Transfer Station Contemplations

Random thoughts while waiting for the transfer station to open:

~Was chatting with a local yesterday when he confided a grave concern. “The town’s changing,” he groaned. “Went shopping this morning and didn’t know a single person in the store.” The man was clearly bummed, so I offered my condolences. Didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d just described one of my lifelong fantasies. I’m not kidding. Outside of, say, hosting The Price Is Right or dating Lady Gaga, nothing would delight me more than experiencing my hometown minus the familiar faces, even if just for a day. Indeed, I often drive to places like Belfast and Bar Harbor for no other reason than to enjoy a few hours among strangers. Because small town familiarity can be pleasant, but it’s often a pain. Be honest: who among us hasn’t, at one time or another, pulled a U-turn in the middle of Shop & Save to avoid an ex, or a creditor, or that neighbor we just can’t stand? Heck, I can’t count the times I’ve abandoned my cart in the middle of an aisle and hidden in the restroom ‘til the coast was clear. Ever buy ice cream that’s obviously thawed at some point and been refrozen? Now you know why.

~Speaking of neighbors: When I was a kid, my mother often said, “The problem with living in the city is you don’t know your neighbors.” I never took her seriously, for two reasons: a.) she’d never lived in a city, and b.) we had no neighbors. It was like having someone tell you, “Sasquatches smell like wet dog.” Sure, you could choose to believe it, but why would you?

~Couldn’t help but chuckle at my buddy who’s planning to escape town over the holiday weekend. He lives in a trailer at the end of a dead-end dirt road about a quarter mile from the nearest power line. Come Friday afternoon, though, he’s “headin’ upta camp.”

~Ever notice that many of the same people who lose their minds during a power outage will gladly fork over fifty bucks to sleep on the ground and poop in a hole?

~I recently used “skedaddle” in a sentence and people looked at me like I belong in a home.

~Bought Stephen King’s recent book, “Holly,” not realizing the cover glows in the dark. I don’t need those kind of surprises in my life.

~Why is there no air freshener that smells like coffee?

~I’m not pointing fingers, but have you noticed that the worst road around here leads to the Public Works Department?

~Think it’s mere coincidence that organ music shows up almost exclusively in churches and horror movies?

~Given the many regulations and recommendations around food safety, I’ve always thought it hysterical that we all buy fish from the back of a van.

~My bank recently froze my account for suspicious activity. Someone apparently tried to make a deposit.

~Ever have one of those days where everyone you meet reminds you of Jim from Taxi?

~I have OCD and ADD. Everything must be perfect, but only for a few seconds.

~Business idea: point a video camera at the public boat ramp and start a YouTube channel. You’re welcome.

~Can’t wait for the new mini golf course to open. I’m available to caddy.

~In forty years of golfing, the only improvement in my game occurred when the course-side condos removed their swimming pool.

~Guess I was overtired. Recently poured my corn flakes into the coffee maker basket. Worse: the basket was IN the coffee maker at the time.

~A California friend asked if Moosehead Lake is cold. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “The annual 4th of July festivities include a polar plunge.”

~I’ve always found it interesting that most pilots, upon meeting you for the first time, will, in the first ninety seconds of conversation, tell you that they’re pilots.

~Was offering a brand new pre-hung door online for $50. Received this message: “Give you $20 CASH.” Like I’m supposed to be impressed. How the hell else would he pay me? Certified check? Bitcoin? Beaver pelts?

~Ever struggle with those toilet paper dispensers in public restrooms? Specifically, the ones with the single roll of toilet paper that’s the size of a truck tire? Those rolls weigh so much that spinning them is impossible. You pull and pull and pull, a little harder, and a little harder, and a little harder, until finally the TP rips and leaves you with a postage stamp-sized piece between your fingers. I’ve heard the term, “designed to fail,” but these were designed to never work in the first place. It’s like they want you to just give up.

~Riddle me this: why is it that, when I see a bicyclist in the city, I think, “Good for him! I wish I had that kind of ambition!” Yet, when I see a bicyclist in rural Maine, I think, “Poor bastard must’ve lost his license.”

~Why is no one ever combobulated?

Enjoy the day--