Dad had dropped me off so I could do some shopping while he went to a doctor's appointment. Being one of the last humans on Earth without a cellphone, I have come to rely heavily on the ancient art of "meeting." This lost art involves two people agreeing upon a time and location to convene. It's surprisingly effective when both parties follow through. It's also completely useless if they don't.
Our agreed meeting time: Approximately 11:30. Location: Bench in front of Old Navy.
I started shopping at approximately 10:30 and wasn't about to dawdle. When I go shopping, I go in with all the careful preparation and purpose of a SWAT team hostage rescue. Don't get me wrong. I actually do enjoy shopping. I just lack the necessary endurance to extensively revel in it. For me, shopping is a lot like swimming underwater. It's fun, even exhilarating, especially with friends, but sooner or later, I gotta come up for air.
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| A poor soul after shopping too long |
By 11:10, I had rescued the hostages...err, purchased my shirts, all ten of them. I was a little early to the bench, but what the heck. Better early than late to the agreed meeting place.
I sat. I waited. I twiddled my thumbs. I pondered life.
Eventually, a potent combination of curiosity and boredom led me to find a clock. The time: 12:30. Using my highly advanced mathematical mind, I calculated the elapsed time. Wait a minute!
Wait a minute indeed, I had waited a full 80 of them. That's when it dawned on me. Like the fog lifting during a morning sunrise, it all became clear. I was stranded.
Possible survival scenarios began circulating through my head. I took stock of my resources. Two Cinnabuns for 99 cents. Food check. Bag full of clothes doubling as pillow. Comfort check. Entertainment? Well, I could probably squeeze into the climb-in toy helicopter for kids. Would I look ridiculous. Of course. But, this was a survival situation. Entertainment check.
I continued to wait. People began to look at me funny. We had left for Anchorage early in the morning to make the two hour drive. As an ardent lover of sleep, this meant omitting certain non-essential activities such as shaving and picking out a decent pair of clothes. Now at the mall, I started receiving looks I can only interpret as, "You must be the resident hobo." I was now upgrading my status from stranded to abandoned.
Thoughts began to crop up in my head. Did Dad even know where Old Navy was? Maybe he thought I was at a different store. Should I go look for him No. The only thing worse than being stranded is being lost. At least one of us knew where the other was. Myself not being the privileged bearer of this information, I stayed tethered to my bench.
As I sat, I could feel myself becoming one with the bench, the molecules within my body slowly changing into wood one-by-one. Before long, I would be more bench than man. I had to do something. I had to fight back, to save the remaining human parts of me. So, I did the only thing I could.
I took a nap. Hoping to fall into a sleep-induced time warp, I pulled my yellow "Bean There Done That" hat over my head and closed my eyes.
I sat. I waited. I twiddled my thumbs. I pondered life.
Eventually, a potent combination of curiosity and boredom led me to find a clock. The time: 12:30. Using my highly advanced mathematical mind, I calculated the elapsed time. Wait a minute!
Wait a minute indeed, I had waited a full 80 of them. That's when it dawned on me. Like the fog lifting during a morning sunrise, it all became clear. I was stranded.
Possible survival scenarios began circulating through my head. I took stock of my resources. Two Cinnabuns for 99 cents. Food check. Bag full of clothes doubling as pillow. Comfort check. Entertainment? Well, I could probably squeeze into the climb-in toy helicopter for kids. Would I look ridiculous. Of course. But, this was a survival situation. Entertainment check.
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| On the bright side, the bench did have indoor heating. Indoor heating is good. Otherwise, I probably would have ended up looking like this. |
Thoughts began to crop up in my head. Did Dad even know where Old Navy was? Maybe he thought I was at a different store. Should I go look for him No. The only thing worse than being stranded is being lost. At least one of us knew where the other was. Myself not being the privileged bearer of this information, I stayed tethered to my bench.
As I sat, I could feel myself becoming one with the bench, the molecules within my body slowly changing into wood one-by-one. Before long, I would be more bench than man. I had to do something. I had to fight back, to save the remaining human parts of me. So, I did the only thing I could.
I took a nap. Hoping to fall into a sleep-induced time warp, I pulled my yellow "Bean There Done That" hat over my head and closed my eyes.
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| As I napped, I dreamt of perfectly placid lakes and serene sunrises...and being picked up...or even just adopted. |
An undisclosed amount of time later, I awoke, jarred from sleep by the sound of a voice. I tipped my hat back. There standing above me was my father. Breaking free of my benchly prison, I stood up.
Meeting that late person can be an emotionally conflicting experience. You're frustrated at their lateness, but simultaneously overjoyed they finally showed up. Where you find yourself between these two can vary depending on the circumstance. In my case, the later won out, partly because I had to take pity on his situation.
I looked down at my Dad's foot. He was walking around in a sock wrapped in what looked like a produce bag snagged straight from the grocery store. I knew he'd gone to the doctor to get his ankle checked. What I didn't know was that they were going to bag it like a bundle of apples. For being so expensive, the medical profession really knows how to make you feel like you've gotten your money's worth.
So there we were, reunited at last, Dad walking around in a grocery bag, me putting on my best hobo impression. If we played it off right, I figured we had a pretty good chance of making it as a traveling comedy team...at least as good a chance as meeting each other on time. With that we walked off into the parking lot, bagged, but not beaten, sloppily dressed, but not defeated.
Meeting that late person can be an emotionally conflicting experience. You're frustrated at their lateness, but simultaneously overjoyed they finally showed up. Where you find yourself between these two can vary depending on the circumstance. In my case, the later won out, partly because I had to take pity on his situation.
I looked down at my Dad's foot. He was walking around in a sock wrapped in what looked like a produce bag snagged straight from the grocery store. I knew he'd gone to the doctor to get his ankle checked. What I didn't know was that they were going to bag it like a bundle of apples. For being so expensive, the medical profession really knows how to make you feel like you've gotten your money's worth.
So there we were, reunited at last, Dad walking around in a grocery bag, me putting on my best hobo impression. If we played it off right, I figured we had a pretty good chance of making it as a traveling comedy team...at least as good a chance as meeting each other on time. With that we walked off into the parking lot, bagged, but not beaten, sloppily dressed, but not defeated.
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Your pictures and captions are perfect! Haha
ReplyDeleteThank you! I try hard.
ReplyDelete