typea_all (5 page)

     "Please do."

Chapter 4

When I got to work the next day, I threw away the samples I had taken at Reynolds' house. I was waiting to be fired all the time, but Reynolds must have thought better of complaining, and I didn't hear any more about it. I wore simple conservative hoop earrings because I didn't want to call attention to myself.

     I was getting pretty friendly with the people at the lab, and went out for lunch most days with some of the girls. We went for an early lunch so we could catch breakfast at Smitty’s, formally known as Smith’s Clam Bar.  In season, the place is known for its lunch and dinner menu, al fresco seating on bar stools at a counter, great clams and great smells. It's right on the bay, and from the counter you can see boats sailing by. That's important because the place itself is nothing to look at, and if you didn't know better, you'd turn up your nose and drive away. You'd be missing some great food, though.

     All year long, they sublet the inside area of the place every morning as a breakfast shop. The best breakfast I ever had. Since they only serve until about noon, we arrange the schedule so at least two of us can get over there by 11:30.  I either get pancakes with chocolate chips and walnuts -- that's health food to me – or a wrap.

******

After work, I decided to treat myself to dinner before shopping.  I drove out to the Hamilton Mall, about 30-minutes from work, and stopped at Applebee's for dinner. They have an oriental chicken salad that I love. Oriental greens with chunks of chicken, toasted almonds and rice noodles in an Oriental vinaigrette.

     Then while I was still relatively fresh I drove over to Big Apple Bagels for my battle with the Bagel Lady.

     Ryan hates going shopping with me, although he does go along. He says that watching me shop is like watching professional wrestling without the fun of grabbing and punching. So I had one fight with an old man and knocked him down with my cart.  The old man started it, but Ryan won't get over it. Other than that time, it's more threats and yelling than physical contact, like touch football.

     "I'll have a dozen mixed, but no egg, garlic, or onion, please."

     I watched her like a hawk. She put on one of those cheap plastic gloves and grabbed a few bagels. Then she used a gloved finger to scratch her head.

     "Could you please put on another glove?" I asked.

     "What?"

     "You touched your hair with the glove. Could you please put on a new one?"

     She stared at me like I was from outer space or something. I suppose some of the stupid sperm make girls as well.

     "That glove is dirty now,” I explained. “I don't know what you have on your hair, but I certainly don't want it on my bagels."

     She made a strange face, but she took off the glove and put on another.  Then she collected a few more bagels.

     "Hey, hon, can we take this coupon?"  One of her coworkers came over and handed her a coupon. She took it with the gloved hand.

     "It's okay, take 25% off," and she handed back the coupon.

     "Could you please put on another glove?" I asked.

     "What?" This time really annoyed.

     "You touched that coupon with the glove. I don't know where that coupon was. Some dog could have urinated on it.  Could you please put on a new glove?"

     "It was just a coupon."

To this lady, hemorrhoid cream must be brain food.

     "I know it was just a coupon, but do you know where it came from? They could have cut it from a magazine in a doctor's office, covered with germs. It could have been in a newspaper at the bottom of a birdcage. The person who cut it out could have some disgusting skin condition, or anthrax. I don't want germs, bird shit, or someone's skin on my bagels," I yelled.

     "All right lady, I'll put on another glove."

     Now that we understood each other, she finished giving me my bagels, took me over to the cash register and took my money.

     "Thank you," she said, a little too sweetly.

     "Thank you," I said.  "And don't forget to change that glove for the next person; you never know where my money came from."

     When I got back to the car, I sprayed a rag with 90% alcohol that I kept in the car, wiped off the bag, and put it on the backseat. No dirt gets in my car.

     Next stop the uniform store, The Scrub Shop.

     "Can I help you?"

     "I'd like to just browse for a few minutes first."

     "Okay."

     But it obviously wasn't okay with her. Everywhere I walked, the saleswoman was on my heels so close that she'd break her nose if I stopped short. I don't know if she was afraid I'd steal something or just liked how I smelled.

     "Could you give me some room, please," I told her.

     "I'm just here to help. Doing my job."

     "Well, can you do your job from over there?"  I pointed to the other side of the store. "I'll call you if I need you."

     I turned around but could still feel her presence. She was so close that if she shook her head I'd hear the rocks rattling back and forth. In the jungle world, an animal would pee on the ground to mark their territory, to define their space. I didn't have to pee yet, so I faced her once more.

     "Listen. I just got off from a hard day at work. My feet are killing me, but I desperately need to buy some scrubs. I need some space, just a little space, to think. And I can't think with you tailing behind me. I'll just be a few minutes, okay?"

     "Well, just call me when you're ready."  Instead of going to the other side of the store, she walked over to the door. Either this place has had a serious shoplifting problem or she's seen my picture on the Most Wanted list in the post office.

     Now that I knew what really annoyed her, however, I took my time. Suddenly my feet didn't hurt so much and I was enjoying the game.  I strolled around the shop, even walking very close to the cash register a few times.  I made a sudden turn to the left down the shoe aisle, and then cut up the school uniform section.

     Just for the hell of it, I looked at a few parochial school uniforms, wondering if I should get one to wear for Ryan.  I played around a few minutes and then quickly turned back to the scrub section. When I toyed around with the saleswoman enough that I started to lose interest, I actually called her over and picked out a few things.

     I bought six sets of scrubs. Three were sets of poly cotton solids with v-neck tops and drawstring pants. Three were cotton knit – one mock turtleneck, the others tee, all with drawstring pants. I also bought four colorful and fashionably coordinated warm-ups. The real treat was the shoes.  I bought three pairs of clogs to supplement by own collection of sneakers.  One white, one blue, and one tan, all with adjustable straps that could be worn either front or back. I figured that even if I got fired in the morning, I could wear this stuff around because they said, "cool working woman with chic, a combination of style and practicality."

     I also bought this ballpoint pen that looked like a hypodermic needle with red ink for blood, for a laugh, and a geeky-looking lanyard for around my neck to hold a pen and keys.

     I wiped off the bags and put them alongside the bagels in the back seat.

     The final stop, Wal-Mart. I just love Wal-Mart because you can buy just about everything you need in life.  This Wal-Mart was a few minutes from the mall.

     You have to know how to shop in Wal-Mart. While some folks in Wal-Mart are from the bottom of the gene pool, there must be something in the DNA that makes them perfect Wal-Mart shoppers. They instinctively know how to use their carts for defense, where to find the bargains, and how to find the shortest lines.

     I call it the Wal-Mart gene, and someday I might even win the Nobel Prize for my discovery.  The gene is recessive in some people, like geniuses and anyone with an income over $60,000.  It is dominate in people who have a disabled car in their driveway, have a dog chained to a pole in their front yard, or who live in a mobile home. To the rest of us, it's a crapshoot – some get it, some don't.

     Of course, I learned a few Wal-Mart tricks myself. If you catch it at the right time, the lines aren't too long. When the lines are really long, however, I pick up a few pharmacy items last, show a little cleavage, and the pharmacy clerk will let me check everything out.  Then I just buzz by the long lines like the princess that I am.

     I also learned not to look anyone directly in the eyes, unless they run their cart into you.

     "Hey, watch out, I'm a bleeder," usually works. Just a right combination of reprimand and guilt.

     "The store not big enough for you?" also works, along with "Hey, the eyeglass department is over there if you have trouble seeing."

     First, I went to the automotive department and picked out two sets of dark gray seat cushions. These would save me from using paper on my car seats, and I could just clean them off when they got dirty.  I got ones that were smooth on one side, but with little bumps on the other.

     Next, I went over to the sewing department. Wal-Mart usually has a few bolts of material at a buck per yard. I like to go through them every so often to see if there's anything different. I had luck that night. I found a wild Hawaiian print that would make a great shirt for Ryan, and a bright yellow print that would be a nightshirt for me. I also picked out a few buttons and a zipper.

     Wal-Mart has special ladies that cut the material for you, but the minute they see someone waiting they beam into outer space. Luckily, they put this little bell at the counter that's supposed to reach Mars or Pluto, or wherever the help disappears to.  Usually you have to ring the bell for at least five minutes before the sound reaches them. If I were with Ryan, I would daintily hit the bell once like a lady, but I was on my own today so I slammed that sucker about a hundred times as hard as I could.

     "I'll be right there," a voice yelled from space.

     I finally got the material cut, and underwear was the final stop.  I love underwear. I like bright colors and comfortable material. That rules out lace because it usually itches, and I won't wear a thong because I hate the material riding up between my cheeks.  Wal-Mart has a great selection of underwear, at reasonable prices.  I found six pairs of panties that I liked, and then I walked over to another department and added two sports bras and two sets of workout clothes, just as a treat.

     The lines weren't too long, so I read a few soap opera magazines while waiting. A few great shots of Cameron without his shirt on. Yum.

     Now you may think that wiping off bags before putting them in the car is little too much, but did you ever see the bottom of a Wal-Mart cart?  Tissues from runny-nosed kids, candy wrappers, wet papers, and rust. No way that's getting in my car.  So I wiped off all of the bags and put them on the back seat next to the bagels and uniforms.

     At last, I went home. I cleaned out the car, added the day's clothes to the wash, showered, and checked the mail and phone messages. I brought in all of the bags from the car, put the bagels in the freezer, and put the new clothes in the washer and got it running.  I left the new material in the bag, so I could wash it another day.

     Before doing anything else I called Ryan.

     "It's me."

     "Hi sweetheart. I really miss you."

     "You just miss the sex."

     "That too. It's been three weeks. I'm having withdrawal. How's the new job?"

     "Except for the fact that I have to get up at six in the morning, everything's fine." I wasn't ready to share everything yet.