The Chick from the South

    So yesterday, Jolene's back went out due to some repetitive tasks at work. She looked like I did several weeks ago when my back went out—a walking 90 degree angle. Oh, so painful. At any rate, once Jo had called off work, we began making some phone calls to area chiropractors, and as luck would have it, the chiros in Franklin were all closed for the day.

    So we called a chiro in Portland. Portland is a town south of us across the Tennessee line and is closer than Bowling Green would be. The lady who answered the phone was super-nice but wanted the information on Jolene's insurance card, which, of course, was out in her wallet in the car. Since Jo was in no shape to walk up the stairs, she told me to go outside and get it for her. This was all fine until I realized that she had not parked her car in the garage as is the usual custom. No, it was parked outside on the gravel, and in my haste to retrieve the needed articles, I had neglected to slip my flops on; needless to say, my feet are NOT accustomed to such goings-on. So I very carefully picked my way to her passenger's side door-ouch, ouch, ouch-and lifted the handle. Locked. Sooooo frustrating. So I hobbled to the other side and rummaged around until I found her purse and wallet. Then for the long journey back. I walked along the edge of the garage pavement as soon as I was able, but let me tell you, in this 100+ degree weather, it was hotter than a biscuit and not much better for the feet than the gravel had been.

    By the time I arrived at the door, the 90 degree angle that is Jolene had hobbled her way to the top of the stairs to see what was taking me so long.

    She snatched up my offer to take her to Portland to the chiro, and so off we went. It was an altogether different chiro experience than what I have ever experienced. For one thing, one of their staff members is an 11-year old border collie, which gave the practice some immediate brownie points in my book. "Tipper" is tremendously smart. Dr. Barker has trained her to keep a Frisbee in her mouth so that her barking is minimized. Since Jolene was one of the last patients of the day, and he had no others to work on at the moment, Dr. Barker came out to the waiting room where he and I discussed dogs for about twenty minutes while Jolene was getting x-rayed. He can give Tipper verbal commands, and she'll do what he says. He told her to go get her red ball, and so she went back into the laundry, and after much growling and sighing, she emerged with her red ball. He says they have names for all her balls, and he'll tell her which one to get, and she knows what he is talking about. It was really fascinating.

    So the real story of the day was the drive back. I am not as familiar with Portland as I am with many other roads in the area, and so as I was approaching the outskirts of Portland heading back toward Franklin, I found that my lane was ending. There was a huge semi to my left, which prevented me from merging left. So I put my blinker on and slowed down so that I could pull in behind the semi. In my mirror, I could see that the car following the semi purposely sped up so that there was hardly enough room to insert a credit card, much less room for me to slip in in front of her.

    Now Sharon and I have long ago written Tennessee drivers off to having a very low driving IQ, but this about took the cake. I was so astonished and ticked off that (yes, I admit it) I honked my horn at her in exasperation (one of the few times in my life that I have remembered to utilize that Useful Tool at the proper time). The driver, who was talking on her cell phone, responded with some repeated gesture with her hand held high in the air that I took to mean she thought I should've merged a long time ago and that it wasn't HER fault that I was out of laneage. For crying out loud—what purpose did it serve for her to hug a semi's hind-end? It's not like she could pass the semi—too much oncoming traffic for that, and you can't see a thing except a trailer when you're that close! Well whatever. Maybe she had some important business to which she must attend.

    While she continued to hug the semi's hiney, I dropped back a car length or two, and Jo and I resumed our business at hand—slurping our strawberry malts. When we approached the Flying J by I-65, we again had two lanes. Well, what do we have here? I said to Jo. Ms. Fancy Pants was stopped at the stop light. As I approached, the light turned green. "Watch this," I said to Jo, chuckling, and I pulled to the right lane to buzz right on by her.

    Well, this chick must have caught on that it was ME—the turtle—approaching her rear, and she suddenly mashed her gas pedal to the floor and beyond. WOULD YOU BELIEVE that her tires literally squalled as she desperately tried to ensure her place ahead of me? Jo and I were so astonished, our mouths literally fell to the floor. She had to stop at the next light too, and I again had the same chance to buzz right around her. We both decided I should not even attempt it, as we didn't want to incite a coronary, but I couldn't help but make some very sarcastic remarks. I don't remember what I said, but it was enough to tickle Jo something awful as she began to take on the form of a puddle on the floor. One thing I said is that I want to follow this chick to see what is so all-fired important that she gets there before I do. A sale somewhere, perhaps?

    We soon found out where she was headed: Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart???? "Wooooooooooooooooooooo," I said, as I passed her in the turning lane, "Wallllllll-Marrrrrrt!!" Since there is no tax on groceries in Kentucky, the low-IQ people from the South often fill our parking lots when getting their groceries. Maybe there was only one piece of chicken or one gallon of milk left--I just don't know. I do know, however, that there is currently no winter storm on the horizon—tax-free groceries should be aplenty.

    Since she had to sit there in the turning lane waiting on the oncoming traffic, I briefly considered going to the next entrance, parking my car, and taking over as a temporary Wal-Mart Greeter. But I refrained. I didn't even honk my horn, wink, and wave as I flew past. Instead, I scraped what was left of Jo up off the floor and deposited her at home.