So, last time, I had us in Ozona, Texas, home of fresh air (ozone) and the hardworking descendants of Judge Roy Bean, Law West of the Pecos. Or, if not exactly “Law,” then a decent simulation of it. At least good enough for government work.
Anyway...so we headed off. We needed to finish our drive to Marfa, but we also wanted to bring some groceries to the AirBandB we’d be sharing with the kids. We found a Walmart along the way and stopped in. We soon gathered up everything we needed...except...except...except milk. We desperately needed milk. Our kids don’t do milk. Digestive probs, you see. So they do Oat Milk. And Almond Milk. And other weird plant things that get ground up and liquified and are supposed to be nutritious as all heck. You betcha. But...but...but they don’t do real milk. They have nothing to do with cows. And hooves. And things that go moo in the night. I mean, really, where’s the fun in that?
So our last stop was the diary case. Here, we found the cartons of milk behind glass doors in the ‘fridges. The kicker? The door that opened to our fav kind of milk, which has 1% milk fat, was broken. The handle had somehow been twisted off. Perhaps somebody *really* wanted their carton of buttermilk. Anyway, it was broken...
About the photos: First, a picture of how I think the diary case appeared after its vicious, unprovoked attack on me. (Phooey.) Okay, maybe this is only one bottle, but I’m sure the whole batch was in there sneering.
I thought. Okay. I could manage this. Just put a few brain cells into the problem, I told myself. Gotta be a way. Ah...I’ve got it! I’ll pull open the door next to the door that didn’t have a handle, put my hand in there, slither my fingers along the side, and then release the latch from the inside! Perfect. Couldn’t be simpler. Brilliant, if I did say so myself. And I did.
And, sure enough, it worked! I got my hand in there. Reached ...reached...aloooong the inside of the case...got to the latch...and pop! The door was open! Terrific! Fantastic!
I re-slithered my hand back the other way. And...and ...and...it was just about then that I realized that the broken latch on the inside of the case had a really, Really, REALLY sharp jagged edge. And...I’d just sliced open the back of my hand. And I was bleeding like...like...well, like something or other that bleeds a lot.*
Yikes.
I got a tissue out of my pocket and started applying pressure. Martha turned up just then, went, EEK!, and wanted to know if I needed to get to urgent care. I said I didn’t think so, but I’d let her know if I changed my mind. Or passed out. Six of one. Anyway, she took over the job of applying pressure to the wound and, after a few rather distressing minutes, things seemed to stabilize.
Finally, Martha added some bandaids and other medical supplies to the cart (along with the dang milk), and we headed to the checkout. I also stopped by the customer service desk just to let them know about the broken handle. And God bless the young woman who was behind the desk because she took one look at me and dashed for a first aid kit. As I say, I’d mostly stopped bleeding by then, but she wasn’t going to let me leave without a bit of help. She actually bandaged me up pretty well, too. She looked like a high school student, but I’m hoping she goes pre-med in the near future.
Second, and just because I like the shot, here’s a photo of Martha in Spring in Georgetown back in 2020.
Anyway, that was our adventures in getting the milk. Fortunately, I didn’t suffer any long lasting effects from my injury, but, if I look closely enough, I can still see a faint little scar on the back of my hand. Maybe I’ll see if I can’t get a medal for it. Say, the Purple Milk Carton with Crossed Pasteurizers. Okay, that was really stupid. But I’ve had a long day and it’s the best I can manage on short notice. You might say I’m Udderly Exhausted. HA. HA. HA. Ha... ha. Get it? It’s a joke. Udder? Sounds like Utter? Oh, never mind.
After that, we headed out. We still had quite a ways to go. But, fortunately, from then on, it was pretty much smooth sailing. No more injuries, at least.
But, we did notice something interesting. To wit, as we went along the landscape grew more hilly, more arid, and much, much more like New Mexico.
Indeed, this would be a theme...
And would last right to the doors of Marfa itself...
With its massive artworks....
Of concrete and steel.
More to come.
Footnotes
* I actually did think of a bleeding simile, specifically, “bleeding like a stuck pig.” But, well, that sort of creeped me out. So I just skipped it. I hope you can forgive me.
Copyright©2024 Michael Jay Tucker
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