Captain Wesley

 

Haven’t written much about the Tummy Temple because I haven’t been in awhile. Between snowfalls and cold, I’ve isolated in my sequester lockdown. In other words, I barely get out of bed.

So here is another thought you might want to try the next time you are around people you see often but do not know who they are.

The folks at the Tummy Temple are required to wear a uniform of a blue apron with their nametag on it. I’ve made a point to speak to the checkout person or someone in the aisle I’ve asked for assistance by their name.

None of these folks know my name but they recognize me and we can pass pleasantries on occasion.

As the story goes, the Tummy Temple, in an attempt to reduce staff and make the congregation do all the work, came out with a remote scanner that each and every shopper should carry and scan in their own products to speed the process and get them out of the store, only to come back ten minutes later because they forgot the milk.

The hand held remote, when pointed at a bar code on one of the scan-your-products-here-and-wait-for-the-next-computer-instruction-on-the-screen (like some Internet game) brings up a question and answer game of agree or disagree to the amount of grub you threw in the cart (and hopefully for the store scanned) and how would you like to pay for the privilege to go home with your load and get fat.

Rather than the ‘trust me’ method of being old enough to consume alcohol, the process stops, a light goes off and the machine says, “Help is on the way”. One would assume the ‘customer card’, which has a bar code that must be scanned before beginning your food adventure that has all the information of your profile, where you live, how many children you have and which celery you prefer, would have known your age. If that wasn’t proof positive, there is a camera scanning your face and showing it on a television screen in front of you. If the face recognition software worked they would match you against their database and confirm you are a geezer (unless you are a vampire and don’t show up on the screen).

Rather than run the gauntlet of security guards guns drawn with bells and whistles and rotating red lights going off, one of the kind Temple Tummy deacons comes by with a special “Get Out of Jail FREE” scan card and with a check of your ID, swipes approval of age, height, weight and previous grocery offenses.

These people are like the checkout person behind the plastic with the cash register and the bag, but in an area where the congregation does all the heavy packing. They know the secret codes to help you weigh your onion while checking to make sure you pay for all twelve items in your cart.

One of these fine people has a nametag that says: WESLEY.

He is a pleasant enough kid (probably in his 30’s) and I always try to leave a kind comment to thank for his skill and flex technique of swipe right. I know he comes from West Virginia. I know he took English in college. I know when he takes a vacation he goes to his parents. I don’t know if he has a significant other, which God he follows, his political leanings or if that is really his hair.

What he knows about me is that I buy the same stuff everyday and buy two-6-packs of beer.

We’ve struck up conversations about movies. He seems to binge watch movies when not standing in the aisle wearing his blue apron. Since I don’t watch movies, he keeps me up with the latest selections. He does seem to have some knowledge of directors and producers and actors so our brief talks have been enjoyable. I’ve suggested he write a blog or start a pod, but he doesn’t seem to be creativity motivated (thus working for a grocery store).

One day I told him I knew a Captain Wesley and started to call him that. When I saw him I’d give him a salute. After a few times, he started saluting back. It did get the attention of others who were packing bags in close surroundings.

When the pandemic required for all blue aprons wear mask, I called him ‘Doctor Captain’ or ‘Captain Doctor’.

It is a running joke, but it does give him some esteem.

This year I’m going to buy him some ‘Captain’ bars and see if he will wear them on his apron. I don’t know what the Tummy Temple’s dress code is for guys wearing jewelry?

You have to make life interesting, because it doesn’t come that way out of the package.