Strange goings on

This is a very strange restaurant in the smallest town in Connecticut. I know about it because this is where my friend Lori and I waited for a ride and a tow truck when my car misbehaved on the way home from visiting my daughter in New Hampshire. There was an old car full of young hippies/woodsmen, too. With dogs. And a guitar.

The whole thing was very surreal.

The $250 tow was pretty solid, however.

But we made it home, back to normal life, and all is well. Except at the grocery store.

First, I only ever go to this particular store because they carry the yogurt that I prefer and generally have better produce than the closest one does. Today they were out of the yogurt. The lettuce was six days past the sell-by date. They were out of the fresh green beans that were on special. They were out of salted butter. They no longer carry good parmigiano. So I was already feeling like I would have been better off at the store closer to home.

In the check-out line I was disappointed because the rather surly cashier didn't ask if I had found everything, like they usually do. I was ready to give her the list. After I paid and as I prepared to take my cart and leave, I felt something slam into my back and knock me into my cart.

It was a motorized shopping cart. One of the people of Walmart--we saw a few today, or maybe it was pajama day at the grocery--appeared to have escaped and was at Kroger, allowing a two year old boy to help her pilot the cart.

Yes. I was hit by a motorized shopping cart. I have a bruised back and a sore neck, knee, and ankle, too. I feel like I did when I was rear-ended at low speed. I'm probably going to have to make some visits to the chiropractor.

One of my friends said that the weirdest things happen to me. Yes. Yes they do.

Hold a grudge? Me?!

Sitting across the table from the hubby at Mad Anthony's the other night, I saw a face on the TV screen that caused an immediate visceral reaction. Anger bubbled up from the depths of my being. I scowled. I may have even muttered a bad name.

The hubby saw who I was looking at and started laughing.

Who caused this reaction? Keith Olbermann? Bill Clinton? Hugo Chavez? Joel Osteen? No, no one you might expect. It was Gene Keady, former Purdue basketball coach.

When Colin was back at Purdue working on his master's degree, I supported the four of us by working as a waitress. I worked at a Damon's, where, in our Clubhouse, we had four large screen TV's. It was a fun place to work. The food was great. I was a good server and got good sections and made really, really good tips. I also had people who would request seats in my section. Unfortunately, one of those was Keady. (For the record, I don't think he cared who waited on him, but I usually had one of the two sections that had the best tables in the Clubhouse, and that's where he sat.)

The first time he sat in my section I was excited. He was with his wife and another couple. They ate and drank for hours. His wife smoked and I kept their glasses filled and their ashtrays emptied. The manager was comping their food, because, after all, he was Gene Keady. Usually a comped table meant an especially nice tip. Unless it was Keady. Then, as I discovered, it meant no tip.

So, they came in often. He would take up the best table, usually for the whole night. He and his wife were demanding. One time he left $5. When he sat in my section I usually lost about $25-30 that I usually made on that table on a weeknight.

Seems like it was just yesterday, not almost 20 years ago. Yep, I think I'm holding a grudge.