Life in a Small Town

When I first turned sixteen and obtained a driver’s license, I made a deal with myself that I would still bike and walk places.  I did not want to become someone who couldn’t get around without a car.  Most of the rest of my reasoning as a sixteen year old driver was awful.  But this decision serves me well even twenty-four years later.

Now that I’ve lived in a small town for four years, I can say I’ve walked nearly everywhere, though seven months of the year I’m pretty limited by cold temps.  Even then, when I start to feel like I may go crazy, I do battle with the temperature, bundle up, and stomp around my neighborhood block, just to defy the frigid demon that wants to steal my sanity.

Today, though, I just want to tell you a couple funny small town stories.

Last week, as we perused Downton Dollar Days, where the businesses set out merchandise they want to get rid of, some cute Christmas ornaments caught my eye.  The bookstore owner handed my kids cups of root beer and then eyed me, deciding he was going to make a sale and get rid of twenty of them once and for all.  I asked him how much they were.  With an evil gleam in his eye he asked how many I wanted.  I said three.  He set his jaw and told me I could have three for a dollar each or I could take them all for three dollars.  I told him he was naughty, and then I walked away with way too many cloth animal Christmas ornaments.  Thankfully, I got a really great deal on a kids’ book series I’d been wanting, and he confirmed I had a good eye.  So we’re still friends.

This morning I went through airport security.  The security man who called me through the x-ray scanner has eaten dinner at my home.  His kids hang with mine and I chat with his wife pretty often.  Unfortunately I’d forgotten to take my earbuds out of my back pants pocket and it was a horrifying moment when the machine showed a big red area to pat over my right buttocks.  He’d also had to tell me to take off my lightweight jacket, under which I just had a scanty running shirt on.

Awkward and funny.  Thank goodness for regulations that require a female to come do the patting.

Anyway, small towns are funny that way.  This one is growing on me.