Life in the Fast Lane

I woke up at 5 AM on Friday really sick. I was only slightly better on Saturday. My husband was out of town until late Saturday night. Sunday I was better, enough that I could get dressed. I’m still feeling the after effects of being sick. I did not go to exercise this morning.

I was almost out of milk and completely out of eggs and English muffins. I also had no dog food left. I live very close to a Wal-Mart Super Center. I went to pick up these few items. Today is a holiday and there is no school. Wal-Mart was very crowded.

I’m getting into line when some young girl buzzes in front of me and stands there. Eventually, Grandpa or maybe even Great-Grandpa pushes his cart up to her. He only had a cart because he wanted it to lean on while he walked. His hands were deformed by arthritis and his gate was unsteady and very slow. I picked up more than the above mentioned items and wasn’t qualified to be in the express checkout late. Grandpa had one (1) item and it looked like some sort of strap. He picked up a flashlight while we waited in line and the granddaughter threw in some snack item.

I try to be nice. I try to not be impatient. I try not to lose my temper. I did not lose my temper and I remained nice. Not so good on the patience front. The granddaughter stood far back in the line reading the National Enquirer while the people in front checked out and while Grandpa was shuffling forward. Apparently she was highly interested in Anna Nicole Smith. Although I would have liked to be a better angle to read all the headlines myself, I was still doing okay.

Finally it is Grandpa’s turn and Chickie Girl scoots in front of his cart and stands there. All of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, the checkout girl needed money to complete the sale. Who in God’s name would ever have seen that coming? We were all stunned. Grandpa began to try to get his wallet out of his back pocket. I don’t know if Grandpa is left handed, if his arthritis is worse in his right hand or what decision factor led to his placing his wallet in his left pocket, but there it was. Grandpa tried valiantly to get the wallet out. His pants were very baggy for any number or reasons and the wallet was not willing to make an appearance. Chickie Girl who brought Grandpa to Wal-Mart wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever and Grandpa continued to struggle, for more than a minute. Just as Chickie Girl realized that there was an issue, pop – out came the wallet.

Ta da

Grandpa pulled a ten from his wallet and handed it over. The checkout girl made change. Grandpa’s hands were deformed, as I mentioned. He did not grab for the change. Instead, in an act that defies any logic, he asked how much soda was. The check out person was nice and answered that it was around a dollar, thirty and Grandpa wanted to know how much change he was getting. She had already said it was a dollar, forty-seven but she repeated herself being kind and patient. So, Grandpa perused his receipt. And then he told the check out person to give Chickie Girl the change. Then he shuffled forward and took his bag and began to head for the door.

I realize that old people with infirmities are slow. My mother slowed down terribly in the last year she was alive. Would it have been so difficult for the granddaughter to have actually helped Grandpa? Was paying for goods at a checkout counter really that surprising? Am I just a crotchety old coot who is still feeling less than 100% after days of the flu?

Who knew that going to the local Wal-Mart could be so exciting. BTW, I beat Grandpa out of the store and Chickie Girl was no where to be seen.