Chafing Irritations

Hey, guess what? People piss me off! Didn't see that one comin',
did ya? It is 100 degrees in the shade, 105 degrees on the fancy
car mirror thermometer thingy with the car on a blacktop parking
lot with the air conditioner running, and probably 99 degrees in the
doggie Ann's tunnel to China under the 5th wheel camper in the
front yard.

I had to run some errands in this sweltering inferno. Three and a
half hours worth of errands. With my precious hillbilly fighting
spawn in the car. The plan was to go to school to turn in my
signed, updated contract which we get every year after a modest
raise is approved when adjustments are made to the salary
schedule. We also planned to meet #1 son's girlfriend there to
swap some stuff after the Six Flags trip. I'm getting ahead of
myself. Here's that story.

There was a thunderstorm in the St. Louis area on Saturday
afternoon, and the big Six Flags rides and that water park thingy
they have there were shut down. #1 said they were next in line
for some thingy at the water park, and they had to leave. In the
commotion, he left wearing his orange swim trunks and his cotton
button front plaid shirt. A bit of a fashion faux pas. He got home
around 8:30, and made the entourage get out of the van and
admire his compressed air soda bottle rocket launcher thingy
that he made with some PVC pipe. By the time they left, he was
dragging. I told him to unpack his Wal*Mart sack of clothing
and give me the money he didn't spend. Hey! I gave him $50,
because I didn't know if he'd have to buy a ticket, buy his own
food, or what. He said he only spent $4.25 on a soda.

The boy dragged that sack into the living room, and took out
items one at a time, throwing them on the floor. Because that's
how hillbilly young 'uns unpack. Out came the shoes, the socks,
the t-shirt he was supposed to wear with his swimming trunks,
the towel...and that was the bottom of the bag. He glared at
me and demanded: "Where did you put my shorts?" You know,
the shorts with $45.75 in the pocket. I made it clear that I had
no idea where the shorts were...they were HIS shorts. He is
the last one that wore them, not me. I told him I was taking the
money out of his money he's been saving for a laptop if it didn't
turn up. Oooooh! Then he got serious. "When we left, we were
in a hurry. I grabbed my bag, but everything else was just stuffed
in a locker. Girlfriend's Mom grabbed a pile of stuff and took
it to the car. She has my shorts."

I made him call their cell phone. They had only been gone about
20 minutes. Yes, they said they had the shorts, did we need them
now? I said no, we could pick them up Monday when I went to
school, because then they'd only have to drive about 5 miles to
school. Agreed. Then I told the boy, "What if she decides to be
nice and wash your shorts? You didn't tell her you had money in
them." So he called her back, and told her he had money in his
pocket, and that he had a pair of socks that weren't his, because
he was wearing his, and there was a pair in his bag.

To make this long story longer, we got to school and guess who
wasn't there? You are such good guessers! The original plan had
been to meet at 10:00, but Girlfriend's Mom said the kids were
still sleeping at 8:45, and could we make it 11:00. So, at 11:00,
she calls and says they all just woke up, and they'd be there in
5 minutes. This family is a bit challenged in the chronology dept.
They arrived at 11:18 and traded the shorts for the socks, the
money was all there, and everybody was happy. Except probably
Girlfriend's Mom, because she had to wake up the kids at 11:00
and haul them to town.

Now, back to my pisser-offers. There was the pharmacy worker
who was really polite, and as I walked out the door I heard her
shout, "Witch!" I'm sure that's what she said. Surely she was just
playing with one of the 10,739 pharmacy techs that were counting
pills behind the counter. Hey! Maybe they should rename that
'counter' thingy.

Next was the Wal*Mart check-out lady. Oh, it was a different
one this time. Not tooooo old, not tooooo slow, but by cracky,
those checkers are obsessed with the paper freezer bags. This
one demanded: "GIVE ME YOUR FREEZER BAGS!" before
I even had all the goods on the conveyer. I forked them over.
She proceeded to stuff in my ice cream (it's nearing Sonic Cherry
Diet Coke addiction status) and stuff that I had no intention of
putting in them. The corn dogs, the salad, the celery, the lettuce.
Which meant that the poor ice cream was in a freezer bag that
wouldn't close. Then, when I tried to punch in my PIN for the
debit card, the stinkin' stupid pen thingy wouldn't work. It
wouldn't take the first number, but took the second. I told that
old wench that I had hit a wrong number, and she barked:
"That's because you didn't push it hard enough!" Aha! How
would she know that was the problem? I just said I hit a wrong
number! It's a scam! A low-down dirty scam to piss me off,
I tell you! Darn those Wal*Mart checkers and their secret
freezer bag/pin number society!

My world was full of pissers today. On the home front, the
domestically challenged HH had left his empty soda can on
the downstairs TV table. I was fed up with his antics. I set it
right in the middle of his precious pool table. I should have
turned on that beer light thingy to spotlight it. HH saw it and
snatched it up right away. Heh heh! I'll train him yet.

And the last pisser was the #1 son, who shot #2 in the throat
with a bow and arrow. OK, so it was a toy that shot those
rubber suction-tip arrows, but according to #2, he was only
3 inches away. He had a big red mark on his throat. For some
reason, I didn't think I would have to specify to an 11-year-old:
"Do not shoot your brother in the thoat with an arrow from 3
inches away." I kind of thought that went without saying. Like
he should know he's not allowed to point it at his brother, just
like the dart guns and slingshots and various projectiles that
lie about the house. Duh!

And let me re-emphasize, in case you've missed it somewhere
down the line in my three blogs...

I love the word 'thingy'. By cracky!