If I had a dollar for every person who has told me I could write a book about my father, I'd be a rich woman. For the first time in 20 years my father and I live in the same city. We have been able to spend more time with one another and the contact buzz I get off of every conversation with him makes me remember more and more stories about my dad. And leaves a shocking reminder of how normal I am, considering.
As a start, I'd like to tell you the quintessential "Gary" story. My father prides himself on hunting down and punishing the great injustices of the world. One of the biggest injustices in his world is the abandonment of a cart in the middle of an isle. You know those shoppers that are clueless about the space around them so they leave their cart in the most inappropriate and obstructive places? In the grocery, in Target. doesn't matter. His punishment? Dropping a random item into the cart. The more vulgar the better in his eyes. Condoms, lube, hemorrhoid cream, the man knows no limits. I have held my tongue with him for years....the real punishment would be taking something critical out of their cart. Butter, flour, bread, condoms. But I give the old guy the respect he deserves. Mad, mad props.
Things have taken quite a turn in the last year. The older he gets, the weirder he gets. So naturally his punishment has become more severe to these alleged "clueless" cart offenders. Borderline assault if you ask me. If Gary sees you abandon your cart you will now get body slammed by the man himself. One hundred and six pounds of old man, right to your mid-section. And he doesn't discriminate. Old ladies? Body check. Bearded hipsters? Body check. Does. Not. Matter.
What might be more disturbing than the act itself is the pride the old dude feels about his work. In his mind he is the Mother Theresa of grocery store isle space. That mofo thinks he is doing his fellow shoppers a favor. Doing them a solid. The patron Saint of the clueless.
Perhaps old man, perhaps.
