I’m Exhausted, But Looking Good
Before I had even picked up the morning paper from its hiding place in the hedges, my wife, the lovely and standing erect, Dawn, was up and awake. This was getting spooky. The next thing you know lions will be lounging about with lambs and Marie Callender’s Banana Cream Pie will be a diet food.
Since we were both up before the sun I started a pot of tea. I gathered up my agenda for the day and headed out to the early service/brewing at the Chapel of St. Arbucks. St Arbucks – the Patron Saint of Jittery People.
None of the Usual Suspects were there that early, so I read and sipped then sipped and read before starting out.
First Stop – get gas for the car. One can drive around on fumes alone for only so long.
After getting the tank filled I headed down to the new SuperStore that was advertising Flu Shots as well as 50% off on all gluten-free products. I didn’t want or need any gluten-free anything, but the Flu Shot looked attractive.
Once I filled out three pounds of applications, disclaimers, perfunctory health data questions and flashed my Medicare Part B card on them, I finally got my Flu Shot. I get one every year and the only side effect I have to deal with is a mildly sore arm. But Baseball season is over so I have all winter to rest up my arm for Spring Training TV Remote Controlling.
The clock on the wall said that it was after 9:30 AM and I was off to get my hair cut. Prior planning helped me to save travel time by going just across the road for the haircut.
I know that it is time for a trim when I look in the mirror and my head looks like Wolfman trying to tease his hair into an Afro. It’s not that my hair is all that long, but it seems to have been possessed by demons with rat combs.
I’m not in the chair five minutes before I learn that the woman cutting my hair is the daughter of a former coworker. I’ve always been aware that the people I know have real families, but to actually meet one like this I find to be a bit reality-stretching. It is also unusual to be getting inside gossip about other former coworkers from the stranger cutting my hair. It is almost like the old-fashioned barber shop has resurfaced for a moment. Then it was a world where cab drivers and barbers were the best informed people in the world. What a shame they never ran for office.
So far the morning has been; coffee, gasoline, Flu vaccine, and inside scoops from the woman cutting my graying locks.
I had worked out a really good street plan for this pilgrimage. Google Street would be proud – only I didn’t take any pictures along the way.
After declining the offer to have my eyebrows trimmed (I let them do that once. I went around looking quite surprised until they grew back in.) My next stop was The Bank. I had to make deposits for both Dawn and myself, and since I don’t do drive-thrus of any kind I need to park and go into the bank. The world that accommodates drive-thru this, that, and the other thing are not accommodated for me. When your left arm is little more than a functional paper weight and sleeve-filler you tend to avoid drive-thru windows. In Ireland where the cars are right-hand drive it might be different, but, “Sure and Begorrah” we are in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “No Drive-thru for you! Next!”).
I find waiting in line inside the bank to be a moment for quiet reflection and a chance to make faces at the security cameras. I’m not doing any harm and if anyone ever looks at the video they might get a giggle or two — or they might start running my picture through the list of not-yet-apprehended bank robbers – just in case.
A busy morning. No wonder I’m tired.