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Random May Thoughts

I have so many reasons to dislike the month of May, and now this. I have been diagnosed with beerhayfever. I haven’t officially been diagnosed by anyone in the medical profession, but after six decades of enjoying this disease, I feel like I have at a minimum a PhD.

This year is different. This year, when I sneeze I cannot sneeze into my hand, elbow, the backseat, or out the window. This year, I am required to sneeze into a mask, neck gaiter, bandana or T-shirt.

My eyes itch terribly and are bright red in color. Because of the current health scare (Beervirus, which incidentally has symptoms similar to beerhayfever.) I have been told not to touch my face. Well, rules are made to be broken. Touching my face is unavoidable. My face is where my eyes are. I need to scratch my eyes. I have scratched my eyes right in front of my family and customers at the Orange Depot alike, without concern to anyone other than my selfish self.

At a recent virtual appointment with my physician, he/she suggested I use a recently sanitized pencil for scratching, eliminating the need to touch my face with my hands. OK, that was a lie. I didn't talk to a doctor.

What I have done, is purchase every kind of antihistamine (store brands are cheaper) that Wally World sells. I have read the instructions on each box and then added a little twist of my own. My PhD research and resulting papers allow me to experiment with non-prescription, non-drowsy drugs.

Many of you should be delighted that in spite of my personal health scare, I have been able to finish the taco restaurant. Well sort of, the Governor and local health department have held up the opening. Maybe we will get tacos next month.

Chapter 2

I have this thing, I can’t explain. People tell me things.

Back in the ‘80’s, I was chatting with my employer while riding to an airport. In the conversation, he said to me, “People will say things in casual conversation that will change your life. They won’t remember saying it, but you won’t forget it.” He was right.

This past week, I was purchasing construction stuff at The Orange Depot. The Orange Depot has marked the floor, set up Plexiglas screens at checkout counters, required masks and encouraged social distancing. All to keep me from sneezing on other customers and clerks.

I was waiting patiently in line waiting to make my purchases. My turn came soon enough. The cashier placed my construction stuff in a The Orange Depot bag. She handed the bag underneath the newly installed Plexiglas screen,and she walked around the screen. She was now less than a foot from me. We were mask to mask, when she asked:

Clerk: What would you do if someone accused you of doing something you didn’t do?

Me: Ah, ah, ah, I might need some more information. (I can be quite articulate if I want to.)

Here was a tiny, black haired woman (about my age) speaking to me with an unidentifiable, European accent. She was standing so close (mask to mask) we were whispering. The line of customers behind me was growing.

Clerk: What would you do if someone accused you of doing something you didn’t do?

Me: Are we talking about you? Did someone accuse you?

Clerk: Yes, another cashier at The Orange Depot accused me.

Me: Can I know what they accused you of?

Clerk: They accused me of hitting a car in the parking lot.

Me: Did you call the police?

Clerk: I wanted to, but they said we didn’t need to call the police.

Me: Did they ask you to pay for some damage?

Clerk: No, they just walked away, I went out to look my car and the cars around me. I saw no damage.

Me: I don’t think I would give it much thought.

Clerk: Why would they do this to me?

Me: OK, this is what I think. You should just go back to work, helping your customers. I wouldn’t give it another thought. Do you need a hug? (Sometimes you need to say [construction language] beervirus).

I called Elaine to tell her what just happened. Elaine tells me I have kind, caring eyes. “People can see that”. I don’t think that’s it. My eyes were fire red and itchy. Plus, I was wearing sunglasses.

Later the same day, a seventy-two year old construction worker walked up and asked:

Worker: What is Stage 4 cancer?

Me: It’s bad.

Worker: That’s what I thought.

Me: You?

Worker: No, a guy I know.

Another person has picked me. Why?

Me: Look, doctors have done amazing things with cancer research and treatments.

Worker: How many stages are there?

Me: After Stage 4, it is not good.

I will never forget these two conversations. I hope they can.

Your Daily Fiber is open. Ivy insists I wear my sneezed up neck gaiter of mask when I come in the store. We need you to buy yarn. The rent is coming. Bless you guys.

Our crazy lives!


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