While making my bed this morning I found a dead wasp or hornet under the covers. This is disturbing for a few reasons, not the least of which I spent the night with a dead wasp/hornet. Or I spent two nights with a dead wasp/hornet, because I distinctly remember Paco presenting me with a dead wasp/hornet in the wee hours of Wednesday morning and promptly shoving him off the bed with the dead prey in his mouth. So either there’s a wasp/hornet hive near my bedroom and a way for them to sneak in or, I spent two nights with a dead wasp/hornet the stings of which I am totally allergic to, though I guess if it’s dead it can’t really harm me. Right?
I grocery shop at the local Cub Foods now. I used to shop at the Super-T, however I have tried to curb my Target spending greatly since the anti-homosexual/political funding flap last summer. Yes, I’m still pissed at Target. And Cub, which has its own issues but at least the Shakopee one is a union shop, is the lesser of two evils. Besides, once last summer I walked in behind an old lady who was smoking a cigarette and she never put it out. There she was, cigarette in hand, fondling corn on the cob. It was awesome.
Usually I like to grocery shop early in the morning with the white-bottoms. I’d rather take cute, slow old people than harried, inattentive soccer moms. But today, I was lazy and didn’t get to the grocery store until like 11:30. It was mostly an uneventful trip to pick up goodies for my Birthday BBQ. The trip had gone quite smoothly with only a short wait in line and a very pleasant conversation about the weather with the Cub Cashier who, in her “own personal opinion thing we’re just not gonna get much of a summer this year.”
It wasn’t until I was safely ensconced in Ruby, when weirdness struck. I was sitting in my truck, seat belt on, and rolling down the window. I have old-fashioned, hand crank windows, not those whippy, zippy automatic jobbers. I had just gotten the window down and turned the key when I looked over to see a woman’s face framed in the window. Standing outside the door was a kind of short, squat fiftysomething with greying curly dark hair, and a pink-flowered blouse.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you have any gum?”
“Gum?” I said. “What?” For some reason I had decided she was being very nice and telling me I had gum stuck to my ass or something. I would have appreciated that.
“Do you have any gum?” She started to laugh. “That machine inside took both my quarters and didn’t give me any gum.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t have any gum.”
Then she walked away and got into the passenger side of a giant, white SUV.
First, this is Minnesota. When you’re in your car you are invisible. Clearly, she’s not from around here.
Second, how desperately must you need gum to ask a total stranger who is sitting in their car if they have some? Did she just get done chewing on some garlic sauteed gym socks
Third, were those her last two quarters? Her very last quarters squandered on a faulty gum machine? Because she was at the place that sells all kinds of gum and mints. Each checkout lane is chock full of all the kinds of gum you can dream of.
Finally, where was the driver of the SUV? Presumably inside the store with all the gum and mints, right?
Call me a hyper-paranoid worrywart, but I don’t think I’d take gum from some random greasy-haired stranger sitting in her truck in the Cub parking lot at 11:50 on a Thursday afternoon.