A Little Light-hearted Humor…with a Bit of Bite

© 1983, 2011, 2015 By Bob Litton

NOTE TO READERS: Hi, folks! I have a confession to make: I haven’t got anything fresh to write about, not anything anyway that anyone but the fellows down at Harry’s Tinaja bar would relate to. So, until some truly insightful inspiration pops into my brain, I thought I would continue with what I have been doing the past two posts: delve into my remaining stack of old newspaper columns and feature articles.

If you are one of those readers who can see nothing valuable in recycled material and want to desert me, I can well understand where you are coming from. I will not resent that at all. Well, actually I probably won’t even be aware of it, unless you write a “Dear John” email informing me of the dump.

For the rest of you dear, faithful readers, I will write a brief preface here of what you can expect in the near future, unless that pesky muse suddenly inundates me with ideas. I have a stack of ten to fifteen articles from my newspapering days to share with the Cyberworld. I say “ten to fifteen” by design because I possibly might cull a few out as being either too dated or as not quite clearing the high bar of interest or humor. A few are funny and a few are serious, one even “deadly” serious. A couple of others are just plain weird. So, stick around and enjoy!!!

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An exposé of female manners…!

C.J. FAWCETT tells me he never had more fun than working in a supermarket.  “I learned so much about people just watching them shop for food,” he said. “I wonder if there’s any correlation between the way a woman pushes a grocery cart and the way she drives a car.”

I smiled at him.  “My impression has been that women act the rudest in supermarkets and laundromats,” I said. “That was the main reason I bought a washer and dryer and I eat more often in restaurants than at home.”

Our little conversation got me to reminiscing about experiences in washaterias and grocery stores.  I used to try to get to the washateria at the time it opened on Sunday morning.  That would usually give me about 30 minutes with maybe only one or two other people showing up.  I could get all my laundry—not much really—into two or three washers close together.

If for some reason I didn’t make it early enough, a sense of doom drifted like a cloud over my head.  I knew I was probably in for a rough go of it.  Sure enough, entering the place I could see that all of the carts had been appropriated and that, instead of clothes in them, there would be giant-sized boxes of soap or maybe a baby.  Also, rather than being parked in front of the washers where the ladies’ clothes were, they would be parked as reservation signs in front of the dryers.

Thank goodness I don’t have to cope with that anymore!

However, I still have to contend with female aggression at the supermarket.  Sometimes, though, their rudeness at the grocery store is at least humorous.  As C.J. said, most of it has to do with the way they push their carts, or rather abandon them temporarily in the middle of one aisle while they go into another aisle to pick up something they forgot.

The routine that really tickles me happens in front of the vegetable bins.  I’ll be behind some lady who is strolling along taking a leisurely gander at the produce, apparently not certain what she wants.  I, who had already decided before arriving at the store that I needed a couple of tomatoes, will start to reach for a nice, full, firm, red tomato; the lady, her neck craned around, suddenly decides the tomatoes weren’t so bad-looking after all and she grabs up the one I was reaching for.

And then there are those young mothers who couldn’t find anyone to look after their two-year-olds while they go to the store.  Actually, this is not so much a situation involving rudeness as it is one involving danger—not to the kid but to the merchandise.  For some reason I cannot fathom, the mothers don’t anticipate that when they park their cart, with the child sitting in it, in front of a tiered stack of syrup jars something catastrophic could happen.

Well, guess I’ve made enough enemies for one day.  Better let it be at that.  I will mention, however, that practically everybody I’ve mentioned this lack of females’ manners to has agreed with me….Of course, they’ve all been men.

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The mayor a teetotaling hooker…?

MAYOR Richard Hoyer says he’s been receiving a lot of good-natured razzing because he’s helping the women latch-hook a bunch of tapestries for the community center.

“One thing I’ve found out,” he told me, “is that drinking and hooking don’t go together.  I’ve had to forgo my nightly nip.”

The mayor’s tapestry project depicts the Monahans water tower—one of the achievements during his tenure of which he is most proud.  His only problem with it is that the sketch for the tapestry contains flowers.  “There aren’t flowers out there,” he said. “The kids ate ’em all.”

— The Monahans News, September 29, 1983

 

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3 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Joe Pitnet on February 2, 2015 at 8:51 pm

    Enjoyed today’s offerings, after a long day of snowmobiling in Yellowstone National Park.

  2. Much thanks for the appreciation, but I don’t quite get the connection between washing clothes, shopping for groceries, or latch-hooking tapestries…and snowmobiling in Yellowstone.
    But then, there are more and more features of life I don’t understand.
    Thanks again.

  3. Dear readers —
    One of my friends–an “email follower”–wanted to comment on this post but had a problem doing so in this spot, so she sent me an email. I don’t know yet if the problem she was having was attributable to the blog site’s system or to her limited knowledge of Internet navigation. However, I wanted to display her comment so the Cyberworld could read it. So, I am posting it directly below:
    “Just wanted you to know that I loved the little bit of humor with a little bit of bite. And I agree with you. But there will be a man, here and there, at the grocery store who thinks just because they make an appearance, once or twice, in the grocery store, that we have to bow down to them. Move, so they can pass; you know, stuff like that… But, nonetheless, I laughed! — Marcie (Molinar)”

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