“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 867 (Saturday) – randomness

Breakfast.

In the “feast or famine” cycle of things, after weeks, nay months, of days with few activities I felt like doing, today had events competing all over my calendar. There was a historical walking tour and a community volunteer event. There was an invitation to go swimming. The previous commitments were a Finnish Breakfast and an arts event. 

The breakfast plan meant leaving around 7:00. Upon parking, I decided to open the vent in the Jeep’s roof panel. I hit the button that slides the panel open instead of the one that raises the rear edge of the panel. It wouldn’t close so I could adjust it as intended. It closed halfway, then reversed to open. Several times. The online Jeep forum was consulted where the problem seems to be not exactly uncommon. StepDad arrived in the nick of time and helped me get it closed.

Breakfast was Finnish pancake (pannakakku) with bacon, sausage, coffee bread (pulla), watermelon, orange juice, and coffee. There was a lady selling beautiful hand knit items and another selling jars of honey and beeswax candles. I got to visit with family and a friend. 

Gas was needed. I stood at the car minding my own business while the gas pumped. There was an older man (as in older than me, a population that keeps shrinking) with a large pickup truck on the other side of the pump. He edged himself around the pump and onto the little concrete pad separating us.

Truck dude said something unintelligible and I said “Sorry?”

Truck Dude: I have a five-year old grand-daughter Cora.

Me: Oh, nice (while wondering if I’m supposed to either know this guy or exclaim that he looked too young, which he definitely did not).

Truck Dude: We something, something.

Me: Sorry?

Truck Dude: (moving closer, speaking louder) So, we have a summer home in Maine.

Me: Oh, that must be nice (wondering why he would be telling me this and if I’m supposed to gasp in amazement, jump up and down clapping, or something else).

Truck Dude: (leaning closer) So, Cora goes upstairs to my wife’s drawer and pulls out a bra and holds it up. (He pantomimes holding a bra in front of his chest.) And she says, “Gigi, your boobs go in here.” (Now chuckling.) Only five years old!!! (As if she’s a baby genius and just wrote a concerto or discovered a new planet or something. And I'm wondering why a five-year old is allowed to go through someone's dresser drawers. No boundaries in that house?)

Luckily, he stepped back to his side of the pump. My tank was full and I hurried to get in the car before he graced me with more stories. Random info bombs from strangers happen more times than I could possibly count.

The 4x4 canvases.

Back in Lowell, the plan was the “4 by 4 for Education” art event. Artists create four-inch by four-inch canvases, and tickets are sold for $25. Names are dropped in a bucket and drawn at random. When their name is called, the person chooses a canvas to take home.

There were 16 “top choices” marked on my list before I stopped making notes. I liked pretty much all of them, and figured when my number was called there would surely still be something I liked. My name was called first, a variable that had not been considered in my musings and choosings and I panicked. It was stressful having 100+ options. We had a second round of tickets, and at the end, I had two canvases. 

My choices.

After the “4 by 4” there was a quick stop at Market Basket. It felt appropriate as I was already out. With my six selected items, I headed to the long express checkout line, next to all the other long lines. A woman (younger than me, a growing segment of the population) arrived at the end of the express line the same time I did. I told her to go ahead of me, she said I should go, and she walked past as if to another register line.

When register lady got to the other side of me she paused and began rambling in slurred words that the Express line would take forever because “some people cheat” with too many items. She then launched into a lengthy tale of an older lady, “like 80” who had many more items than the Express Lane sign indicated and nobody said anything about it and then nobody would help. A lot of it was unintelligible and I nodded occasionally.

The tale continued. The cashier didn’t enunciate. The old lady couldn’t hear well and gave the cashier $20 when he said $24 and he got snotty and shouldn’t be in customer service. Nobody would help the old lady but she, the teller of the tale, helped, because people need to be nicer to old people, and she knows because her own mother “is like 60.”

I just kept nodding, while wondering if she was ever going to stop talking and also if she was going to dislocate her shoulder patting herself on the back for helping the old lady. Finally, she moved on. My line had not budged an inch through all of it and I wondered if the bags of ice and the freeze pops in the cart ahead of mine were melting.

Info dumps from two random strangers in one day is a bit much. It was nice to be home where it was quiet.