After 10 years of living in the North End, small town vignettes are not something I’m particularly accustomed with. That is probably why they stick out to me like sore thumbs. I drove in to Portland today for two purposes – to send a package at the post office and pick up some groceries. I decided to hit the post office first and walked into the foyer to discover they were closed. Yesterday was Remembrance Day so I knew it wasn’t a holiday-related closure. And the hours clearly read 8-5 so I was perplexed. There were two old men in the foyer opening their respective mailboxes and one of them finally muttered “something… something… 1:30“. I nodded like I’d actually understood what he’d said and walked back to my car.
After putting the items to be shipped back in the Charga I walked over to the little Grocery store on the main drag. A nice lady greeted me and I quickly asked her if there was any reason the Post Office was closed. Without missing a beat she replied “Mike’s on his lunch break until 1:30“. As I only had 15 minutes to wait I did my shopping and by the time I had put my groceries in the car I could see Mike, whom I’d never met before, puttering around with the post through the front window. I walked in, selected a big padded envelope and wrote out the destination and return addresses. I handed it over to Mike who glanced at it and asked “Did your parents get off to Florida like they’d planned?” I was shocked as I live a good 10 minute drive away… in the woods. But that’s small town life for you, and it’s growing on me.
I can’t help but wonder who I’d be speaking to if I ever had to call 911. The O.P.P. polices towns like mine which are too small to warrant their own forces and the closest station I know about is 15 minutes away in Smiths Falls. Would Gomer Pyle be the responding officer who arrived half an hour after my cat and I had already been hacked into a dozen pieces by an escaped lunatic? What if my imaginary girlfriend’s period attracts bears? I think Pumpkinhead may also be buried in the mound which makes up a good chunk of my mother’s garden. Good heavens, I need me a 12 gauge if I’m ever going to build that still.
Your new life sounds like an episode of Northern Exposure, god I miss that show…
Lets write the FAC test (fire arms cert) and lets buy us some shot guns! we could shoot all kindsa shit. I need to become acclimated to aiming and firing from my left side cause I haven’t shot much since the right eye went plastic. blast a couple shells over the lake and those sledders breaking into your neighbors house won’t come round anymore. lets shoot us a nice squirrel dinner next time I’m up.
small town life does take some getting used to. I went on a 1st date last week and I’m stunned at how many people have mentioned it to me…and I didn’t even see them that night.
Everyone knows everything so keep your shades drawn!
I am looking into the FAC test. Apparently it requires 24 hours of your time. Someone I know spent two Saturdays at it – 12 hours at a time, 8-8. So… it’s no small feat. Someone with a wife and dog may have trouble finding the time. For me, however, it would enhance my social life by about 200%.
Keep my shades drawn to thwart all the peeping squirrels? Baby, I’se remote! Glad you’re dating out there. Just make sure his ringtone isn’t ‘Dueling Banjos’.
DUELING BANJOS!!! LOL! yeah I’m noticing dating in a small town is worse than dating in High School