Ramblin' on My Mind

I was standing in line at the supermarket today with my usual talent for always picking the slowest line in the store, and wouldn't you know it that out of all the hundreds of people who walked through that door, picked out their groceries and left so that they could get on with their lives, I had to get in line behind the one person in the entire store who came to have an argument. So, of course, before the cashier could even say "paper or plastic" the woman starts in.

"How much did you charge for those grapes?"
"$1.89 a pound."
"No, the sign said $1.29 a pound".
"That's for the red grapes, not the green ones. The green ones are $1.89 a pound".
"No, no. The sign said $1.29 a pound".
"Are you sure? Ok, let me get a price check."

And there I was. I'd been standing in that line for 2, maybe 3 hours, and now I've got to wait for Elsa to go over to produce and check the price of those stupid grapes. And it burned me up because I knew the lady was wrong. I had checked out those grapes, too, and knew that price was $1.89 a pound. But I didn't say anything because, as you know, people in grocery stores never comment on other people's purchases. Not even if they're standing there watching a couple of twenty-something guys put 4 cases of beer and package of Oreo's on the belt, or if they see some "hefty" folks pull into the line with a cart full of sausages, ribs, ice cream, cookies, pies, and cheetos, no, they just keep you're mouth shut and don't get involved. So, it was none of my business and even though I knew the woman was wrong about the grapes, I just stood there saying nothing. And then, as the hours passed, I started scanning the covers of the women's magazines.

And I love scanning the covers because they always have such provacative articles. How to get a man, how to love a man, how to keep a man coming back for more. It's funny how women are always saying that the only thing men think about is sex, sex, sex, or how some of those pop psychologists tell us that women care about romance and cuddling while men just care about satisfying their filthy, degenerate desires. Just once I'd like to grab one of them by the arm and show them the magazine racks at the local grocery store and say "Oh yeah, miss pop psychologist, explain that! You on your high-horse. Don't talk to me about filthy desires."

So I was looking at one the magazine covers and I saw this article about the 10 Secret Love Techniques Guaranteed to Satisfy Your Man, and I thought this is intriguing. And I started running through it in my mind. Let's see, one, two, three, and, ok, four, five... but then I got stuck. And I wanted to know the 10 secrets, so I started wondering if people would think I was weird if I started reading a womens magazine. Then I thought maybe if I just somehow sort of give it a sideways peek, or something, or pretended that I was just checking out a recipe for spinach casserole. Lucky for me, Elsa came back.

"$1.89 a pound on that price check".

(Hah, I knew it!)

"Well the sign says $1.29 a pound. You should take down the sign if it's wrong".
"You're right. I'll have someone take a look at that sign".
"Yes, because, you know, it's not right that the sign says $1.29 a pound if they're really $1.89 a pound. You know, I wouldn't have got the grapes if I knew it was $1.89 a pound but since I saw the sign that said $1.29 a pound I thought I would go ahead and buy them, because that's what the sign said. You know, I looked, and the sign said $1.29 a pound so I got the grapes, but $1.89 a pound's too expensive. If they're supposed to be $1.29 a pound then you should change the sign, or someone should go take a look and see if it says $1.29 a pound and change it to $1.89 a pound".

(Hey lady, I'm dying here. I swear, another minute of this and I'm going to keel over and expire right here in the express line)

"Then you don't want the grapes?"
"No, I don't want them."
"Do you want the red grapes instead?"
"No, that's ok. I'll get some later."

(Well, thank God for small miracles)

Now it's my turn, so I put the magazine back and make my way to the front of the line. Of course first thing I heard was the stupid supermarket greeting

"Find everything ok?".
"No," I said. "I thought I'd pay for what I've got so far and then go back around for a second trip."
(Actually I didn't say that, but I wanted to. Instead I just said)
"Yeah."
"Well, what did you think?", she asked.
"Pardon me", I said.
"The magazine. I saw you reading it while you were standing in line."
"Oh that. Actually, they had a recipe for spinach casserole that I thought looked pretty good. Maybe I'll try it sometime."
"No not the casserole. The article. You know, the 10 Secrets of Love."
"Excuse me, but I don't think I know you well enough to talk about something like that."
"Oh, that's alright. The only reason I asked is because my husband and I are going down to Monterey this weekend and I thought, maybe, you know..."
"I see. Well, I'm sure both of you will have a wonderful time. I'd be careful with number seven, though. I think it may be illegal in California."
"Illegal, huh. Ooh, that's sounds fun."
"Yes and a little dangerous too. You might want to have a few paramedics on hand, just in case."
"Thanks, I'll remember that. Paper or plastic?"

And then I was on my way out of the store and back into the sunlight. I was carrying my bag of groceries and I saw my car over across the way, so I pulled out my keys and just as I was about to unlock the door I looked and said "Hey, wait a minute. That's not my car." And for a minute I just stood there sort of dazed and disoriented, with this overwhelming sense of being old and helpless coming over me. "Where's my car?", I said, and I look around the parking lot some more and couldn't find it. "Where's my car?", and then I began to panic and sense that there were people looking at me. "Look, over there. He can't find his car." Mothers scolding their children "You see, you see what's gonna happen if you just sit around and watch TV all day. Poor man can't even find his car." Even an elderly couple walked past and gave me a sort of pleasant, patronizing kind of stare. They didn't fool me, though. I knew the only reason they were out there was because they couldn't find their car either.

Which brings me to the topic of San Francisco, and why you can never lose your car in San Francisco. The reason is simple if you think about it - before you can lose your car you have to park it someplace, and there is no place to park in San Francisco. I'm always amazed when people ask me if I know any good restaurants in San Francisco (or "The City" as we Bay Areans call it. We like to keep things simple here in the Northland, so you look right and that's "The Bay", and you look left and that's "The Ocean", and you look up and that's "The Sky", and of course, the place with all the tall buildings is "The City". And here's a tip for you tourists. Never, under any circumstances call it "Frisco". You may not know it but there are packs of goons who roam the city looking for tourists saying "Frisco", and when they find them they force them into the backs of vans and dump them off the Golden Gate Bridge. You think I'm kidding, but it's true. In fact, it's not uncommon for dead tourists to wash up on Baker Beach, heads bobbing in the waves, cameras still strapped around their necks. It's a gruesome sight).

Where was I? Oh yeah, people ask me for the name of a good restaurant and I tell them I don't have a clue. And they ask why. You live so close to "The City". Don't you ever go there? And I tell them "Sure, I go there all the time, but I've never found a place to park. Instead I just drive around for a few hours, and then when the tank gets low on gas I drive home. I've been to San Francisco a couple hundred times in my life and I've never parked once."

Which is what we San Joseans call "The Paradox". That is, why is it in San Francisco you have lot's of things to do and no place to park, while in San Jose we have lots of parking and nothing to do? Is a puzzlement, is it not. Another thing you'll find in San Francisco that you won't find in San Jose is politics. I don't know why that is but it seems like in San Francisco every little thing is political. For example, suppose the mayor wants to start putting toilet paper in the public restrooms, I guarantee you that in 30 minutes or less some group calling itself the TAPT (Treees Are People Too) will be organizing a protest and carrying signs and shutting down traffic and just causing a hell of a row about it. San Franciscans just love getting all worked up over things. I can still remember the row that Woody Harrelson caused a few years ago. Seems Woody was smoking some dope one morning and decided that it would be a good idea to go climb the Golden Gate Bridge during the rush hour commute and hang up a sign. Of course he managed to back traffic up for hundreds of miles around in the process, and so the police came and took him away. Later, when he was asked why he did it he said he did it to save the Redwood Trees. Sooooo, the people said sure Woody, whatever you say, and the judge took his bong away and sent him back to Los Angeles, which was really a more appropriate place for him to be anyways.

But in San Jose, you see, we don't have any politics because, well, we don't have any government. Actually that's not true. We have a government, it's just that nobody pays any attention to them. In fact, we recently had a campaign down here to the recall the mayor and it was a miserable failure. The problem, it turns out, was that nobody knew who the mayor was. The recall people went down to the shopping centers and set up their tables and asked people to sign their petitions, but it was like no one knew what they were talking about.
"Sign the petition to recall Ron Gonzalez" they'd ask.
"Who's Ron Gonzalez?"
"He's the mayor of San Jose, you idiot."
"Oh. Have you seen my car?"