One year ago today: September 8, 2017, routine questioning, my eye!
Five years ago today: September 8, 2013, the $48k evening course.
Nine years ago today: September 8, 2009, my last mall burger.
Random years ago today: September 8, 2016, I miss my hobby.
Here’s your best pics yet of the location. These pretty much show all the important aspects. In order of appearance, first are the two main approaches to the central area, which I will rename the courtyard. There are a total of four ways to enter from the streets on all sides if you count walking through the ice cream parlor.. The first panel looks like a dead end, but around that corner is the ice cream parlor and the street where they hold the antique shows every second Saturday. The second panel is the walkway to the pub, where most business is expected. There is no place to grab a bite to eat downtown after 8:30PM on weekends. Unless you want to drive out to the highway.
Next is an excellent view of the brick wall on the south and west sides. This is the area I did not know was there, as it is invisible from the street. The east wall shows the awning and chairs of the commissary. Those double doors are the back entrance. I am negotiating with the commissary for any prepared foods like sandwiches they may have left over at closing time. For them that is around 4:30PM.
I’m going to sweep and possibly vacuum the area early next week. The area is surprisingly large and open. At some point, there was a large gazebo standing in the corner. Now, when I say corner, I don’t mean in the alley itself. Tell you what, give me five minutes and I’ll go draw a diagram special for you on the chalk table. Go grab a cup of tea and meet me back here. Okay, this is more or less to scale. I just found out my temporary camera has no close-up setting. This is the clearest of the batch. It shows all the important things, like my cup of coffee.
The X marks the spot where the wagon will be set up. This peculiar shape is why it suggested a courtyard to me, and that little open area is private property of the commissary. So the alleys are both unobstructed, as required by the city. There is some lighting after dark, but I’ve supplemented that with LEDs on the cart and my double mantle Coleman. Startup is definitely scheduled for this upcoming Friday, the 14th. And if I didn’t say, I’ve been invited back to play the Fubar again this Thursday. It was not busy the last time I played, but rumor is if I’m not there, the place is completely dead. Hmmm, is that good news?
Log barn.
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By early afternoon I had wasted a trip to Winter Haven. The advertising said they had the item in stock at that location, but you get a different set of facts once you arrive. I wish somebody would sue these bastards. What’s aggravating is they all tell you how to shop, oh, they say, just order on-line and it will be here tomorrow, like they are the genius informing you of something new. Listen, bozo, are you going to pay me to stand in the ordering lineup and pay me for the gas and time to make two trips? If not, STFU. Damn millennials. They never know where anything is, so they think they’re impressing the old guy by looking it up on a terminal. Which takes them five to six times longer than I can do it myself. Man this country has gone to the dogs.
Or how about that dipshit look on their faces when you tell them winners don’t use credit cards. What? Oh, that.
Or the way they say go buy a gift card. I guess they really have nothing better to do with their lives than stand in yet another line. I said screw this and went to the donut shop. Where I discovered the daily newspapers just doubled in price. Two bucks for the Ledger rag, and four bucks for the Orlando libtard news. These people still have not admitted that Obama lost.
This is why I laugh when these big chains go out of business. They think it is clever to pass their costs to the customer, but keep their old prices. Who remembers the big Petco scam, where the sold the dog food but cranked the price of the delivery? I heard it actually fooled millions. The philosophy of these places that advertise items they don’t have in stock is that if they can sucker you into the store, you’ll buy something else so as not to have wasted the trip. I walked out. But I did go over to Staples and buy a decent cash box. See photo. Beware, there are models on the market with what I call a “metric” tray. It is a little too narrow to lay American bills flat into the space.
Or the clincher. Weight 4.2 pounds, but actual weigh may vary. Now does that spell public school millennial hipster? Or what?
Did you see Obama on the news? Making a total fool of himself, trying to mean-mouth everything Trump has done. In front of his crowd of paid supporters, cheering a fake little cheer after each pre-planned politically correct phrase he read off the teleprompter. It was a disgusting spectacle. And as you can tell, I was in no mood for it. Plus, I think I’m developing a form of ESP. Because when some people walk in the door of the coffee shop, I can tell where they are going to sit. Seriously, let me give you some examples.
First imagine a large and empty coffee shop, except for one man way over in the farthest corner who is obviously doing some computer work and calculations. Got it? Okay, in walks some shapeless single mother with her delinquent brats, the ones who learned from public school if they pretend they are “hyperactive” they can scream any time they want. Well, I know exactly where that bunch of hoodlums are going to sit. Now visualize some skanky old bitch-drunk with one of those cackling whiskey voices on the cell phone to her fat-ass daughter. Yep, the chair right next to me.
And last, you can do this experiment yourself. Put your tongue into the space between your lower teeth and bottom lip. Ready? Now say, “I like biscuits.” The people that talk like that all the time love to walk across a vacant restaurant in pairs to plunk down beside the computer guy and impress him with their second-hand opinions on raising the minimum wage
ADDENDUM
I stayed at the club a couple hours. That lady that can really follow showed up and we danced a few, but just to show the room who is boss. She is not at all my type, but she is nice. She talked a bit this time about how difficult it was to find anybody nice, which I totally empathize with. At the same time, she seems to be in a world of her own, but I mean that in a descriptive way. Take myself, I probably seem downright alien to somebody who isn’t into computers, can’t dance, doesn’t read or write much, and can’t sing and play an instrument. Well shut my mouth, I just described the entire Atlantic northeast and the bordering provinces.
She did make a point or two that I could identify with. She described how she had behaved her whole life and raised a proper family, which is nice and all. The built-in problem with that is how it is all so very ordinary. I learned long ago that it is what you do extra that counts and that applies more so as you age. Would you be reading this blog if my life centered around some grandchildren? That’s what I mean, as interesting as that might be, you can get it anywhere.
She’s slim and arrives as a fifth wheel with two married couples, usually on a Saturday. Personality wise, she’s a bit bland and totally out of the 1960s. I’d put her at least ten years older than I am, once again, I know her only because she is a great follower. She doesn’t formally dance, but she can follow the lightest lead. Once I found that out, I can get her to do anything I want on the dance floor. This is important because I’ve been dancing so many years (since I was in university) that I often match what I do to the music, or the lyrics, or sometimes the personality of the singer. The only thing I have to keep reminding her is to not look at me while we dance.
I keep it wispy since it is so obvious she’s husband-hunting. She’s an introvert and has a bad case of personality-lite. I’m the opposite, from what they say I have had some real effect on the life of every person who ever had anything to do with me. That’s how it goes. I can change everybody’s life but my own. I finally meet a gal who can dance, but she can’t do anything else. Ha, don’t it beat hell?
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