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| HUMOR FROM THE PUMPKIN PATCH By Marti Lawrence Articles published in The Examiner Newspaper Survival Skills and Shopping Getting a leg up on the competition The Super Bowl many consider it the ultimate competition. (No comment on the half-time show.) Others think "challenge" is defined as the reality show that followed - pitting man against nature and his fellow man (or woman). I smirk and say, "Ha!" with a haughty head toss, because I know what the ultimate survival experience is. Shopping. |
| More specifically, going shopping with a broken leg at a crowded discount store when forecasters are predicting a massive snowstorm and every soul in the area feels the sudden urge to lay in enough supplies to last until July. That my friends, takes guts. First is the slippery drive with the inexperienced teen at the wheel. Middle Son displays remarkable bravery, but his white-knuckle death-grip on the wheel reveals his discomfort. We stop near the entrance and employ the emergency flashers, (sorry, I said I wouldn't comment on the half-time show). Son scurries to set up my walker, as I cautiously test the ground surface for slickness. We've made it this far, so I carefully place my weight on the walker, and wave Son off to park the car. Gently inching forward, I encounter an area untouched by the granular de-icer. I am not supposed to put any weight on Right Leg. Unfortunately Gravity, (remember him? One of the cape-wearing Enforcers for the Laws of Nature) didn't get the memo, and as the walker goes one way and my left leg goes the other, Gravity decides to pop in for a quick hello and jokingly pull my Right Leg. Right Leg instinctively shoots out and hits the ground, sending electric shock wave of pain to Brain. Brain yawns, (been there, done that) and forwards message to Humor Center. Suddenly my head is filled with the mental image of two giant angry turkeys, each gripping one of my legs, while squawking gleefully, "Make a wish Tom!" Blessedly, Son arrives, still shaken from parking car in overcrowded lot, but stable enough to guide me into the store. Herds of frantic shoppers, muttering, "Gotta stock up, gotta stock up", rush by us as we flash anxious eye signals to the greeter. She smiles her wonderful smile, and parts the crowds like the Red Sea to lead us to the awaiting electric scooter. The store is packed, as nearly maniacal forecasters are predicting Biblical blizzard conditions. We park the walker, and take off for the brave new world of motorized mayhem. It is amazing how something as large as the power-driven divan I am steering is apparently invisible much of the time. That is the only explanation I can determine, for how often I go unnoticed until an errant shopper crashes into me. Or those who see past our Cloak of Invisibility, the scooter also seems to emit some sort of confusion ray, as many are befuddled at its appearance and stare blankly at me, then frown slightly, unsure of what their next action should be. I smile, offer apology, and hit reverse. This embarrasses, yet amuses Son, as going backward engages the warning alarm. 'BEEP BEEP BEEP' sounds the alert; I twist the handle too strongly, increasing speed, dislodging several items from nearby shelf. The cloak of invisibility falls along with the dislodged items, and suddenly EVERYONE notices me. People three aisles over turn to look and step aside. Son blushes bright red, then develops sudden interest in shampoo bottles on shelf, to avoid being labeled as Companion to the motorized madwoman. We slowly fill the attached basket as we check articles off our shopping list. My seated position lowers my field of vision to hip-level, and I must search for items through a legion of legs. I spot the last snow shovel, and barrel towards it as though a NASCAR title is at stake. I grab it moments before another hand reaches for it, and am grateful for the pity points my disability has earned me, forcing the other shopper to sigh and walk away, doomed to white death by their inability to remove the certain-to-reach-the-rooftop drifts that are predicted. The shovel handle protrudes from the front of the basket, lending a certain medieval demeanor, as though we are preparing to enter a jousting tournament. We continue on, and Son is soon bored. For sport, he begins to tell me that we just passed a much-sought-after item. This will force me to use reverse gear again, eliciting the loud 'BEEP BEEP BEEP.' I am visually scanning the shelves when I hear him snickering and realize that he is playing games with me. I raise my eyebrow and he bursts into uncontrollable laughter. I make a mental note to dig out his naked baby pictures to publish on the Internet. My pain medication is wearing off, and I am overcome with a hot flash, causing sweat beads to arise from every pore. We approach the checkout lanes, with me moaning and perspiring profusely. Unfortunately the Cloak of Invisibility has reactivated, and long lines of mindless shoppers clutching candles and canned goods ignore us. Brief angry thoughts cross my mind, and I secretly hope that if the power goes out, they own no matches or manual can openers. At last we finalize our purchases, and our bags are piled high into a cart, proudly topped by the shovel (now envied by the hoards). Son ventures forth for the car, and I return the wheeled wonder to a waiting walk-challenged warrior. The ride home is more relaxed, although Son maintains firm 10 and 2 o'clock grip on steering wheel. As we park at home, I say a silent prayer of gratitude and ask forgiveness for my wicked checkout-line thoughts. Son laughs while telling friends the story about causing Mother to back the electric scooter up for no good reason. I smile my Mona Lisa smile, watching the flakes slowly pile up outside, as I eye the snow shovel that awaits him. |
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