How is Life Proceeding for You, Buddy?

To anyone who gives a damn: my back hurts.

I went to Lake Arrowhead with my family today. It’s funny how a place can get lost in the recesses of memory (before we arrived my brother and I both proclaimed that we had never been to Lake Arrowhead) and then kicked to the forefront by another visit. Upon our arrival, I immediately remembered being there before; it was definitely a long time ago though. As we were walking around the shops I began to remember some sort of a learning center or kid’s museum my mom and aunt took my brother and I to the last time we were there. There were dozens (or it felt like dozens) of small rooms with different activities in each. Bright colors. Squishy foam flooring that resembled puzzle pieces. I don’t remember what I did there. I do remember having fun.

We didn’t revisit that particular place today. Instead, after a long drive of winding roads and complaints from my mother concerning an oncoming fit of vertigo brought on by my father’s erratic driving, we leisurely made our way through the shops that caught our fancies. Somehow we ended up in the Coach store. My brother and I were interested in new wallets. One was black leather on the outside and cream colored on the inside. It was very nice. It was also $119.99. Meanwhile, my mother was eyeing a $798.00 lime-colored purse that had been generously marked down to $699.99 in green pencil. Eventually, after having been made well aware of our own poverty and despite the woman in Coach who was sure that each item in her store was well worth the second mortgage, we exited and decided to try our luck in the Bass Outlet Store.

I found a pair of deck shoes I liked that were $89.00 but 60% off. Later, I found a pair of kids’ shoes that were regularly $50.00 with a 90% off sticker nearby. Suddenly realizing that the store would still make a sizable profit on a five or ten dollar purchase I had to laugh at the “good deals” we all thought we were so special to receive; I also wondered how long those “One Day Only” sale signs had been sitting patiently on the shelves.

My dad walked out of the Bass Outlet with $194 dollars missing from his debit card. I blame this on my mom and the overly excited salesgirl who displayed the kind of bubbly personality that left me frustratingly conflicted between genuine love and pure hatred. She was very good at what she did though, complimenting my mother on every possible buy and treating her like she was the Queen of England.

ME: Mom, c’mon! She already rang us up for the shoes and suitcase.

BUBBLY SALESGIRL: Oh, don’t worry. I’m the sheriff around here (pointing to her scan gun and a plastic badge pinned to her shirt) and I say she can take as much time as she wants. A woman needs quality time to look around…

Meanwhile a line began to grow behind us.

It was my job to drag the new suitcase, which happens to be bright orange and has wheels that squeak as they roll across the ground, back to our truck while my mom continued to shop. Even with my best efforts implemented, I ended up looking like someone who was backpacking through the vast array of “specialty” stores. A hardcore shopper. Serious about my consumer needs. My mother on the other hand, still in the Bass store, looked like a pirate ready to dash through the doors with her booty if anyone tried to take what would soon be rightfully hers. She held the two hats, beach bag (“I can fit a really big towel in here”), blue sun dress, and sandals so close to her chest that she appeared to be the only person around who knew something very important about the pricelessness of the merchandise. Once again I had to make a trip to the truck.

Later, we stopped in an ice cream shop and a very attractive girl behind the counter was going on about some customer who had tried to enter through a door aggressively marked “KEEP OUT. EMPLOYEES ONLY.” According the girl, the customer thought it read, “CUSTOMERS ONLY.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yeah,” she continued, “I was like here’s your ice cream. Now, if you just go through that door you will find our top-secret customer eating facility that has been made especially for you.”

I laughed as I waited for my double scoop of Rocky Road. When we left she said, “I like you guys. You’re nice. You don’t try to open doors that aren’t yours to open. Have a nice day.”

Naturally, I spilled the Rocky Road on my shirt and shorts. Luckily, my mom had one of those Tide-to-Go pens. It was a rip-off version but it still worked like magic and I stared at the end of the pen wondering what its juicy, stain-removing secret was. Before too long, I came to the conclusion that it was probably some kind of bleach. We walked and ate and watched boats exiting the docks. Every so often I would swipe a bite of my dad’s refreshing Black Cherry ice cream (regretting my own decision of Rocky Road with each stolen morsel). In the water below, the place was lousy with ducks and carp. Outside the water, just beyond the railing, was a little girl who was through duck food into the water. This was a fortunate turn of events for the carp because the duck food sank like rocks the second it hit the water. This made me feel sorry for all the ducks who had waddled over to where their food had been thrown only to get there with just enough time to watch it sink from the reach of their beaks.

We decided to leave after we saw a turtle swimming among the ducks and fish. For my brother it was the highlight of the trip. He loves all kinds of turtles, especially sea turtles. He even has a very proud looking sea turtle painted on one side of his motorcycle helmet. After seeing all the trash and “food” people had thrown into the lake, however, as well as the unidentified brown sludge caked on the turtle’s shell, all I could think about was salmonella and how I probably would not let the turtle, the ducks and fish, or another salesgirl come near me for quite a long time – or at least until they had bathed with a fair amount of antibacterial hand soap.