Welcome To Blue Value, Can I hurt, I mean Help you? | brutmystik's Blog

Some days, every car in the parking lot is white, and some days, they are all Suburbans. And on the worst days, they are all white Suburbans.

All day the sounds of rockers fill my ears that were once lions on parade but now sound more like kittens on walkers.

From the spot that we eat our lunch today I can see the same perpetual 197 shoppers stream in and out of the ball and chain grocery store where we pay four times as much for our merchandise because Lake Hellabella is considered a recreation area. These credit-card armed orbiters will eventually find their way into Blue Value.

Mini-Incinerator Man:

About 25, he was dressed all in white; hat, shirt, shoes, socks, and he was very thin. I would say, not more than 145 pounds and 5’ 5”. Olive skinned with gray/green/brown eyes-the color of dying, parched mud.

I openly judged and speculated with my eyes, “Why do you want a mini-incinerator, for small animals? Separated Hominid body parts? Malcontent elves?” He glassily replied “For compost” Glen was perched nearby. He slid up to the check stand and in his Blue Value voice said “You want to turn your compost into ash, and ruin it? Are you sure?” He tilted his head, feigning concern and interest, like a grandmother who mildly rebukes her tiny, wayward kin. The customer detachedly explained that he might want to burn his trash. “You know”, I said, “I think it is illegal to burn your trash, man…”

He considered our advice momentarily and then asked if we knew anyone in the valley who might be able to help him get a personal incinerator. “The Valley Mortuary, man” I offered.

Biscuit Ron:

Mr. Dramakowsky was angry, but he smiled intensely, “This damn food processor vibrates too much. I want another one” I gratefully directed him to the Service Center. Thirty minutes later, Mr. Dramakowsky returned to my check stall and told me he was going to keep it after all. “Oh” I said, pretending to be surprised. “Yeah, I really wanted another one but you don’t…” At this point, I went to the Yellow Submarine in my head until he was quiet, or had disappeared; I am not sure which. Marion came up to me, laughing and said “Milk Bones” “What?” “He was using it to chop up dog biscuits”

Earthquake Gel Lady:

She was small, like she could have come from a crack in the black, concrete floor. “Do you have earthquake gel?” “Ma’am, could you explain what that product is so I can answer your question better?” She spurted out a slight, disgusted sigh. “You put it on stuff, and then you pick it up after an earthquake”

I just said no. Jesus…