NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Herman Intaglio is ahead of me walking towards the self-check out line at the Snaz Super Store, where I am buying what I first picked up as a pair of gardening gloves. In fact it is a three pack. You can pay by smart phone but neither of us has moved into smart communications, and so here we shall stand dumb, and in line. Looks like he has has an electronic Snaz leaf blower with all the bells and whistles in his shopping cart. It is vacuum packed in plastic on a red and orange cardboard backing. A suburban family is pictured with the leaf blower in action. Blond young boy and girl smile next blond Mom sitting on a low retaining wall next to a huge unblemished pumpkin, while dark-haired Dad blows a cloud of generic leaves off a perfectly even deep green lawn. His deltoids fill out his shirt and well-muscled arms are tanned coming out of his immaculate white tea shirt worn outside his faded denims. I see him from the side, his strong chin points the way for blower and leaves. No dust shown, and Mom and the kids are blissfully unmoved by the noise this picture can’t show. Even the golden retriever lying at their feet is unmoved by Dad’s powerful gadget. Bright wet nose glistens above smiling open mouth and thin wet tongue rests between his tall white canines. Every one is out on this perfect sunny fall day to smile, be happy and watch Dad blow and bag the pesky leaves, which, if left around, will ruin the carpet of lawn and turn it back into forest.
Herman turns for some reason and sees me.
“Fred, you got one of these?
“Not yet, still use a rake.”
“This is quicker, and it has this neat feature. It will vacuum the leaves and feed them into a bag, as well as blow!”
“Very useful, but I’ve been composting you know.”
“Too much of a stench Fred, and you get germs in there and critters messing. Bag them Fred. The county will pick them up.”
“They won’t stink if you only put in leaves and grass clippings.”
“Naa… I stay away from rotten vegetation.”
“Have you been away? Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Yes got a teaching gig out west for a year.”
“Where?”
“Aurora College, up in Canada.”
“Oliver! Oliver … get over here! Mommy’s phone needs charging we have to pay over here.”
The woman in front of us is calling a child of perhaps four running around the kiosk where the presiding cashier sits to help those having difficulty checking out. Oliver is imitating a siren so loud his voice distorts and he starts coughing.
“Oliver, why are you coughing?”
Ignoring the call, Oliver strips off his brown fleece jacket and leaves it on the floor in the path of those on their way out with heavily laden carts. The woman calling him grabs his arm as he comes by.
“Go get your jacket.” He tries to wrench himself free but can’t.
“Oliver, go get your jacket.” She still doesn’t let go of his arm. Oliver starts jumping up and down chanting; “Buy it, once Buy it twice, and SAVE!, It’s half price”. The jingle is playing over and over again at a nearby display of garden furniture. The woman turns her cart towards the pay station ahead of us. She begins scanning items with her free hand, but has trouble, then the light above her pay station starts flashing. The machine’s voice says, ”Please wait for assistance”, Oliver stops his chant and stands at his mother’s side staring at the machine. She turns back to the child, stroking his short brown hair with her affectionate hand and then pulls his green t-shirt down at the back where it had ridden up as he unloaded his fleece.
“Oliver, are you listening to me?”
His face is reddening as he jumps and chants breathlessly, and his shirt rides up again as he jumps.
“Oliver, What did I just say to you?”
He has turned his back distracted by an electric cart going by loaded with cartons. A flashing light turning on top of a mast above the driver’s head reminds Oliver of emergency vehicles and the siren sound. He starts up again and immediately coughs.
“Here, Oliver. Oliver, you want a Twinky? Have a Twinky honey”
She has a small packet in her other hand. The cart with its exciting flashing light has passed. It is till visible reflecting off a stainless steel refrigerator on display yards away. Oliver turns again now trying to climb the back of the woman’s shopping cart. He pulls on a low hanging strap of her purse. The purse opens wide enough for her pen, compact, keys, a notebook and three more Twinkies to fall on the floor.
“Oliver, honey, look what you have done to Mommy’s purse!”
A uniformed woman with a badge of Glitz Security Services, on duty at the exit, steps towards her and gives her Oliver’s jacket.
“Oh thank you!”
Oliver runs off down the paint and decorating isle behind us.
“Oliver get back here, do you hear me? Oliver! Oliver!”
There’s no sign of him for a few moments.
Herman bends down and picks up the woman’s compact, keys, and notebook. The pen has rolled under the cart out of reach, as have the Twinkies. He straightens up and tries to offer her the things he has picked up, but she has hurried off to look for Oliver who comes running over with a can of white spray paint.
“Oliver, give me the can.”
Oliver dances around waving it in the air and drops it. The cap falls off. She steps quickly towards him to grab the can off the floor and Oliver runs away with the cap.
“Oliver! You get back here!”
She runs after him. The woman from Glitz Security has appeared by the cashier. The cashier now walks over squashing a Twinky in her haste and swipes her card and taps the screen canceling the woman’s purchases. She moves the woman’s cart out of the way. Herman is still holding the Mother’s things. With the cart out of the way he reaches down to pick up two uncrushed Twinkies he couldn’t reach before.
“You going to buy those?”
“Yeah right Fred, and a can of paint too.”
“See if the cashier will take them.”
He tries to get her attention but she is busy with another customer.
“I guess I’ll just hold them until she gets back with the kid.”
He steps out of line with his leaf blower and lets me go ahead of him.
The pay station has shut down. Herman asks the security woman if she can start it up, but she shakes her head and points to the cashier. We have to join the other line with three people in it. There are only two pay stations because most people use their smart phones at this upscale Snaz Super Store.
The woman returns pulling Oliver along by one arm. “You want another Twinky honey? I’ll give you another Twinkey if you help Mommy.”
Oliver isn’t listening. He is still looking back towards the paint cans while stumbling forward by his Mother’s side. They stop. She squats down and puts her arm around him to corral him and uses her free hands to pull a small box out of her bag. It is sheathed in plastic with a straw held under it in its own plastic wrapper. She starts pealing off the clear plastic packaging, which curls around her fingers in strips that she stuffs in her bag, but the static cling holds them back and some of fall out on the floor unnoticed.
“Oliver you want some juice honey?”
Oliver still isn’t paying attention. He throws the white paint can cap out in front of them. It bounces and rolls under another customer’s cart.
“Oliver, why did you throw that thing honey?”
They have stopped in the long wide isle between the pay stations and the rest of the store. Customers are jammed beside them as some one pushing a cart loaded with sound proof ‘Homasote 440’ and a bucket of dry wall joint compound tries to maneuver past. She is squatting down still trying to get Oliver’s attention face to face, but he twists and turns away. The security woman joins them with the white plastic cap in hand. She bends down to talk to him and Oliver calms down. They all walk off towards the customer service counter.
“So what do I do with this stuff now Fred?”
“Here, I’ll take it over to customer service while you are in line.”
Herman hands me the Mother’s things.
The Mother has now put Oliver in a shopping cart where he is busy with the tablet the store provide with each cart to advertise and guide customers through the endless isles of the store.
I put her things on the counter next to her as she is in discussion with the service clerk. The Mother looks up.
“Oh Thanks so much, wasn’t that kind of the man Oliver?”
Oliver is absorbed by the beeps and electronic advertising voices coming from the tablet, and doesn’t look up. I tell her she is welcome and get away.
