I'm busy photographing every cookbook I own - about 50 in all. Then I'll get rid of them. They take up some hefty shelf space, and I only use a handful of them. How did I ever end up with so many of them? Do things seem to magically populate your home, too?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
NOT THAT SMURFY
Living in rural Mississippi, I was surprised when a RadioShack opened up in my small town. I prefer to buy most of my electronics online, but today I needed something for the computer, and I didn’t want to wait. So, I decided to give the new store a try.
When I stepped through the door, I noticed something, or more like, a lack of something. Where was the stock? The store was bare – only a couple of racks and shelves with a few stereos and a remote controlled toys. One look around, and I wasn’t even sure if the place had batteries, much less what I needed. Realizing I was probably in trouble, I asked the guy at the counter.
"Nope," he said. "Don’t have it. Got a nice goat, though." (OK, maybe he didn’t say goat, but he might as well have.)
"No. Thanks anyway," I turned on my heels for the door.
"Have a nice day!"
"You bet."
Total wash out. My first clue should have been the hay bales at the entrance. I guess that’s what I deserve for getting my hopes up. I won’t even bother checking out the new (limited menu) mini-McDonalds that just opened up in the gas station. I’ll bet they don’t even have milkshakes.
I’m glad to see my hometown growing, but something isn’t always better than nothing. Take the once locally-owned grocery store, recently bought out by a chain. (For anger management reasons, I won’t even mention the video rental place.) The grocery does good business dealing a few necessities: milk, bread, eggs, cigarettes, and diapers. But the rest of the stuff, while technically "in stock," has been sitting on the shelf or in the freezer a long time. If you buy anything there, you’d better check the expiration first. The town’s just too small to turn over stock fast enough to keep up with the dates.
I can understand why corporations think they can open up miniature chain stores in small towns like mine. The main reason must be high gas prices. It used to be no big deal for small-town shoppers to drive thirty miles to the city when gas was only a buck-a-gallon. But now, it’s like, "Hmmm…I wish the store were closer, or that I could have that delivered!" So, I get the point of these smurf-stores, but they are a strange kind of growth. They somehow make the town seem even smaller and less convenient.
When I think about it, I have to trick myself into thinking of my stay here as an adventure. I imagine myself living in the Wild West. Inconvenience goes with the territory. So what if Frontier Bandits held up the Stagecoach? Who cares that my USB cable, the one that should have been on aisle two of the General Store, is out with the tumbleweeds, lost someplace on the prairie? After all, that’s just the way life goes when you’re a Bold Pioneer, like myself.
I can live without milkshakes, after all. Eventually, though, I’ll have to change my tune from, "Don’t Fence Me In" to Lisa’s lines from the "Green Acres" theme song. There’s just too much city in my blood to make this return to the country a permanent move.
When I stepped through the door, I noticed something, or more like, a lack of something. Where was the stock? The store was bare – only a couple of racks and shelves with a few stereos and a remote controlled toys. One look around, and I wasn’t even sure if the place had batteries, much less what I needed. Realizing I was probably in trouble, I asked the guy at the counter.
"Nope," he said. "Don’t have it. Got a nice goat, though." (OK, maybe he didn’t say goat, but he might as well have.)
"No. Thanks anyway," I turned on my heels for the door.
"Have a nice day!"
"You bet."
Total wash out. My first clue should have been the hay bales at the entrance. I guess that’s what I deserve for getting my hopes up. I won’t even bother checking out the new (limited menu) mini-McDonalds that just opened up in the gas station. I’ll bet they don’t even have milkshakes.
I’m glad to see my hometown growing, but something isn’t always better than nothing. Take the once locally-owned grocery store, recently bought out by a chain. (For anger management reasons, I won’t even mention the video rental place.) The grocery does good business dealing a few necessities: milk, bread, eggs, cigarettes, and diapers. But the rest of the stuff, while technically "in stock," has been sitting on the shelf or in the freezer a long time. If you buy anything there, you’d better check the expiration first. The town’s just too small to turn over stock fast enough to keep up with the dates.
I can understand why corporations think they can open up miniature chain stores in small towns like mine. The main reason must be high gas prices. It used to be no big deal for small-town shoppers to drive thirty miles to the city when gas was only a buck-a-gallon. But now, it’s like, "Hmmm…I wish the store were closer, or that I could have that delivered!" So, I get the point of these smurf-stores, but they are a strange kind of growth. They somehow make the town seem even smaller and less convenient.
When I think about it, I have to trick myself into thinking of my stay here as an adventure. I imagine myself living in the Wild West. Inconvenience goes with the territory. So what if Frontier Bandits held up the Stagecoach? Who cares that my USB cable, the one that should have been on aisle two of the General Store, is out with the tumbleweeds, lost someplace on the prairie? After all, that’s just the way life goes when you’re a Bold Pioneer, like myself.
I can live without milkshakes, after all. Eventually, though, I’ll have to change my tune from, "Don’t Fence Me In" to Lisa’s lines from the "Green Acres" theme song. There’s just too much city in my blood to make this return to the country a permanent move.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
