People are what is wrong with the world. If I was on this globe by myself…

City street driving: as our line of cars approaches a stoplight, the car in front of me slows, puts on its left blinker, and moves as far right as possible. The street is wide enough for my car to have passed the turning car on the right but…

The before sunrise, short morning drive to Turning Stone Resort on a four-lane interstate in mid-October is challenging when other cars are on the road. The concept of dimming headlights needs to be taught in all public, private, and home schools. And for both directions. Idiots leave high beams on as they approach both the front and the back of my car. “Bright lights in the darkness” blindness from all directions. Morons. And there is at least one jackass per-morning who thinks if two headlights are okay, four are better. F&%#ing, selfish nitwit.

Walmart—for some efficient and profitable reason—does not believe in stocking all of the same product in the same store location. This problem deserves an entire essay, so let’s move on since you probably experienced it yourself, whether you knew it or not. Ever not find something you were looking for?

Walmart PHYSICALLY displays three discontinued, “demo” laptops for a great price, with a big-letter notice stating “Out of Stock”. I ask if I can buy one of the displays. The lazy, young* Walmart employee ignores me until his conversational partner notices and backs away, pointing at the laptops. The salesman says “No”, without moving but with irritation. “Why?” me, without moving and without irritation, but with slight amusement and great anticipation. His deadpan response: “We lose money when we sell them at that price.”

Cancer and I have an agreement where I get tested for adenocarcinoma’s return every six months and it agrees not to show up. It’s been a solid, successful, 2.5 year arrangement. I get the doctor’s opinion about recent tests next Wednesday. Today, Friday at Turning Stone Resort and Casino, a “Psychiatric Service Dog” approached me, sat, and leaned on me. When I reached to pet him he licked my fingers. Per the dog’s handler and Ai, “the dog is individually trained to perform specific tasks that mitigate a diagnosed mental health or psychiatric disability.” The handler explained the dog could also help someone cope with really bad news.

It left me rattled and anxious for next week’s Wednesday consult.

The test results dropped in my on-line patient account** late Friday night and are excellent and conclusive: cancer held up its end of the bargain. Why am I still rattled and anxious? Would you be?

I can remember being young and not worried about anything except how long it took to make my pizza and how many times we elect politicians who are useless and greedy. Old age has added a ton of worries, frets, nigglies, and gnawers. The Golden Age.

The real problem is why I think I’m the only one with these problems and have the need to tell everyone.

Thanks for reading and not judging.

You’re not, right?***

PS Google “purported” and use it at least once today.

*Sorry for the identifier and trust me if it was an old salesman I would have mentioned it, too. Average age, not worth extra typing.

**A modern, internet advantage. In 1975 it took weeks to get test results, but there were no service dogs. Tomayto tomahto.

***Reading or judging, either one. Or both. And if you aren’t reading, what are you doing here? Pervert.