A Sad Bag Lady
It began as an ordinary day in Dursleyville. It was crisp, crunchy and sunny. Just perfect weather for wearing a quirky grey poncho from the op shop.
So while there were plenty of dramas at the day job, I did not expect them to continue after leaving the building. By then it was nearly 4pm and the skies had gotten grey and overcast. It did not look like suitable walking weather and certainly not the sort for sitting in a park listening to the birds or reading the latest instalment of ratty badness from James Herbert. Decided instead to catch the train to the city, drop into the bottle shop to get something for Father’s Day and get back to the Lair within the 2 hours that the train ticket was valid. After all there was lots of seeds and weeds at the Lair to be planted and watered.
It’s a nasty poky bottle shop owned by one of the big 2 supermarkets. I normally never darken the door of the place unless there are special offers advertised because it is usually ridiculously expensive.
But a bottle of reserve port and a big juicy South Australian red from a reputable brand name for $35 was a very good deal indeed and I was half expecting that they would be all sold out.
Soon I was wishing they were. For when I’d stored the stash safely in my back pack and went to pick up my green frog and turtle adorned shopping bag from the floor before leaving the store, I suddenly realised that it had simply vanished. Not of its own accord I am sure but with a bit of help.
But to add insult to injury, when leaving the shop the slime ball security guard on a power trip insisted on me taking off the back pack and looking at the contents as if I had stolen something. How on earth you could sneak stuff into a back pack while you are wearing it unless an accomplice is doing it for you is still a mystery to me. But here’s betting the bugger didn’t check who ever had that green bag.
Izzie was most peeved indeed but strangely managed to be amused by the thought of just how totally pissed off that opportunistic thief would be when they found a crappy battered old radio, an apocalyptic horror story about brain eating zombie monster rats, a monster poncho and an assortment of chocolate bars and nibblies. Not a bottle to be found and certainly no stash of cash.
But like any stolen stuff, while almost worthless to the thief, this collection of assorted trivia was of great value to its loser. Sentimental value more than anything but then there was also the practical matter of being a complete and total Radio National Junkie who cannot go for a day without her fix.
Radio National is a station for fuddy duddy old farts and broadcasts on the ancient AM band which means of course that the obvious solution of using the mobile phone radio was simply not an option.
It took nearly 2 hours of traipsing around from store to store in search of a little black FM/AM radio where it became obvious that such objects are going the way of the dinosaurs. The bright young things in the stores if they had ever heard of such artefacts often declared that they were not in stock because they are ‘very popular lately’. I’m wondering to myself if I really do look that simple or stupid that they think I would believe such ridiculous nonsense.
It was especially annoying to see that you could get smart phones with internet, GPS, camera and even FM radio for $30 to $40 for the basic models or pay $30 or so for an FM radio and combined CD player with built in speakers but a plain vanilla pocket sized portable radio with AM could not be got for under $29. The same model only three years ago was available for $20. Damned daylight robbery. Here’s guessing that 3 years from now you’ll have to go to the museum to get one.
It was also very strange getting used to the idea of missing out on the remaining instalments of all that ratty goodness. It’s just as well that it was an op shop bargain and not a brand new book or even worse one borrowed from the library. I did manage to download an ebook incarnation of the other one “Slowing down to the speed of life” by Richard Carlson of “Don’t sweat the small stuff” fame. But it just isn’t the same. Ebooks are fine for folks with bad eyes, lack of space or who like having the newest toys but not exactly the sort of thing you can quickly read for five minutes while waiting for the bus. So the three books had cost only one dollar each and definitely worth more than that in terms of illumination and enjoyment.
So that $22 saving on those two bottles of wine ended up costing more than $40 in terms of cost or replacement value of the contents. Sentimental value is rather less measurable especially since the bag was a present from a fellow greenie. But thanks to the insights in one of those 3 lost books I even surprised myself at how quickly I got over what was really a minor inconvenience. In the past it would have been an occasion of much awfulizing, snarking and snarling from the inner voices berating me for all sorts of stupidity with endless “if only”s and “should have”s and proclaiming that the end of the world was nigh. For while Pam Grout’s book with the list of experiments did an excellent job of reminding this serpent what it felt like to be in the ‘zone’, Richard Carlson explained how to get there and stay there more often rather than just relying on luck and how to move on from minor misfortunes rather than indulging in endless pathetic pity parties. As with most things it’s a matter of mind over matter. Milton was so right that the mind is its own place and can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.
Yesss. The mysteries of the human and serpent mind are an endless source of fascination and curiosity.
So while there were plenty of dramas at the day job, I did not expect them to continue after leaving the building. By then it was nearly 4pm and the skies had gotten grey and overcast. It did not look like suitable walking weather and certainly not the sort for sitting in a park listening to the birds or reading the latest instalment of ratty badness from James Herbert. Decided instead to catch the train to the city, drop into the bottle shop to get something for Father’s Day and get back to the Lair within the 2 hours that the train ticket was valid. After all there was lots of seeds and weeds at the Lair to be planted and watered.
It’s a nasty poky bottle shop owned by one of the big 2 supermarkets. I normally never darken the door of the place unless there are special offers advertised because it is usually ridiculously expensive.
But a bottle of reserve port and a big juicy South Australian red from a reputable brand name for $35 was a very good deal indeed and I was half expecting that they would be all sold out.
Soon I was wishing they were. For when I’d stored the stash safely in my back pack and went to pick up my green frog and turtle adorned shopping bag from the floor before leaving the store, I suddenly realised that it had simply vanished. Not of its own accord I am sure but with a bit of help.
But to add insult to injury, when leaving the shop the slime ball security guard on a power trip insisted on me taking off the back pack and looking at the contents as if I had stolen something. How on earth you could sneak stuff into a back pack while you are wearing it unless an accomplice is doing it for you is still a mystery to me. But here’s betting the bugger didn’t check who ever had that green bag.
Izzie was most peeved indeed but strangely managed to be amused by the thought of just how totally pissed off that opportunistic thief would be when they found a crappy battered old radio, an apocalyptic horror story about brain eating zombie monster rats, a monster poncho and an assortment of chocolate bars and nibblies. Not a bottle to be found and certainly no stash of cash.
But like any stolen stuff, while almost worthless to the thief, this collection of assorted trivia was of great value to its loser. Sentimental value more than anything but then there was also the practical matter of being a complete and total Radio National Junkie who cannot go for a day without her fix.
Radio National is a station for fuddy duddy old farts and broadcasts on the ancient AM band which means of course that the obvious solution of using the mobile phone radio was simply not an option.
It took nearly 2 hours of traipsing around from store to store in search of a little black FM/AM radio where it became obvious that such objects are going the way of the dinosaurs. The bright young things in the stores if they had ever heard of such artefacts often declared that they were not in stock because they are ‘very popular lately’. I’m wondering to myself if I really do look that simple or stupid that they think I would believe such ridiculous nonsense.
It was especially annoying to see that you could get smart phones with internet, GPS, camera and even FM radio for $30 to $40 for the basic models or pay $30 or so for an FM radio and combined CD player with built in speakers but a plain vanilla pocket sized portable radio with AM could not be got for under $29. The same model only three years ago was available for $20. Damned daylight robbery. Here’s guessing that 3 years from now you’ll have to go to the museum to get one.
It was also very strange getting used to the idea of missing out on the remaining instalments of all that ratty goodness. It’s just as well that it was an op shop bargain and not a brand new book or even worse one borrowed from the library. I did manage to download an ebook incarnation of the other one “Slowing down to the speed of life” by Richard Carlson of “Don’t sweat the small stuff” fame. But it just isn’t the same. Ebooks are fine for folks with bad eyes, lack of space or who like having the newest toys but not exactly the sort of thing you can quickly read for five minutes while waiting for the bus. So the three books had cost only one dollar each and definitely worth more than that in terms of illumination and enjoyment.
So that $22 saving on those two bottles of wine ended up costing more than $40 in terms of cost or replacement value of the contents. Sentimental value is rather less measurable especially since the bag was a present from a fellow greenie. But thanks to the insights in one of those 3 lost books I even surprised myself at how quickly I got over what was really a minor inconvenience. In the past it would have been an occasion of much awfulizing, snarking and snarling from the inner voices berating me for all sorts of stupidity with endless “if only”s and “should have”s and proclaiming that the end of the world was nigh. For while Pam Grout’s book with the list of experiments did an excellent job of reminding this serpent what it felt like to be in the ‘zone’, Richard Carlson explained how to get there and stay there more often rather than just relying on luck and how to move on from minor misfortunes rather than indulging in endless pathetic pity parties. As with most things it’s a matter of mind over matter. Milton was so right that the mind is its own place and can make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.
Yesss. The mysteries of the human and serpent mind are an endless source of fascination and curiosity.