Life, the ole minutes, hours, days they pass by. We go to the Piggly Wiggly, the experts got it all figured out, she/he will go down this aisle first, and then here’s the traffic pattern the resta the way through the store.
Eons ago I delivered potato chips. Uh huh. The Frito Lay guy. Early 80’s.. We would “lace” the bags (a fancy word for kinda plumping them up, much like fitting a shirt properly on a hanger) and then angle ‘em in the direction of the traffic flow. If you came from the other way, hell you probably couldn’t even see the words Lays, Fritos, Rold Gold.
We don’t reach to the back for the freshest can’a Chicken Noodle, we lazily reach the loaf’a bread that’s the most convenient (which is fancy for the bread guy saying “I’ll put my ones about to go stale up here, the lazy bastards won’t bend down to get my fresh ones.”)
Same thing with milk. Oldest closest. We’re patterned. We get up, do our pattern, work, go home, continue in our pattern, go to bed - and then it’s Ground Hog’s day the next day.
I AM SICK OF IT. Well. Not really. But, I’ve always been on the side of living from the other angle. I’m the type that would shuffle the twelve loaves of bread offa the top shelf and swap them with the fresh ones below so the lazy (and the aged) get fresh stuff.
I always dig thru the milk (hell… for what it cost now?) and get the longest expiration date. Ninety-five percent “turn left” upon entry to the Piggly Wiggly, uh huh, I go right.
I’m not sick of routine, but I’m “there.” I want my ole ordinary outta the ordinary back. I wanna dig thru the paper and plan. I wanna research crap to go see locally on the internet, and then go see that crap.
By golly I might even take Highway 291 to work insteada the “I can damn near get there with my eyes closed” 435.
I do hereby pledge to (there was a gal I went to HS with.. Ya know how u hear shit in your life that you never forget? She basically said “Victor is a bullshitter.” And mebbe I am. ABSOLUTELY entitled to her opine. Where was I? Oh yeah, BS’ing. I do hereby pledge to grab the fresh Chicken Noodle. Learn the Frito brands from the back sidea the bag. Swap mundane off the top shelf with new, more exciting shit offa the bottom shelf. Dates. I’ll check my dates. (Victor, you haven’t had any dates of late.) FU.
I’ll take the back roads. I’ll go to the City Market. I’ll turn an exit early en route to work. I’ll swing by that store I’ve always wanted to browse through on the way home. I might even go offa my rocker and approach a female in public. (“Status quo” is ‘she’d haveta be sitting on the barstool RIGHT nexta me for me to speaky.’)
I’ll pet my cats. Twice. I’ll leave 5 minutes early and visit with the fun feller at Phillips, or Ms. Annette at the Pour Boy. I’ll stay ten minutes after work to visit with no eyeball on the time clock. I’ll pickup my phone at home and thinka folks I ain’t talked to in awhile. I’ll find a crowd, sit, and just watch.
I am not in a rut, I just go the same way every day and dodge the ruts. Know ‘em like the backa my hand. In doing so, it’s kinda a rut. I want different. I want other. (Other was always my favorite multiple choice answer.)
If I gots something in my closet that was purchased at Brants Men’ Wear in the early 90’s, but I like it, I’m gonna wear that sucker. If I hear “the whisperers” at work focusing/speaking negatively about a specific individual, then I’ll know that person is being triple teamed - and I’ll get to know her/he. Hopefully draw a smile outta ‘em.
I am average, but different - as if that makes sense. The road is grooved, and I’ve found the grooves. I’ve been following those turning left as they enter in the Piggly Wiggly. Recently I even founda slicea bread with mold on it four days after I purchased it.
I don’t want Interstate. I want four-wheeling thru life. I love getting up, starting, getting ready, work, driving home, doing what I do at home, going to bed and doing it again. But I gots to spiff it up.
Ain’t that some pretty nifty bullshit? I’m the baby, gotta love me. Love, Victurd.
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