GET THE REST HOME READY!
GET THE REST HOME READY!
Elizabeth Willis Barrett………………Sept 2017
I’ve been thinking lately that I am doing a pretty good job of holding onto my faculties. I’ve got them in a tight grip because there’s no telling when whey will decide to slip out the back door and leave me for good. I’ve told you many times, I’m sure, that my parents didn’t do so well keeping thoughts and brain processes that make life worth clinging to. Their experiences have made me quite vigilant.
But the other day, I was truly tested in the mental capacity department and I am still trying to recover.
I was at Costco for an errand that I was not very happy about. Some day I’ll tell you what that errand was. It would take me off on a tangent if I described it now and I am much too tempted by tangents.
In order to accomplish the task, I needed to sign up for a Citi Credit Card. It was only going to be a limited use card but I still needed to fill everything out completely. I hate filling things out. Details are not my strong point. The first thing they asked for was my Social Security number. Easy. I wrote it down with just a touch of uncertainty. Hadn’t had to use that number for a while. It was getting a little mixed up with my safe combination, Instagram password and new house address. Oh well. A number went down.
Then I needed the last four digits of Brad’s Social Security number. My brain was beginning to feel a little more rattly. The looseness of brain particles had started in the other section of Costco that I’m not ready to talk about.
Last four digits of Brad’s…..this, too, should be easy…..I’d done this before…..come on, come on. Four numbers danced onto my memory slate. But were they the right numbers? Better ask Brad. Luckily his cell phone number is on my favorites list so I didn’t have to pull those numbers up. Brad was very patient. He answered my short question without any recrimination.
Done. Everything filled out. But the lady behind the Costco counter said something wasn’t right and I had to talk to the Citi Bank people. As she handed me a phone, I was sure of my error. I had put my Social Security number down wrong. What had I written and what was the truth? Aaaaaaaaaa! Better call Brad again. Once again, Brad was patient. He didn’t groan or tease or threaten to leave while the leaving was good. He cheerfully gave me my Social Security number from memory. At least his brain is intact, I thought. One of us has to be function-able.
Finally, everything was finished. I got my Citi Bank card, completed my errand and raced outside so I could get home in time to drive with Brad clear over to the ASU LDS Institute for a Family Home Evening activity. But where was my car? I distinctly remember telling myself before I entered the store: first aisle, facing north. Or was it east. West? That Costco parking lot is a puzzle to me. Since the main doors of the store are at an angle, I can’t get my bearings. I walked up a couple of aisles. My main goal whenever looking for my car, is to not look like I’m looking for my car. So I stood at the end of one aisle with my phone in hand, trying to look like I was simply deep into a phone conversation, all the while searching up and down the rows. It wasn’t there. Someone had stolen my car, I was sure. What a lousy ending to my Costco adventure!
Another phone call to Brad. I didn’t blame him for his justified hint of exasperation.
“Just stay there,” he said. “I’ll pick you up. We’ll be late if we don’t leave now. And we’ll deal with your car when we get back.”
I sat outside Costco. Waiting. Feeling like a lost child that no one was going to find. Then, coming from a completely different direction from where I had been looking, my car winked at me. Yep. First row, facing north. It was found at least.
My phone rang. “Did you say Sam’s or Costco?” Brad asked.
Like I say, get the rest home ready. A room for two please.