You have no idea. The old man goes to his usual Publix store, high-priced and brightly clean and he has relatives who own piles of stock. And Wal-Mart scared him because Florida was a whore for the NRA. At Wal-Mart, his gun might not be big enough. Like Trump says.
The old man didn’t want to leave the house but the dogs were out of food. Might get ugly.
He’s in this store two, three times a week. They know him, like that Hunter S. Thompson quote, ‘Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die.’ Too pleasant and polite to Taze.
The little dog, the yappy dog, the wife’s dog, the old man wanted to be tactful, she used to be overweight and now she’s up another four pounds. Vet put her on a diet. Half a cup of kibble in the morning, half a cup at night. Cut green beans, one-hundred-percent pumpkin and baby carrots, rest of the time. Turns out she loves pumpkin. Somebody should.
Meanwhile, the old man’s old dog who has had a full bowl of food available at all times forever has now seen a sudden, unexpected and unappreciated turn in his life. The old man knew just what that was like.
The bowl was full and always available. Now it’s gone, except for once in the morning, once at night. What’s up with that? There’s a political metaphor there. If you look hard enough.
Like the old man, the old dog managed to be big and lean at the same time. The two old big dogs tended to wolf down their infrequent meals. The young redhead and her little dog were grazers. Nervous eaters. Nibble, nosh, nibble. The old dog was naturally lean and the old man was something of a personal trainer. He was his own client with, as the young redhead put it, nothing better to do.
Meanwhile, she worked long hours trying to provide universal health care for free at the county hospital emergency room. Her Fitbit gave up after the first week. Rush, snack, stress, snack, rest, snack. The old man told the produce manager he had created a monster with the buy-one-get-one-free cups of watermelon chunks. Which were now the go-to taste treat around the house.
The old man and the old dog didn’t do watermelon chunks. They liked weiner tots and pork chops and drippings, that’s what the young redhead called grease from something tasty. Like bacon. Cheese good, too. And for your own safety, never actually say the word ‘cookie’ aloud unless you are what’s known as a confident dog owner. Because, trust me, he is.
But the boys had to get along, wanted to get along, Loved to get along with a couple of fully-packed dumplings who weren’t all that happy with green beans and pumpkin either.
Why is the right thing to do so often the hard thing to do, he wondered. If you are angry, why not be angry at the folks who sold you all this crap from soda to mortgages to fake schools and magical copper knee braces and foreign cars. Tastes great! Lose weight! It’s easy!!
The old man liked to have the bag boy and bag girls help him out to his car. Always fun to offer crazy unsolicited career advice, like you should move to Oregon and become a dancer.
Blake’s a big young man, reminds of that huge guy in Of Mice And Men. Or Mall Cop 2. One of those. In case of an assassination attempt, he could use the kid as a shield. Only, the kid’s not smart enough to stop a bullet. Old man opens the back door, opens the large bright red cooler and points into open emptiness. Blake asks, where do you want me to put the cold stuff? He could forgive a kid at that age – who could only think of girls – for putting the canned vegetables with the refrigerated blueberries. Granted, an esoteric combination.
But the old man and Blake got to the bottom of the cart and, you won’t believe it, in the back corner is a completely unbagged quart of one percent low fat Grade A milk. The old man and the bag boy look at each other.
You didn’t pay for that.
You didn’t bag it.
Now it’s the middle of July in the middle of summer in the middle of the Sunshine State. Mid-day. The old man was only able to go after convincing himself he was Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. He was done shopping for the day. Done standing out on pavement. Beer in the cooler not getting any cooler. Did I mention it was hot.
It’ll have to go back.
No, it won’t.
The old man looked over his shoulder and was amazed and amused by that hateful glare the human shield gave him. Kind you want to punch in the face but then next thing you’re in trouble. Don’t need no trouble. The old man, nothing to see here, nothing to see, as he drove off with the makings of a lean latte.
Here’s my point. All this division, wherever whomever, is basically insecure people frightened of The Others or Them.
Wouldn’t we all be better if we reduced obesity, fixed the bridges, provided health care, improved education, yada, yada.
Wouldn’t we all be better if we had all performed national service. Gotten a good education. Paid child support. Turned down the first free hit. Used protection.
Guess looking at the voter and saying, you could start by getting your own act together, that wouldn’t be a winning message.
Last guy to try that was Bill Cosby. Didn’t go so good.
For the sake of everybody in the band, act like you got some sense.