The Relic in the Rubber Boots

It probably doesn’t require a person to be of a certain advanced age for an expected peaceful shopping afternoon to devolve into an adventure of jangled nerves.

Be that as it may, when I walked through the back door to our pharmacy today, I was startled to see how much it had changed since my last recent visit. The back staircase had been carpeted and the walls along the stairwell, which had formerly showcased newspaper clippings from past stories about the drug store and its long history, were now lined with boxes. I was impressed with the carpet, but instantly missed the framed newspapers, including one I used to work for.

About that time, I spied rows and row of shoes as I left the stairs and entered the shop and I wondered when it was my pharmacy started selling footwear. Almost instantly, although it was like looking for a lighthouse in a thick fog, I started to wonder if I had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque.

Sure enough, the store people told me I might be in the wrong place, and taking a look at my white hair, grizzled face and rubber boots (not bought at that shoe store), they helpfully suggested I might be looking for the pharmacy, one door over, surmising a relic in rubber boots with snow white hair might be in need of some medication.

Straight from that nerve-wracker, it was off to the bulk food store to stock up on bulky stuff. Today was seniors’ day so this time, I was in the exact right place. And today was special for another reason. I would get $10 off if I spent $30. PLUS THE SENIORS’ DISCOUNT.

The cash register rang me up. I was 81 cents short. Story of my life. Day late and 81 cents short.

Up and down the aisles. Jelly beans? Candy Santas? Spirally canes? Peanuts. Finally. Peanuts it is.

How many peanuts does a man need to satisfy the cashier still waiting at the till? Tight as bark to a tree, I couldn’t overshoot.

I overshot. The other story of my life. By $3. My savings of $10 had somehow dwindled to $7.

I took my bulky stuff, including peanuts, my rubber boots and my now diminished bargain and went home.

Where I thanked the stars for my medications!

©2024 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.