One night last week, after working all day, driving an hour to get home, feeding the critters, and walking the dog, I ventured back out of the house to make a Publix run. It is a short drive and I managed to find a most excellent parking spot. After I got out of the car and started walking to the store entrance, I was nearly shoulder to shoulder with a member of law enforcement. He confidently and with an air of grandiose ego law enforcement obnoxiousness moved ahead of me. My immediate reaction was my gut clenching with annoyance but then I shot his back with a quick once over.
His head was a buzz cut and his uniform was dark green. He looked surprising old to still be on the streets and not doing desk work. Maybe he just isn't that good and never got promoted.
Sitting low on his waist he had on his super hero belt with all of its interesting and deadly gadgets intact. I bypassed his ass. I was just not interested. Then I saw his shoes. What the heck?! They were so shiny and perfect in their patent leather awesomeness! Light rays from the Publix signage bounced off of them. How does a cop, or sheriff's office deputy, or whatever manage to keep his shoes so clean? Did he not have to run down any bad guys? Did he not have to ummm....do his JOB.....and in the process get his shoes dirty?
The Publix near my house is small. Instead of visiting and feeling regular sized, one feels like they are a part of a dollhouse. I'm not sure what they were thinking when they decided to move into the space. Maybe it was, "Let's find enough space to stock it with half the stuff we normally sell so when people walk the aisles they won't have trouble deciding what to buy because there isn't much stuff." To make up for the lack of space to put stuff and sell stuff, someone decided to make the entry area unnecessarily large. (Is this the same as when men buy large trucks?)
So, I'm still behind Mr. Law Enforcement when he stops to pick up a hand basket. I need a basket too so I stop. I wait as he chats up the homeless population 4 deep sitting on the long bench against the wall that one must walk by in order to get into the second door which leads the shopper to the inner sanctum of shopping. As Mr. L. E., officer to you, is talking I am staring at the pile of hand baskets willing him to get started. He reaches down and lifts up the top basket and I am thinking, "Finally!" but wait! He lifts up the basket under the top basket, too. He then lifts in unison the top two baskets and takes the 3rd one down. What? WHAT?
Does her really think the 3rd one down is cleaner, newer, better? Why is the 3rd one down better? Have the germs had more time to die on it? Then it dawned on me. That's why his shoes are so clean. One word - OCD. Okay, not one word but one acronym. Anyway, he's a little spit shine crazy, isn't he?
Now it was my turn to pick up a basket. I looked in the top one and no garbage was in it so I took it.
