RANDOM OBSERVATIONS

A couple of observations on this chilly March 9th afternoon.

One, I am glad that Daylight Savings Time rolled around again. Now, when I look at the clock in my automobile, it'll be the correct time. I know what you're thinking: "Dude? How tough can it be to change a car clock?" Believe me, if it had been easy or in any way logical, it'd have been changed by now. So, anyway, I guess I'm good until Fall. Sweet.

The second observation I have to impart to you, my three loyal readers, is this: people who seemingly don't do so often look funny when they run. (Kinda like dog trainers at dog shows...funny stuff.) I was at the local 24-hour megastore today, piling shit into my cart that I--if I really sit down and think about it--don't really absolutely need. As I walked out, I saw a small sunglassed Asian woman standing near the stop sign to the crosswalk. There weren't any cars coming, so she bunched her little fist around a yellow plastic bag and ran in small mincing steps to the door. Amusing to look at, sure, but I also wondered to myself, as I walked towards my car, just why the hell she was running. Did Meijer have that much of a hold on her that she couldn't casually walk the last twenty feet to the doors? Did she really have to run? Why couldn't she have ambled? Or strolled? Why did she have to rev up her gluteus maximus and quadriceps and calf muscles and feet muscles to an accelerated pace? For that matter, why put unnecessary stressors on her Achille's tendons? When those things pop, you're in a whole world of pain. Just ask former Piston great Isiah Thomas; he'll tell you--ouch. Slow down, small Asian woman in the knee-length camel-colored winter coat. Meijer will still be there. It's twenty-four hours, for God's sake.

As I got nearer my car--I'd parked about as far as humanly possible from the entrance; I guess I wanted to amble, to stroll--I saw another person running. I couldn't really tell if it was a man or a woman. I'm thinking woman, but I could be wrong. I think he or she was a Meijer employee. He or she had a red polo shirt; to the casual observer (me), it looked like it could have been a Meijer shirt. He or she was heavyset. He or she had shoulder-length brown permed hair and he or she was clutching what looked to be a paper bag in his or her arms. As I ambled to my Focus, I saw him or her moving at a fast pace out of the corner of my eye, so I focussed my attention on the runner. He or she lurched along, facing the ground at almost a one-hundred-ten degree angle. And when I say "lurch," I mean it. There was no grace, no balance, no co-ordination at all to his or her run. I am reminded now of a circus bear, motorvating along at a loping shambling gait. As I watched, he or she shot a look over in my direction and kept running. Odd.

I guess Meijer is the place to be. Everyone is busting their asses to get inside the fabled doors. It's a cool place, don't get me wrong. It has got lots of stuff from which to choose. Mister Meijer did well for himself, I'm sure. And, although they have those gosh-damned annoying fucking store "greeters," like Arnie, I'll be baaaaack. But I'll walk in. I'll save the running for the basketball court.