Lot.

I had left the lottery machine, and was wheeling my cart along the produce section, selecting Romaine lettuce. A guy (WEIRDO) came up behind me. I didn't know he was a weirdo just yet. 

He was normal height, stocky, early 20s, wearing jeans and a nice dark brown Carhartt jacket, with medium brown hair styled like singer Bobby Goldsboro (when he was on Here Come the Brides), only not as poofy. He wasn't really close to me, but I sensed someone coming up past the bananas. I saw him over my left shoulder, about 10 feet away. I figured he must want to look at something where I was, so I picked my lettuce and left.

I went down that aisle to the end, and turned to come up the next aisle, for sliced dill pickles. As I was spinning a couple jars around, to make sure I got GOOD slices, not really thin and seedy slices, I looked up and saw Weirdo. He had come down from the top of this aisle. Maybe 15 feet away now. By the ketchup. He wasn't really looking at any items on the shelves, and not really looking at me. Just kind of staring off into space. Like maybe I had caught him looking at me. He had no cart. Nothing in his hands. 

I turned and went back the way I had come up that aisle. Went around to the next one, to get some canned green beans. You guessed it! Weirdo came down from the top of that aisle. Stood along the canned meats. His body facing me, his back to the SPAM and sardines, gazing into space. NOTHING IN HIS HANDS! I might not have been so suspicious if he held some food, or even a cell phone. Nope.

This was getting creepy. There were a few other people in the store. But Weirdo didn't seem to be following them. It wasn't a matter of us coincidentally shopping for the same items at the same time. Wherever I went, there he appeared! He caught up to me again on the chip aisle, where I was getting a bag of big pretzels.

As I was in line to check out, Weirdo had wandered across the front aisle, but had turned to amble back in my direction. Absolutely nothing in his hands.

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???

I can only think that maybe his motive was to steal my debit card info! Who else tries to follow somebody, and get kind of close, but has no reason to be there? Young people these days! They know all about technology, and how to tap into somebody's "tap" card. On the other hand, perhaps he was just an old-fashioned purse-snatcher, and was hoping I'd walk away from my cart so he could snatch Pursey.

Weirdo picked the wrong gal for THAT! Mrs. HM doesn't leave her cart/walker.

Little Girls Shouldn't Hang Out At Liquor Stores

Some things just don't go together. One of those combinations being little girls and liquor stores! That should go without saying! But not in Hillmomba, I suppose! So I'm saying.

Last week I stubbornly refused to go into the Liquor Store for my scratchers. I really wanted to buy them there. I was even on the parking lot, in a less-than-advantageous parking space, because the one on the end, up against the building, was taken. Probably by somebody inside playing the fake slot machines. The car had been there for a while, during my time at the Gas Station Chicken Store.

Anyhoo... I was preparing to start the walk across the parking lot when I saw that little girl standing at the door. She was probably 12-13 years old. Having spent my working life in the public schools, I can pretty much gauge the age of kiddos. She did not have that gangly look of all knees-and-elbows that they get around 8th grade, or 14.

The LG stood with her back holding open the glass door, allowing people to walk in and out. So they were very close to her when passing. Making the act of declining her wares more difficult, I would think. She had a white box on her forearms, with low sides. Looked like she might be selling those overpriced candy bars for a school fundraiser. Nothing wrong with kids wanting to succeed, getting out on their own to hawk the wares, rather than having a parent take them to work. But these days, you can't be too careful. Young 'uns need to be safe.

Sure, the Liquor Store is a public place. It's actually a "smoke shop," which sells cigarettes and vapes, and has three aisles and two wall coolers full of liquor. I've always been suspicious of back-room activities there, just because the number of cars in the lot don't match the number of people I see inside. Anyhoo... it's a regular business, part of a chain. It just seems to have a less-than-savory clientele. Like ME, for instance! 

Anyhoo... I suppose the LG was related to one of the workers inside. At least I HOPE SO! Otherwise it was very, very wrong for her to be hanging out there. I did not want to go in. I didn't want a candy bar, and I didn't want to have to refuse to buy one. As I was looking around, trying to get T-Hoe off the lot, between the long line at the drive-thru window, and the cut-through maniacs dodging the stoplight... I saw the LG leave the doorway and walk down to the line of cars waiting for the window!

THAT IS WRONG! There are no windows in the front of the building. Just the door. You can't see the line of cars from behind the counter. You can't see the line of cars from the drive-up window. NOBODY inside could see that LG as she was going from car to car. Somebody could have snatched her! Just jumped out of the car, or dragged her inside, and took off! The highway is one block away! Once through the stoplight, they would be long gone down the interstate, able to turn off at any town, or reverse direction. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack even IF somebody got the license number and called 911 immediately.

It still bothers me that somebody let that Little Girl sell stuff outside the Liquor Store.

Mrs. HM Is Offered A Tip By Her Nememsis

Remember that darn guy who drives the Dodge Ram and parks in Mrs. HM's rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store every day? I've been going to town later, and managed to avoid him for a while. But with the time change, and the shortening days, I go earlier. It seems we're back in sync again. Unfortunately.

Thursday, there was a different truck parked in my rightful handicap space. It had handicap plates, so I just waited for the guy to come out and leave, then pulled down into the space. I was happy to see the red Dodge Ram parked over by the moat. Heh, heh! Mr. Ram had been thwarted by The Universe! Twice... it turns out.

Mr. Ram was finishing up his transaction when I entered the store. He was joking with Fave! It's not the first time. I don't hold it against her. A gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. You never know when a customer might hit it big, and bestow a share upon you. Mr. Ram mainly plays the draw tickets. A game called CASH POP, which has drawings several times a day. He also buys scratchers.

Anyhoo... he stepped aside, finishing his conversation with Fave, while putting away his change. Fave greeted me, and I handed over my winners that I was cashing in.

"Number 14 just had a $1000 winner," said Mr. Ram.

"That's true," said Fave. "This morning. I was going to tell you."

"Right before I got here!" said Mr. Ram.

"OH NO! I was going to buy one! Thanks for telling me."

I didn't mean about him just missing a big winner, heh, heh! But I was kind of glad to hear it nonetheless. I had indeed been planning on buying #14. It's the $10 Christmas ticket. It has pictures instead of numbers. I do okay on it, winning at least my money back, and several times $20. I haven't been buying it lately, but the GSCS has limited choices this week. Two of the Christmas, and two of a 100X ticket for the tens. I knew before I went in that I wanted the #14.

Anyhoo... I sure didn't want if with a $1000 winner coming out of that roll that morning!

It was nice of Mr. Ram to share that info with me. But I doubt he will change his handicap-space-usurping ways any time soon...

Maybe Not An Insult After All

When I was having my really bad day that culminated with the discovery of an electrical outage at the Mansion, my last stop in town was 10Box. All the handicap spaces were taken, but I was lucky to get the last space on the left of building. People had left their carts all willy-nilly on the sidewalk. So I grabbed one for the trek, and left it near the door once inside. That could help another limpy person, saving them from hobbling another 40 feet to the indoor cart corral.

Anyhoo... I got my scratchers out of the lottery machines. My knees stiffen up while I stand there making my selections. It takes a minute to get going again. 

I was hobbling out, walking a bit like Gunsmoke's Chester. Along beside me came one of the cashiers. She's always cheery. They had just asked her to help a customer outside with a propane tank return. As she passed me, she said, 

"Oh, mah LAIG!"

Which is really kind of funny, because it's a thing on a Reddit forum where people discuss the show My 600 Pound Life. There was a patient for whom the viewers had little sympathy, because he was a bedbound whiner who was not nice to his wife, and used his young stepdaughter to fetch things for him. As he was being transported out of his house to go to the doctor, he complained (whiny-ly) to the EMTs when they lifted him in a sheet to put him on the stretchers. "OH, MAH LAIG!!!"

The way Cashier said it sounded just like that guy. Like she could have been using it as a reference for her inflection and diction.

At first I was offended. Was she making fun of me??? I joke around with her, but this seemed kind of cruel. While I was contemplating who to invite to my pity party, and if I should have pointy hats and balloons, and most importantly what kind of CAKE... Cashier went on past me through the first of the double doors.

"I pulled something down in my groin area, and it HURTS! And I'M the one they send out here for the propane!"

Well. No need to send out my invitations now.

"I'd race you, but you're already ahead of me!"

Oh, I caught up when she was unlocking the propane case. I had to walk past it to get back to that last parking space.

Welcome Back To Possum Central

Oh, how I regret (unknowingly) sweet-talking that possum outside my kitchen door! Several nights a week, over the past few months! I was so sure it was one of my dogs. But no. I apparently made a new friend. An unwanted friend.

Tuesday, Farmer H was sitting in the recliner as I was leaving for town. He had an event to attend with The Veteran, so took time off from his busy schedule of catering to the elderlies, playing fake slot machines at the gas station and pawn shop, puttering around his SUS2.5, and avoiding having the oil changed in T-Hoe.

I went out the kitchen door with a piece of bread in my hand for my little Jack. He came prancing around the porch to greet me, all wriggles and smiles. As I was sweet-talking Jack, my eyes were drawn to the underneath of GassyG Jr. Where a tail protruded!!!

"EEEEE! Jack! It's the POSSUM! Get it!"

Jack continued to look up at me adoringly. I stomped my foot. Nothing. "I've gotta go tell Dad, Jack!" I tossed his bread onto the side porch and went back to the kitchen door, hollering in, "That POSSUM is out here under your grill! It's probably getting away while I'm telling you!"

I heard the recliner close, and went back to the side porch. Where Jack was calmly eating his piece of bread, but the tail was gone. Not gone! It was under the wooden shelves against the garage wall. Farmer H came out.

"There! It's under your shelves! Get it!"

Farmer H picked up a long scraper that the uses on the grill. He got right up to the shelves. He almost had a foot under there!

"You're going to get bit! It's RIGHT THERE!"

"I cain't see it."

"No! You're right on top of it! It might bite you. You could get rabies!"

I don't think possums carry rabies."

Farmer H commenced to poking, while Jack sat behind him and watched. I was halfway down the steps. The possum was facing me. He looked at Farmer H like, "Why are you doing this to me?" Finally he walked out, to the edge of the side porch! Where I usually pet Jack! And put his two front feet down over the side, as if to jump down on the sidewalk!

"NO! He's gonna get me!"

"He ain't gonna get you, HM."

Jack ran down to the sidewalk, and the possum turned and walked over to the porch rails that overlook the fake fish pond. Farmer H stood, menacing the grill scraper. 

"You go on to the garage. He ain't gonna get you."

The possum's path was blocked by a red and white Playmate cooler. He put his front feet up on it.

"Now! Knock him in the head!"

"I don't wanna hurt him."

"WHY NOT???"

The possum jumped up over the cooler. Went through the rails. Jumped down by the fake fish pond. And ran across the back yard, past the squirrel feeder, and into the woods. That's when Jack took a shortcut through the porch lattice that Pupsie had broken, and darted after the possum, barking his fool head off down through the trees.

That possum did not seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. I DO NOT need a new friend. My protectors sorely disappointed me. I don't want to KILL the possum, really. Just make it go away.