This girl is funny...not skinny.

This girl is funny...not skinny.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

I know where the Daryls are!

Good evening!

I thought I'd be writing about the insanely goofy things that seem to keep happening to me every time I get into the pool at Gold's.  I mean, granted, I should have known no good would come of me trying to replicate the foot stomp the guy in the speedo did a few weeks back. What was I thinking?  I'm old.  I'm fluffy. I have an arthritic toe!  Slapping my feet on the deck of the pool was...in a word...ill-advised.


However, no, I'm not going to tell you how I managed to further cripple myself by giving in to the urge to do that weird foot slap walk the speedo did.  Nope, not gonna tell you.  Not gonna do it.
Instead, I'm going to tell you about the other time in my life when ridiculous things seem to happen to me...without fail.  When I'm standing in line for ANYTHING at Sam's Club.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Sam's club, it's one of those buy in bulk warehouse stores.  They've added a few things since they opened their doors and now you can get big screen TV's, tires, prescription meds, eyes checks, hearing checks, and oh yes, your toilet paper...in gross.  It's the one stop shop for people with unlimited storage space.  (Or with children who can't seem to eat enough peanut butter to satisfy them.  Seriously...you should see how much peanut butter we go through.)

Now I get why people join Sam's.  If you buy in bulk, you get a better price.  We buy fruit there, the milk prices are always good, and face it, with four cats, we have to buy kitty litter by the truckload.  I get it.  I have kids.  We have a ton of cats.  We need to buy in bulk.

And yet...it seems like every time I'm in a line at Sam's club...I'm behind an old guy who is gumming up the works because 1)  He's in self checkout and hasn't a clue what he's doing; 2)  he's at the pharmacy and forgot what his doctor was supposed to order for him...and he forgot his birthday...and he forgot everything; 3)  he's in customer service asking all the question that could possibly be asked about everything because he's an old guy and has no place else to go.

I'd like to make a solemn vow at this point, and I'd like all the retired people to sit up and listen and maybe adopt this as their own policy:  I solemnly swear, when I have retired, and I have NO PLACE ELSE TO GO AND NOTHING ELSE TO DO ALL DAY I will get on with my daily business and be off the streets and out of all lines by 4:30 in the afternoon when the people who are still employed start their shopping and errands.  I will do this because, as a retired person, I have ALL DAMN DAY to get in lines and ask questions and forget things in front of people, and I don't need to be doing it during the time of day when exhausted mothers and fathers are just trying to do ONE LAST THING before they get home and order pizza...again...because they're tired...again...and have to get up and go to work early in the morning.

Now, I'd like all retired people to raise your right hand...I'll wait...because that's what retired people MAKE ME DO EVERY TIME I'M AT SAM'S CLUB!

Today was no exception.  I had four stops to make after work and one of them was to return a pair of pants to Sam's.

Let me stop here for a moment and just say, if Sam's doesn't want people to return clothing, they really should provide a trying on room.  And if pants makers don't start getting some sort of standard for women's pants, I'm going to have some sort of attack.  Seriously, any pair of pants that is in my size and labeled "SUPER STRETCH"  should FREAKING FIT!  I should not have to lie on the bed and suck in my fat if I've purchased a pair of pants in my numeric size that are labeled "super stretch."  There should be a standard.  A 16 should fit no matter what the label.  I should NOT be able to wear a 14 in some pants and a 16 in others and then not be able to even zip up an 18 in another brand.  That's just wrong.

Anyway, back to the standing in line.  So I'm in line waiting to return a pair of pants.  That's all I wanted to do.  Go in, return, leave.  Any other store in the world, this is a four minute transaction tops.  I know.  I've returned a lot of pants.

At Sam's, however, I got behind this retired couple who, I'm guessing, wanted to hear the complete history of Sam's club while trying to take out a home loan at the customer service desk.  I realize Sam's doesn't do home loans.  I'm pretty sure Old Person One and Old Person Two did not.  Not, given the amount of time they spent asking questions of the Sam's club employee.

But this post isn't so much about the retired couple in front of me as it is about the two old guys behind me. 

Back in the 80's there was a very fun show called "The Newhart Show."  If you're not familiar with the plot, it doesn't matter.  The biggest laughs came from a named Larry.  Larry was a derfy looking guy who had a line he said every time he came on screen followed by two derfier looking guys:

"Hi, I'm Larry. This is my Brother Daryl, and this is my other Brother Daryl."

And we laughed every single time.  Every. Single. Time.

Well, for those of you wondering where the Daryls wound up...I can tell you. They were standing behind me in the customer service line at Sam's club this afternoon.  And they were there, and I'm not kidding here, JUST TO STAND IN LINE.

There they were, standing there, sipping Coca Cole out of those gigantic Styrofoam vats Sam's sells.  And they looked just like they did back in the day, just a bit older, but certainly no cleaner!  A female employee of Sam's stopped to see if she could help them, maybe direct them somewhere or point them toward the door where their essence of Coke and old man wouldn't be quite so...sturdy.

"No thanks," they told her.  "We like standing in lines."

And there it is.  The reason I keep getting behind retired people at 4:30 in the afternoon. They have nothing else better to do, so they like to stand in lines...and clearly, none of them is finished doing that until well after 4:30.





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