My friend Jim used to whoooosh his arms to one side in a sweeping movement while saying, “you gotta let it go, man…” Haven’t mastered his Zen technique yet, which is apparent when I find myself wondering things like:
Why do drivers back into parking spaces? Bank robbers, I understand. That whole quick getaway thing. Loading or unloading the trunk. I get that. But backing into your own driveway or in front of the diner? They even back in at QuickTrip. It’s just as difficult, traffic-wise, backing in as backing out. I parked in the south-40 at Reasor’s this morning but when I came out there were two cars in that single acre of parking.
A guy backed in to the space next to me. I squeezed inside, so I wouldn’t bang my door against his. He wouldn’t have noticed. He was trying to eat a burger in four bites. Big burger. Half of bite #1 was still hanging on the outside waiting for mouth-vacancy. Made me remember holding a sugar cube in front of a horse. Flump, flump, got it!
Burgers make us defy logic. Nefarious. I stopped at Burger King for a snack. They call their little burger a Whopper Junior, but needless to say, it’s not a Whopper. It’s barely a Whipper. It’s on the dollar menu. Price? $1.35
Go figure.
Some of you will remember when the regular McDonald’s burger (the super-flat thing with a squirt o’ mustard and ketchup, tiny diced onions and a couple of pickles) was fifteen cents. And to think: we had to save up the money to eat out…
The Good Old Days are only as good as our memories: