People think of retirement and snowbirding as a low-stress lifestyle. Well it is in many ways, but not in all.
After shopping in the Walmart and putting the stuff away in my van, out in their parking lot, I threw a couple standard plastic bags full of household trash into the shopping cart, and started rolling the cart to one of the corrals in the middle of the parking lot, where I could throw the trash bags into the waste cans. But before I got ten feet, an old biddie started chewing me out, "That's not a garbage truck!", or something like that. I guess she thought I was going to just leave the trash in the cart, instead of throwing it in the trashcan at the cart corral. What gave her the right to assume the wrong thing?
But then I noticed the Old Biddie's license plate: B.C., Bolshevik Columbia. That explains that. Albertans, Saskatchewanners, and Manitobans are the nice Canadians, you know. You don't suppose that I'm displaying the longitudinal loyalties and prejudices of a typical snowbird, do you?
Then there is the little matter of using the laundromat, some of which are open 24 hours a day. I found a new one that didn't threaten me with cramped demolition derby parking; and that's good, because that's what you usually find inside a laundromat in snowbird country. Woe unto you if you grab a cart that one of the Old Biddies thinks is "hers": expect to get a tongue-lashing as bad as you might get if, say, you were to leave the toilet seat up at an Escapee campground.
It would help so much if the aisles were just wider at those dreadful laundromats. But luck was with me: many Yuma snowbirds fly home for a few days over the holidays, and many others don't even arrive in Yuma until after the holidays. So it was pretty relaxed in there this morning. If only the Old Biddie, who was using the dryer above mine, would move 18" so I could get into my dryer. Geez I hate bumping people all the time -- slow moving people who can't twist their necks, can't see, can't hear, can't...
Finally I put on a nice smile and said as pleasantly as I could that I just needed a little space to get into my dryer. (She had her cart parked right up against my dryer. Why not two feet away?) She got a little cross with me and replied that she needed more time to finish what she was doing.
Actually it's funny to see how uncomfortable bourgeois-snowbirdesses can be in a public laundromat. Just think: somebody else used that machine before they did! How insulting to their respectability!
When I first showed up in Yuma this year, after a 6 year hiatus, it was fun to walk around the stores and feel so young compared to all the olde fossils. But then I noticed they were making eye contact with me as well as small talk, as if they were peers of mine. What an impertinence!
In that laundromat I noticed that one of the female customers -- a blue-haired one! -- looked sort of "interesting." Oh gawd has it come to this?!
A friend once suggested I read "Kabloona" (White Man), a book written by a French anthropologist who lived amongst the Esquimaux around World War II. Once he joked that he never seriously desired to have a harem of Eskimo women. At least, not at the beginning of his stay. But after a year or two, they actually started to look good to him. Good heavens, is that happening to me in Yuma?
Believe it or not I enjoyed doing the laundry at this place. Yea, it was over-priced, but the machines were large, worked well, and the whole place was clean. A full time RVer sees so many dreadful laundromats that it feels just plain luxurious to be at a good one. The same feeling of celebration couldn't be gotten from many hours and a thousand dollars of Christmas shopping or presents.
After shopping in the Walmart and putting the stuff away in my van, out in their parking lot, I threw a couple standard plastic bags full of household trash into the shopping cart, and started rolling the cart to one of the corrals in the middle of the parking lot, where I could throw the trash bags into the waste cans. But before I got ten feet, an old biddie started chewing me out, "That's not a garbage truck!", or something like that. I guess she thought I was going to just leave the trash in the cart, instead of throwing it in the trashcan at the cart corral. What gave her the right to assume the wrong thing?
But then I noticed the Old Biddie's license plate: B.C., Bolshevik Columbia. That explains that. Albertans, Saskatchewanners, and Manitobans are the nice Canadians, you know. You don't suppose that I'm displaying the longitudinal loyalties and prejudices of a typical snowbird, do you?
Then there is the little matter of using the laundromat, some of which are open 24 hours a day. I found a new one that didn't threaten me with cramped demolition derby parking; and that's good, because that's what you usually find inside a laundromat in snowbird country. Woe unto you if you grab a cart that one of the Old Biddies thinks is "hers": expect to get a tongue-lashing as bad as you might get if, say, you were to leave the toilet seat up at an Escapee campground.
It would help so much if the aisles were just wider at those dreadful laundromats. But luck was with me: many Yuma snowbirds fly home for a few days over the holidays, and many others don't even arrive in Yuma until after the holidays. So it was pretty relaxed in there this morning. If only the Old Biddie, who was using the dryer above mine, would move 18" so I could get into my dryer. Geez I hate bumping people all the time -- slow moving people who can't twist their necks, can't see, can't hear, can't...
Finally I put on a nice smile and said as pleasantly as I could that I just needed a little space to get into my dryer. (She had her cart parked right up against my dryer. Why not two feet away?) She got a little cross with me and replied that she needed more time to finish what she was doing.
Actually it's funny to see how uncomfortable bourgeois-snowbirdesses can be in a public laundromat. Just think: somebody else used that machine before they did! How insulting to their respectability!
When I first showed up in Yuma this year, after a 6 year hiatus, it was fun to walk around the stores and feel so young compared to all the olde fossils. But then I noticed they were making eye contact with me as well as small talk, as if they were peers of mine. What an impertinence!
In that laundromat I noticed that one of the female customers -- a blue-haired one! -- looked sort of "interesting." Oh gawd has it come to this?!
A friend once suggested I read "Kabloona" (White Man), a book written by a French anthropologist who lived amongst the Esquimaux around World War II. Once he joked that he never seriously desired to have a harem of Eskimo women. At least, not at the beginning of his stay. But after a year or two, they actually started to look good to him. Good heavens, is that happening to me in Yuma?
Believe it or not I enjoyed doing the laundry at this place. Yea, it was over-priced, but the machines were large, worked well, and the whole place was clean. A full time RVer sees so many dreadful laundromats that it feels just plain luxurious to be at a good one. The same feeling of celebration couldn't be gotten from many hours and a thousand dollars of Christmas shopping or presents.
Comments
I'm no longer in Orlando, moved to Arkansas this year. In FL we were the "kids". Here, young folks walk up and volunteer to carry our bags to the car. It was a real shock, and not exactly a welcome one either.
I am not proud however. When my shoulders were killing me I ASKED for help with a 30# bag of dog food. Then again in Pahrump when my shoulders were much better I ASKED if they would carry two 35# bags out to my motorhome. Yes, I am getting old but I think I'm getting wise also.
"Christmas spirit?" What on earth is that? It's time the country outgrew this ridiculous holiday. It never really served a constructive purpose.
The "Christmas Spirit" is an optimistic notion and represents the more positive, loving, forgiving side of human nature. That Christianity took the world by fire and spread as it did is not an insignificant fact. The world must have been ready to move past the Old Testament God, the Father, who is the same as Yahweh in the Jewish faith. A vindictive and tyrannical figure who had no problem killing anyone for the simple act of disobedience. If such a personality was being judged in this day and age without the protective cloak of "god" we would label them paranoid schizophrenic. Psychotic and lock them up or put them on heavy meds.
The world must have been ready for a change. So this notion of forgiveness, compassion, etc. took hold. Granted, organized religion is fraught with problems and may do more damage than good, but if you just look at the notion of what Christ means, it truly represents what is the highest ideal, the best in mankind.
And THAT'S the Christmas spirit. I will agree with you before you have to say it, that it is all distorted with glitter and glitz and stupidity but, perhaps it's just the better side of me which would like to think that it isn't entirely dead.
Susan ( not an RVer yet-my sister just sent me here.