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My wife and I went for a putt today. We went for a ride around town banking and paying bills. We stopped at a Bank of America to make deposits and then went on to AAA to pay our insurance. When I got there I realized my tank bag was missing. At my age I have begun to assume that senility may be a factor, and that I may have left it behind at my last stop, but there was still the possibility that I may have left it at home, (best case scenario,) or it may have been ripped off (worst case scenario.) After finishing business at AAA we rode back to BOA to see if my bag was there.
When we arrived I parked, and as I walked up to the front doors gave little thought to the Capitola Cop who was engaged in conversation with a lady who I soon learned was the manager of the bank. When I attempted to enter the young (by my standards) lady informed me that “it isn't really a good time to go in right now.” Then I looked around and realized that the bank was surrounded by at least a dozen squad cars of Capitola's finest!
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When the manager asked why I was there, I explained about my tank bag, and was asked to describe it.
The changing expression on the manager's face, as details of the description sank in, was “precious.” :a cop went inside and brought out my bag. “Yep, that's it alright. Thanks!” Sometimes public servants really are.
And what can we learn from this Grasshapah?
That I am an unconscious radical?
That the Manager is a tankbagaphobe?
That the Capitola Cops are... what?
That commerce seems to be really, really, easy to disrupt?
That I am searching for meaning where there is none?
That I have way to much time on my hands?
That I am engaged in a self defeating game of denial and procrastination because I'm not working on a profit and loss statement for the Tax Man?
Special Ed
When we arrived I parked, and as I walked up to the front doors gave little thought to the Capitola Cop who was engaged in conversation with a lady who I soon learned was the manager of the bank. When I attempted to enter the young (by my standards) lady informed me that “it isn't really a good time to go in right now.” Then I looked around and realized that the bank was surrounded by at least a dozen squad cars of Capitola's finest!
.
When the manager asked why I was there, I explained about my tank bag, and was asked to describe it.
The changing expression on the manager's face, as details of the description sank in, was “precious.” :a cop went inside and brought out my bag. “Yep, that's it alright. Thanks!” Sometimes public servants really are.
And what can we learn from this Grasshapah?
That I am an unconscious radical?
That the Manager is a tankbagaphobe?
That the Capitola Cops are... what?
That commerce seems to be really, really, easy to disrupt?
That I am searching for meaning where there is none?
That I have way to much time on my hands?
That I am engaged in a self defeating game of denial and procrastination because I'm not working on a profit and loss statement for the Tax Man?
Special Ed
Just bought a 1980 Special that has been non oped for 9 years. My Skoot will rise from the ashes and be re named "The Phoenix!"
. Does this qualify as a middle aged moment"
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