Just Another Day At The Tummy Temple

It was raining this morning, so it was time to sleep in. We need rain like Noah needed fleas.

Finally there was a break so I could make a quick run to the Tummy Temple without passing any dead bodies along the way. It was later than I normally wander so I didn’t see the same sites. It is like how the sun moves in the sky; time presents a different pallet. There is more street graffiti and some big machines have dug some holes and patched them up. There is a black sleek Mercedes sports car on a corner with a ‘For Sale’ sign in the window. Passed a granny with a little one jumping into puddles. The traffic patterns are different so I shift down to Geezer Speed.

After tying up my pony and checking the big black cloud in the sky, I searched for one of the zip wire carts, and then picked up my remote control scanner.

Now my daily shopping does not have a list or coupons. The goal is to wander about the store, checking specials, thinking about what would be the meal for the day, seeing where the food and drink have been moved and avoiding the old people.

Today’s find was the ‘Ball Park’ microwave hamburgers. While the staff was shuffling foodstuff around, I couldn’t find them. I figured it had to be in a freezer but it wasn’t with the other frozen burgers. Today as I weaved back and forth between the Pot Pies and the Ice Cream, I turned around and ZOWIE! There they were. What a prize.

Some soup and the last can of Mrs. Fearnow’s Delicious Brunswick Stew with chicken all scanned with my laser blast. Then it was onto the chips aisle for a can of cocktail peanuts (don’t want to worry the critters about de-shelling peanuts).

There is a new staff at the Tummy Temple and more hustle than I’ve seen in years, but they still haven’t figured it out yet. I have sent some positive comments about good interaction with employees and call them by name (they wear the tags so they have a name).

As the story goes I had to go around to another aisle and then wait for the parade of the dazed and confused, I go back up to retrieve my can of peanuts. A new face I didn’t recognize was restocking and had cardboard boxes all over the aisle blocking traffic and access to my little $1.59 can of peanuts. I reached around the blockade and grab a can. I pulled out my laser machine and scanned the barcode.

Then I noticed I was blocking the space for this elderly to pass, so I tried to zip out of the way. As I was passing by and excusing myself, she asked if I was in ‘Weight Watchers’? If I had been clever enough to say, “I should be” I just looked confused. She said she saw me scanning the can of peanuts. (Think about that. What would someone who is following the ‘Weight Watchers’ be doing in the chips aisle?) I tried to explain to her about the new Scan,Bag,Go! Project and wondered how she evaded the redshirts instructing the newbies how to point and shoot. “Is that your scanner?” she asked certainly unaware of the display at every entrance. “No, it is theirs and I have to give it back”, I replied without getting into the download app for your smart phone.

Zipping away I got my hydration, pointed my laser multiple times and headed for the checkout area. Keith and Chris know my order is the same everyday and after the robot showed my order, came over to confirm that I was older than dirt and I was away.

Other than the cardboard box blockade, things seem to have settled down and become organized. There seems to be a bit more hustle in the new faces, but due to the rain, I stopped and talked to Brian resting in one of the bumper cars. As I waited I see Keith and Chris moving hand held baskets back by the door double-step.

The rain stopped and I moved to wipe off my pony and fill the saddlebags and patiently head for home. On the way I see the granny and the little boy still splashing in puddles.

Something’s never change.

Bombing Mountains

From what I’ve seen of war, the idea is to blast the hell out of the other side until they surrender. Last one standing wins; at least that is how history reports it.

So we always had an enemy to fight. Another country or another race or another religion gave us reason to blast away for years and years. It was great for the economy for the hunters demanded bigger and better guns to hunt humans.

While the body count didn’t matter for we had lots of land to dump the carcasses the population gave up their sons and daughters while changing from building houses and refrigerators to tanks and cannons. All for the good of the country, we were told and off we went.

Reports of battles and bombs and destruction were just words in the newspaper. The war stayed ‘over there’. Letters and newsreels filled in the rest of the propaganda.

Correspondence of wars were heavily censored to not offend the people back home but when Vietnam came along, something slipped through the cracks. Parents started seeing why their sons were coming home in boxes.

9/11 introduced ‘live’ television of the event. This was not a censored and edited newsreel but multiple camera angles of minute-by-minute action including commentary.

So the President of the U.S.of the A. declared the enemy was ‘Evil’. We were going to war again ‘Terror’.

Take a moment to let that sink in.

Our country with all of it’s troops and planes and guns were going to fight an ideal. Where does ‘Evil’ live? How do we find ‘Terror’?

Seems some of the pilots were connected to Saudi Arabia, but they are our allies, so let’s go after the Taliban. We were not paying attention of the Russian debacle as their Vietnam.

So we load up and ship a bunch of fresh-faced kids who want to give a punch to this ‘Terror’ and it seems they live in the mountains in caves.

Send over the big planes with big bombs and bomb the mountains.

What? Wait? These are mountains. Did we not learn anything from Iwo Jima?

So these invasions of sovereign lands to attack and attempt to defeat such enemies as “Terror” and “Evil” seem to be accomplishing the same results as the “War on Drugs”.

I don’t know the military strategy and maneuvers and have never been in battle where survival is more important than some order, but I wonder the idea of bombing mountains?

Still the country I live in seems to want to be the world’s policeman and rid our threat from the ‘bad guys’ with the continuing sacrifice of children.

Maybe we can drain the oceans to get rid of the shark attacks?

What kind of kid were you?

Not talking about the elementary years where you are too young and still learning basic life survival skills or the high school years when you are a baby-adult testing your ideology as it forms. I’m talking about the middle school years. The years when you are still a kid but starting to form your own personality.

Did the kids come by and ask you to come out to play ball because you were a jock? Were you invited to tea parties and gossip? Did kids hang out at your house because you had the best toys? Did you dad entertain the kids with stories of the war or mess with his car or miniaturize train? Would everyone come by lunchtime because your mom baked great cookies?

Think about those summer vacations when you didn’t have to go to a building with a bunch of strangers. What did you do? Who did you hang around with?

Do you wish you were that same kid?

And they all fall down

Yesterday had an interesting moment that I’ll share with you.

It was a usual summer day. Bun-Bun was waiting outside the door then hopping over to the empty plate smacking her lips for blueberries. The usual procedure changing glasses from foggy to dark and applying lip balm, strapping on my fingerless gloves and an old helmet, then starting out on my usual path.

Since it is summer and it is warm, the pace is fairly slow past the usual cars and sidewalks and empty houses with an occasional woman walking her dog while talking on the phone or a sweaty jogger.

I look to my right and there is this man lying in the grass leaning on one arm. Next to him is an overturned pull cart. He is not struggling or crying out.

I ride by and wonder why he was examining the grass so closely. Then I started to think.

Had the man fallen and couldn’t get up? Had the man been attacked and knocked down? Had the man had a heart attack? Was he just checking some blade of grass or an interesting insect?

Should I go back or should I move on?

Let it be known I’m not one to get involved in other people’s business. I wave at nameless neighbors and familiar faces but don’t stop to chat.

With all my first aid training including CPR and defib, I am not EMS qualified render of aid and assistance. I’d just a soon check your wallet for cash rather than a phone number.

At the same time, I’ve fallen. As one gets older balance starts fading and the quick jump up and brush you off takes a bit longer. That situation will only grow more and more as time goes by.

What if that had been me? I’ve fallen in the backyard and who would know? There is no one who will come check on me. There is no one who will rush out and give assistance. That is my decision and I must deal with the possible consequences.

I tell the neighbors when they see the buzzards circling, they will know.

Funny? Maybe not for many old people die alone.

As I returned from my trip I looked up the street and saw the flashing lights of an ambulance at the spot I had passed. My mind was relieved that someone had come across the situation and had acted where I had not.

It is just another day in just another life.

Sidekick

Whatever you call them: partner, significant other, BFF with/or without perks, wingman, etc. this is the person you enjoy hanging out with.

This is the person who laughs at your jokes, shares your secrets, defends you and expects the same. This person usually has the same lights and taste but with just enough difference to make conversations interesting.

This association can be a momentary blip in time or a life-long agreement.

The bond with a sidekick can be a handshake or a kiss or a contract.

A sidekick reflects upon you and you do the same until people cannot tell the two apart.

Sometimes the sidekick wanders and becomes someone else’s sidekick. A third sidekick just loses the bond. Sometimes a sidekick moves away and never comes back and one has to find a new sidekick.

Some individuals don’t have a sidekick. They go it alone.

It frees up space but does not add to the conversation. There is no one there to pick you up if you fall or have your back, so the individual must rely on one’s own wits to survive alone. Decisions made, money spent and no one to consult or blame.

Or you can adopt a puppy?

Stand Up

While everyone is on social media throwing tomatoes and accusations and shouting opinions, who among us will stand up?

Who wants to do more than just spout off and jump in to effect new ideas and stand up for your values?

“Come together”, “Resist”, “Organize”, etc. come to mind as chants on social media from those in headphones watching large screen TVs from an entertainment system that drains your mind and wallet to numb whatever your true sanctimonious ideas you may believe from what you watch and repeat. Eat your bag of gluten free chips and diet sodas and sleep well feeling self righteous in your comments. Tomorrow will just be another story to mock.

Yet who among us is willing to stand up and take part in our disillusion?

Sure we will go into the booth in November and click on a D or a R or a I or an unknown and walk away with a sticker on our jacket, but who the heck are those folks?

Some work hard to get in the position to be on that list. Some used to have family names to promote their position. Some were chosen by the ‘party’ and some just networked better than others.

Political positions are not an easy job, but it pays well. These are people, if elected by the masses, who have the power to represent the rest of us lowly smucks. These are the folks who are on television every night complaining about each other.

My question is who among us would shut up and step up to apply for a position that has an opportunity to change stuff?

It is easier to be a Monday morning quarterback than to get out on the field and throw the ball.

It is not an easy occupation decision. Just think of all the things you have to deal with?

• Education • Immigration • War (you choose the subject) • Cyber security • Infrastructure • Climate change • Women’s reproductive rights • Gerrymandering • Gender identification • International trade agreements • Pay raises • Cancer • Food and water purity • Guns • Banking • Opioids • Marriage • Obesity • Housing • Energy • Copyrights • Economy • Suicide • PTSD • Social security • Vets • etc.

That is a lot of stuff to put on a plate of one who whishes to stand up in front of a crowd and take questions.

You could still print the posters and attend the rallies and wear the t-shirts and hats and even go door-to-door promoting your chosen’s position. You could even be that chosen one.

Stand proud and tall and announce this is the way.

Digital Nomads

Heard that term this morning and it makes sense for the 21^st century. All you need is a laptop and Wi-Fi.

No need to commute to an office. No need to clock in and work from 9 to 5 under some overseer. No water cooler gossip.

Meetings can be held online emailing proposals and Skype face time. The cloud can hold multiple chats in real time while everyone sits around in their pajamas. Time clocks are unnecessary because everyone is a contractor or freelancer. Projects are outsourced and when deadlines are met, a one-time fee is paid without benefits.

Still a digital nomad can work anywhere in the world. There is no loyalty or even business branding. It is just a job.

The downside is that the nomad must organize taxes, medical insurance, pensions, etc. Also the heat, desk, lighting can be shared in restaurants, coffee houses, clubs, bars, libraries, medical centers, etc. that allow a person with a laptop to sit all day using Wi-Fi not charged for.

“Excuse me but where is the plug I can charge my phone in?”

What's Cooking?

The dog days of summer and it are too hot to eat. It is just no fun to cooking in a hot kitchen. Without a garden that demands preparations of crops and storage until the rest can be consumed, the daily ride to the store retrieves someone else’s effort to produce food. It is no difference than a fast food preparation or a sit down meal in a fine diner; someone else is in the hot kitchen.

The cook out and the grilling and outdoor partying are welcomed by the warm weather until the mosquitoes get too thick and the sweat becomes uncomfortable so we retreat into the shelter of artificial cool.

Comfortable while the sweltering heat bakes the outside walls, grown accustomed to munching on salty snacks and sugary drinks watching the big screen on the wall dull our minds.

Maybe the ‘joy of cooking’ in the heat is the ‘joy of eating’?

Sorry, I’m not hungry.

I Broke The Tummy Temple

Old dogs can learn new tricks.

After a day of constant rain I finally found a clear spot to wheel out to the Tummy Temple to restock. Another lovely greeter was helping the unaware of the technology advancements to “Scan, Bag, and Go” (oh and pay for) with the remote control devices but I’ve already figured it out. Scan the barcode on your shopper’s card (now that I’m a registered shopper) and pick up stuff and point the laser at the item and drop it in the grey bag.

Yet I’m finding some flaws in the system.

One is I’m not used to walking around with this handheld device is in my hand. I don’t have a smart phone so I’m unacquainted with check my palm every few minutes to see if Aunt Sally’s cat had kittens or if Timmy was asking Louise to the prom. So I’ve learned just to prop it into the coffee cup holder in the wire basket because I also don’t need constant caffeination. 

I wander about my usual paths seeing that the milk is where the ice cream used to be and the eggs have moved to make way for the orange juice and I still can’t find the artichoke hearts.

My second revelation of this new technology (I know they are watching me, probably have face recognition) is the light handheld remote control can go home with you. After doing all my scan and pay and wheeling out, I passed through the security bars and NO sirens or lights or whistles or burley guards tackling me to retrieve stolen property. I suddenly realized I had not removed the handheld scanner and immediately turned around and back through the silent doors to put it gently in the “Place scanner here” rack then made a quick exit before the cops arrived.

Today’s discovery of “What could go wrong with “Scan, Bag and Go” was to load three six-packs of adult beverages into the gray bag then walk to the self-check-out-do-it-yourself finalization station and point the laser light at the designated barcode below the screen (as instructed) and wait for the screen to refresh showing all the purchases for final approval and payment procedure. It’s Easy! It’s Fun! It didn’t work.

Instead I get a window that acts like I’ve never done this before and wants me, the customer who has followed all the rules have failed the test. Immediately Chris and CJ (who has the best smile) come with questioning faces. I’ve broken the system.

CJ takes my handy dandy handheld device and I pick up the products again to rescan on the checkout scanner. Again I need verification that I’m old enough to drink 3.2 beers without a pat down. The big screen shows my order wrong and it takes a few minutes for multiple screens and tapping keypads until I can finally walk out with my order.

I thank everyone for my “Assistance Needed” and wonder if you just buy beer without a can of beans, does that not compute?

Here is another tip, but don’t tell where you heard it. That ‘free’ gray bag they give you, is scanned by the checkout scanner. It knows how many items are inside and how many items you have scanned. Check your receipt. Those Tummy Temple folks are pretty sneaky. If you don’t scan an item and don’t put it in the gray bag, well you have a FREE gift.

I’ll have to send a note to Kyle and tell her what the flaws are in her system that I’ve found so far. Tomorrow I’ll ask for another gray bag. That will confuse the scanners.

Your continuous daily shopper and faithful Tummy Temple member, I will enjoy the adventure.

Have You Been Listening?

I ask few people their beliefs or political persuasion. I do see comments and post on social media and wonder if they would say the same thing face-to-face?

The other day, listening to ‘On Point’ on NPR (oops! Just lost half my readership) and they have a call-in portion where people with nothing better to do or a strong conviction to the topic at hand voice their opinions and thoughts.

Most of those call-in shows I turn off or in my sanctimonious smugness laugh at what I hear, but this time I listened to the callers. Could hear their confusion of thoughts and ideas or just plain crazy rational for their call.

Then I started to ask myself, “Who are these people?” Some are retired but some are young. Some are white and some are of different diversities. You can learn a lot if you listen to the voices.

These are Americans. These are the people from cities I’ve not gone to with histories I don’t know. They are rural farmers with concerns of tariffs and students with massive loans. They are gays rejoicing in their pride and blacks worried about their hides. They are people who confirm their impressions into beliefs at the dinner table or the roadside diner. Over a drink at the corner bar or a knitting circle strengthen the bias without any comparison research or investigation of other options. This is America calling in.

I think about the callers. Who are they? What brought them to this call? What happened to them or their family to bring them enough gumption to pick up the phone and place a call?

I think of myself as a fairly educated person with an open mind to opinions and ideas. I may not agree with them and may ask questions and research further in the context of the comment or statement. I may provide different point-of-view to create a civil debate. I don’t want anyone to persuade me and I will not be persuaded. In this America there is freedom of speech and better yet, thought?

I don’t listen to many talk shows for the callers seem to only want to confirm what is being discussed by a panel of unknown ‘experts’, but I will listen to well thought out ideas from different viewpoints to better understand the topic.

Listening to my countrymen and women I get a better idea of who voted this president into office. It scares me America. It scares me.

FIX-IT!

The car is out of line • somebody needs to FIX-IT • That pothole did it • somebody needs to FIX-IT • The sink if overflowing • somebody needs to FIX-IT • Davey needs a new pair of shoes • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • That is a terrible crash • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • The roof is leaking • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • She broke my heart • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • That score is wrong • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Where is my raise • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Ouch! That hurts • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Poor lost puppies • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • That music is too loud • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Cancer • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • The chips are stuck in the vending machine • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Some one just robbed the Dollar General • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • What is that smell • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • The copier is jammed • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • It is too hot • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Dinner • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Bigotry • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Religion • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Government • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • Red states/ Blue states • somebody needs to FIX-IT  • America • somebody needs to FIX-IT  •

So Now What?

Everyday is the same. Another disaster happens and we shake our heads and wring our hands.

Unfortunately there are the daily reports of shootings because people done got a bunch of guns and bullets and seem to get angry about mind alternating substances or just the heat.

Across the screen appear others suffering from bombs or natural disasters and sorrowful eyes of children and abandoned dogs.

More reports come in of people fleeing crime and punishment with humanity turning their backs from being overwhelmed with no solution.

Our elected officials have no answers except to run in circles while others ask for more and more money to fill the hole in the dike.

Let us pray.

 While some in the bleachers are following the cheerleaders the rest are just bystanders following the parade.

Think Global, Buy Local

“Think globally, act locally” urges people to consider the health of the entire planet and to take action in their own communities and cities. Long before governments began enforcing environmental laws, individuals were coming together to protect habitats and the organisms that live within them. These efforts are referred to as grassroots efforts. They occur on a local level and are primarily run by volunteers and helpers.

Back in the day, the one brand of bread on the shelf had wheat grown in Nebraska and shipped to a local baker, usually by rail, to be combined and cooked and packaged and delivered to the local market. The other choice was to bake your own from a mix.

Today there is a whole aisle full of every variety, shape, size, texture, and brand of breads, rolls, buns and baguettes baked from around the world and delivered to our grocery to give the customer choices never before imagined.

So the great thinkers realized the big picture by working together and trading ideas, techniques, products the entire planet could prosper.

But… there is always a butt.

If you taste prefer a rye bread from Israel or pumpernickel from Germany, what will happen to Brenda’s Shake and Bake shop down on the corner? Competition is what makes or breaks a company.

So awhile back there was this nationalist campaign to “Buy American”. It was about the time the Japanese cars started to arrive along with the Middle East oil embargo. Buy products that say “Built in the U.S.A.” while Michigan was closing down plants making gas-guzzling cars. Even after 9/11 all those magnetic flags people put on their cars to show the National Pride were made overseas.

Look around in your own house. Where was your clothing made? Where did your furniture come from? Who constructed your refrigerator? Was your television ‘Made in the U.S.A.’?

Maybe we have forgotten we are all in this together?

Parenting

Disclosure: I am not a parent. I’ve never been a parent that I know of.

I never figured out how that worked.

I am a child of a parent so this is just my point-of-view. This is not intended as a Do-It-Yourself instructional manual but one person’s history.

Parenting, from what I’ve read in history, was the teaching and training of a baby created by a man and a woman. Back in the day the parents were responsible for teaching basic skills like pooping training and how to eat without assistance. Good parenting taught how to tie your shoes, comb your hair and how to make your bed.

When parenting was the only training, the girls would be shown how to sew and cook and sweep the floors by the mother while the guys followed their dads out into the fields to cut wood, bale hey and learn the complexity of tractors.

Parents also were supposed to teach speaking or at least some form of verbal communication with family slang and colloquialisms. At the same time they were taught their parents biases and prejudices, whether intended or not.

Then public schooling took over the chore of teaching the children how to read and rite and rithmetic. Your child was taught obedience to a stranger who was smarter than your parents. The responsibility for your child to write their name, read a financial contract or balance a bankbook falls to the school. Today the school system is over burdened with everything from mental evaluation to policing violence.

For the kids who show enough smarts to avoid the factory or fieldwork were sent to university or higher learning to be exposed to philosophy, psychology, sociology, animosity, amorously, and more with the freedom to cogitate their own thoughts.

I was lucky enough to only fail one year and with a series of summer school retraining, made it through all the expected schooling and got a piece of paper but not sure I was much smarter.

I did know how to write my name enough to sign a marriage certificate, bank loans, mortgage contract, divorce papers and everything else people put in front of me to ‘sign on the line’ though my scribble of today is nowhere near as neat as I was taught.

So what about all that other stuff?

My parents were not keen at helping with homework so I just put it to the side and watched television instead, probably a reason for my good grades? My mother did buy a subscription to the World Book Encyclopedias (the first Google) from a traveling salesman but it was out-of-date by the time out of the box.

I did go to all the classes and got good attendance ribbons but wasn’t paying attention. I would have skipped school but everyone I knew was in school so I just followed the crowd. That is how we were trained.

Writing lead me into drawing which lead me into a career, but reading was another matter. English was easy enough with ‘Dick and Jane’ but I didn’t read enough to understand dangling participles, as you know if you have read any of this blog. Arithmetic was easy pass the flash cards because there were formulas that later helped when computers came cheap enough to buy. Unfortunately math did not help with balancing a bankbook.

What about the rest of the stuff that makes your life interesting?

I was never interested in sports. Dodge ball meant getting hit with a ball and football meant getting knocked down and basketball meant running back and forth on a wooden floor so I migrated more to softer sports like tennis and golf. Unfortunately not as many had the access to country clubs so without much pushing from my parents, faded from my interest.

Manly training, formally the assignment of the father, was passed to the Boy Scouts or Summer Camp that taught sharpening knives or camping or shooting arrows or guns. Sailing, fishing, water skiing, scuba diving, surfing were all taught outside of parental observation or participation.

I learned to dance at summer camp. Imagine a bunch of boys doing the cha-cha to a record player, but the reward was a Saturday Night Barn dance with the girl’s camp.

Being a water baby, I always seem buoyant in the water and learned how to survive in the ocean by trial and error. After being told I had to know certain strokes to swim in the deep end of the pool, I think my brother taught me or maybe it was someone else in the family to kick my feet. After a friend of mine drowned when we were swimming together, I took it seriously joining the swimming team at the club and even a lifeguard.

My mother always handled first aid training. She was the one to kiss my boo-boo with a band-aid or fed me soup and crackers when sick. She was the one who took me to the hospital to get parts removed or be sewn up. The training did not extend to the knowledge of the doctor cost.

Moral direction was assigned to the weekly meetings at the church to provide faith and ethics without answering my questions. The rest of belief structure was taught by friends and foes that I encountered through life.

Understanding right from wrong and the consequences of punishment, I don’t recall. If I was ever whooped, I don’t remember. I never had my mouth washed out but do remember an event where I mouthed off at a passing car and got pushed around and my basketball trashed by a bunch of bigger boys. Lesson learned.

Learning to drive was from the public school system program and a few test-drives through the neighborhood with my mother before filling out the form and getting my card. Both cars were always being used so I didn’t have that much access to them, but when I was given a chance to drive to the store and get a quart of milk, I took advantage of it.

The rest of it was ‘learn as you go’ as everyone does for there is no instruction manual to living. Everyone does it differently.

Will this be on the test?

Strangers in the yard

They were invited in and were paid fairly well for the reason to be here, but it was still intrusion of my private space. Having strangers wander around your property does raise the blood pressure.

Not invaders or threatening but still apprehensive of unknown intruders, the time passes for them to do their contracted task, clean up and leave the private space.

I’ve had my share of strangers in the yard doing different task that I’ve requested and paid for. Some have been competent and others very questionable but I paid the fee so the job would be done. Some I invited into my house which is even more stressful, especially when they are hammering down your walls.

Down the block and behind the alley there is constant noise of construction. Seems years our yard was the biggest construction project but most of that was power saws and hammers during the days when others were away at work. Still we were the first on the block to do more than plant some bushes and cut the grass.

The next few projects will require opening the door and letting strangers into my ‘home’. I can point out what I want but I may not be able to communicate with them.

When it is all done and paid for, will I have more security? I’ll still lock the doors and turn on the outside lights and wonder, will they come back?

At night I sit in the darkness and listen to the rustling of the leaves and the late night sounds and know I am the stranger in the yard.

Latest Technology Upgrade Update

Today is the day. Today I’m going to do it. I’m going to Scan & Bag & Go!!

The decision was made but it wouldn’t be that easy.

It started with the ride to the Tummy Temple. I’d changed my ponies’ saddlebags and the ride would feel different. I was on the big pony, sitting higher with hands closer and the muscles and joints work differently. Plus the light Sunday traffic was just weird. Two white SUV stop in the middle of the street to talk to each other. Autos driving backwards or double parking so I take my time.

Lock up remembering to use the ‘other’ key and walk in. The motherly white-haired woman in the redshirt is busy with another so I just move around and pick up my blueberries. I wheel over to the deli section but there seems to be a long conversation going on by staff restocking and blocking the way so I weave back to the front door and announce, “I’m ready to try it!”

“Do you have your Kroger card?” she ask knowing I always have my Kroger card and always have it scanned even though my elderly discounts has gone away. The first step is to scan the barcode on the back of the card (just like they do when you walk through the rolling belt line).

BOFFCOO!! It didn’t read the barcode?

“Type in your phone number” she asked. Punching all the buttons and…

BOFFCOO!! It didn’t read my phone number?

“You have to go to the Customer Service desk to get a new card” she said with her usual smile.

So I wheel over to the Customer Service desk and wait for some women to get her money order or some such transaction of money with much confusion. As she left with a blessing, I moved up and told Michelle “My card doesn’t seem to work with your new ‘Scan&Bag&Go’ scanners. In her usual non-committal style she took my card and scanned it and said, “It works fine.”

So back to my original display but the white-haired woman is talking to some staff or IT or some official person is instructing her so I wait. There is another person also waiting. After a few minutes of small talk with this other woman as she scanned her phone, our instructor comes back and selects the woman for I’m a troublemaker.

Just then this gorgeous blonde walks up and ask if I need assistance. I pick up my jaw and explain to her my befuddlement. She scanned my card and it again did not work but this time her holding that remote control was the sexiest item I’d ever seen. Kyle (her name tag read) was like those girls who point out cars or turn letters, yet she was smart enough to realize that I was a ‘ghost’.

She led me back to Michelle (I would have followed her to the gates of hell) and had her check my account. Sure enough I had a piece of plastic but no connection to me as a person. Name, address, phone number, zip code, e-mail and BOFFCOO! I was now in the Tummy Temple database. I wonder now how I got old age discounts before without them having my data? Did I just look so old they felt sorry for me? Was I just shopping on the day that they bused in the walker brigade? I have been mistaken as Santa Clause and Jerry Garcia so the white hair must give me away.

So with Kyle assistance (I think I was drooling by now) she held the scanner in her alabaster hands and the lights brightened and the angles sang as the doves were release to fly around and poop on the produce. Her smile that would melt most hearts had sucked me into my grocery store knowing more about me than I may wish, but she promised me blueberry discounts and I’d believe whatever words came out of those pouty lips.

I had to leave her to her duty (or I’d wet my pants) and wandered back into my daily route through the aisles pushing my zip cart with my new remote control. I wonder if I can get channel 13 on this thing? What happens if the battery wears out before all the items are scanned? Whatever I got a new bag.

My first items were two cans of soup. Soup comes in a curved can. I picked up the can and held the scanner and pressed the “SCAN” button and got a ‘Sorry, this scan did not take’ or to that affect. Maybe my hand was shaking? Maybe the laser was too close? Maybe it can’t scan around a curve? Little more tries with a rejection notice and then logic pointed out I could scan that little label on the shelf. BINGO!

While this new system for the customer to do more work makes me wonder this ‘honor system’ required for all the items were correctly scanned? Who would check that you picked up and bagged three items and only scanned one? How would they know if you picked up a $30 bottle of wine and scanned a $6.50 barcode? Will the Tummy Temple security squad tackle you in the parking lot as you are trying to get away with stolen goods?

I finish my path around the room of the newly painted wall and the still construct floor in the back by the milk; I ventured into the NEW checkout machines.

“Wesley get me out of here” I said to one of my familiar Tummy Temple Team carrying my scanner full of stuff that I’d bagged myself. Since we had frequent conversations he pointed the scanner at the bottom of the display screen and pressed, “SCAN”. “Give it a minute to display,” he instructed and then sure enough all the stuff I’d scanned appeared on the screen. Then it was push button on the screen, put in the debit card through the regular payment method, and waits for the paper printout. He came back and showed me the “CARD” button to finish the processing.

Maybe now that the Tummy Temple has my location, name, telephone and e-mail they can find out that I’m older than dirt so I can scan a couple of six-packs without another person verifying I’m ancient? Luckily Wesley had that special code to get me home restocked.

“How did it go Cliff?” I heard behind me. “We now know your name.”

It was the blonde goddess Kyle in the mix of this insanity of training the congregation of what the future holds.

Somehow I got home without a collision with my neighbor packing up his kayak parked in the alley and changed into my yard clothing. Watching the French win the World’s Cup and settling back into a routine of a hot summer day, I accomplished the new technology of procuring nourishment.

Tomorrow I’ll be back to try again. Repetition increases familiarity to a new process.

Maybe Kyle will be there?

Nasty Talk

It seems we can’t resist abusing one another. Everyday on our ‘social’ media there are post of potty mouth, offensive videos, and hateful comments and opinions.

Why?

Civic virtue is the cultivation of habits important for the success of the community. Closely linked to the concept of citizenship, civic virtue is often conceived as the dedication of citizens to the common welfare of their community even at the cost of their individual interests. The identification of the character traits that constitute civic virtue has been a major concern of political philosophy. The term civility refers to behavior between persons and groups that conforms to a social mode, as it being a foundational principle of society and law.

Everyday we turn on the news to reports of brutality, discourse, offensive behavior and it has become the ‘new’ normal. Like some sort of action movie, we are attracted to rude behavior and consequences that numb our moral spirit.

Everyone has an opinion and following the trail of denigrating, insulting and embarrassing insulting remarks by our elected leaders, do we need to chime in to rebuke our bad voting decisions?

You decide, but I won’t read it.

Technology @ the Tummy Temple

Shower, shave (what’s that?), tie up the wet hair and find the cleanest dirty shirt for my daily adventure to the Tummy Temple. Still chuckling about a FB video of sample shoppers (thanks Trish) I climb on my pony on a beautiful summer day and attempt to exercise to and back again without some life threatening disaster.

What is on the shopping list?

The same everyday: Blueberries (3 or more depending if they are $3 or $6), can of cocktail peanuts, replenishment of seed if needed, hydration medicine and possible meal for the day. Get a small zip cart and wheel around like I own the place while the butcher, baker and the most important stocker is working hard to make a variety of American (and foreign) abundance is available for me to consume.

After a block long walk around in my only air conditioning, I line up at the checkout. Some days, depending on my arrival time, I can walk around, cooling down and noticing changes in signs and placement of items after all the shifting. I can also enjoy the femme fatale behind my dark glasses. Don’t squeeze the Charmin.

So it seems the entire shake and bake of the re-organization of this grocery was to bring in ‘High Tech’.

I don’t know? Buying grocery was never a game; it was a process. Going to the grocery was just another way to waste your time during the day, like getting dressed, walking the dog or taking a poop. There was never any rush that suddenly there would be no tomato sauce or they might run out of corn flakes, so to me, a walk through the aisles pushing a wire cart was like a stroll in the park. The plus was you get to observe humanity interactions without getting involved.

I don’t mind technology. I went from paying for bills with scratch to checks to swiping cards to chips and walked out with my selections in a timely manner. I have used the self-service scan machines, but alcohol has to be verified before walking out the door and sometimes the one helping everyone with their processes takes time before plugging in the code that I’m ancient.

I’m old school enough to know that Larry, Katy, Westly, Victoria, CJ will look at me and know I’z old enough to drink an alcoholic beverage without an ID check since I look like Santa Clause and smell like yesterday’s news. Besides it is my only chance during the day to talk to another human being and the best part leave with a smile. 

If the ultimate goal is to eliminate the checkout personnel, I’ll bid adieu and pick up a scanner, but it does seem more work on the shopper. How many of those scanners will go home even with the warning security systems blaring to return the item immediately. The same when cell phones first came and would trip them on walking in. With all technology, batteries will run out or people will press scan too many times. Emergency call to IT on aisle #9!!

I’ll adjust.

If my entire Temple Tummy friends will be eliminated, I’ll pick up a scanner and beep and pack and follow the instructions (lemming?) only to bring home the blueberries. If it becomes too much of a fuss to wait behind the elderly lying on their carts or driving their bumper cars and needing more attention than the ordinary checkout clerk could do.

Someday, maybe sooner than later, I won’t be able to saddle up but I notice there is delivery.

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Straws

This little tube to suck up liquid has become a world hazard. What are they good for?

My first recollection with straws was milk. I like milk. We had milk delivered in glass bottles with paper tops. Milk on cereal was necessary to get the prize out of the box. Then somebody, maybe Bosco, invented a straw full of chocolate. Take regular white milk and make it brown wonderful. I suppose it was to make more kids drink milk but who doesn’t like chocolate?

The other side of straws was you could blow into them and make bubbles. What fun!

The little boxes they gave you in the school lunch lines had tiny straws in them. The soda jerk always put a straw in your cherry coke. The umbrella cocktails came with straws.

But straws didn’t work with milkshakes. Straws were never put in Tequila shots or champagne because they would fall out of the glass. Don’t remember anyone drinking brandy through a straw. Do you offer someone who drinks beer out of a can or red Solo cup a straw?

Straws were great for blowing the paper wrapper or shooting spitballs but they are filling up the ocean and the fishes are not happy. It seems these little tubes don’t biodegrade very well.

So why do we need straws?

 Are we not big enough to tilt the lid of our sippy cup and slurp down the liquid? So you make a little spill now and again; that is what bibs are for.

Just put your lips on the rim and throw it back, slam down your glass and ask for another.