Change is one of those things which attract
truisms. Change is inevitable, change is good, change means progress, yadda yadda yadda. You've heard the truisms, used them yourself. Truisms are useful in that they are usually...ahem...true. Here's another truism about change to add to your list.
Change can get you thrown into jail.
That doesn't make a lot of sense to the casual reader, I'll confess. I'll tell you what happened in an effort to clear up the issue.
I'm a gadget guy. I'm one of millions of guys who think a few hours browsing the shelves of a well stocked hardware store qualifies as fun. I like to browse and get ideas for future projects, new ways to do things, and new offerings in gadgetry.
I and my significant other were doing just that last Monday, utilizing the Memorial Day break for shopping and browsing and just spending some time together.
Imagine my joy when I found something I'd never seen before. It was an adaptation to an old item. Everyone knows what a wheelbarrow is, that tried and true workhorse on almost every work site. This new thing is a wheelbarrow with 2 wheels, set about a foot apart. The old style with the single wheel is inherently unstable as it is a 3 point system when in use. The system has its advantages as the operator can tip the load at almost any angle, but in hauling topheavy loads it is subject to flop over and lose its cargo.
The new configuration becomes a four point system, making it much more stable. It was love at first sight. I could imagine hauling away with nary a tip over or tumble with that new machine.
I found an associate, the proper term for the drone hiding from actually serving a customer. She was a skinny little wench who looked like she was 2 hours late for a cigarette break. I'll bet she had to put a brick in her pocket when the wind blew to stay standing on the ground. I considered offering her a Mcgift certificate, but thought if I wanted her help, I should restrain myself from sarcasm. I drew this surly wretch from her hiding place and asked her for details on the new wheelsbarrow, thinking my change-up to the name both cute and innovative. She didn't smile, didn't give a hint that she'd noticed my little gambit other than to narrow her already reptilian slits even further. Her lips pressed together until I swear they disappeared. I repeated my inquiry only to have her ask me to wait while she took care of another pressing matter.
I dithered about happily for a half hour, looking at other stuff until the associate showed up, this time with a gentleman who identified himself as an agent for the Immigration and Naturalization Service in tow. Little Miss Lizard Eyes had called the INS on me, mistaking my clever little verbal two step with the unfamiliarity with our native tongue one would expect from an illegal. I started talking fast and furiously, making a bad situation much worse. If I had been hard to understand before, my speech had now become completely unintelligible.
Hearing the tone, speed, and volume of her husband, my wife popped her head out of the pup tent she had been investigating. The INS guy took one glance at her, thought she was some chick in a burka, and pulled his gun on her. He must have thought she was a suicide bomber getting ready to take out the campfire at a National Park or something, anyways, he was taking no chances. I stepped between them, offering my rather substantial bulk as a suitable target. I figured if I got shot, this sad episode would at least come to an end, and if I didn't get shot, I'd get points from Frau for the gesture. Fat chance. Before I could say "Well, I'll be John Brown", she'd poked me in the tukis with a weenie fork from the grill display. I started howling like a madman, and Johnny Law was sure I'd just declared jihad right there between the camping gear and the riding mowers. He'd have shot me as dead as last year's garden too, if he hadn't gotten his feet tangled up in the weedeater display and fell flat, losing his 9mm in the process.
I know an opportunity when I see one. I grabbed Frau by her weenie fork wielding hand and took to my heels, towing her out the front. We jumped into Her Majesty's Barge, turned the engine, and took off into the sunset. I hope the security cameras didn't get our plates on the way out the exit.
Here I am at home again, the holiday gone, with fork marks in my butt, making me look like I sat on a rattlesnake. No sexy new wheelsbarrow sitting in my shed. No prospects of returning to that particular hardware in the foreseeable future. All I got out of all that excitement and danger was a free weenie fork.
Change ain't all it's cracked up to be.