It was the end of the service. Time to greet everyone to whom you hadn’t already spoken and to shake hands with the preacher on the way out.
“That thing got a Hemi in it?” Mr TransferFromAnotherChurch asked for the tenth week in a row. He gets some slack because his wife passed on recently, and also he’s 800 years old. “We’ll go out driving next week, right?”
“You bet!” I answered for the tenth week in a row.
“Get all your errands run?” Mr Elf asked. He was the history teacher, although not my history teacher. No matter what he says.
“You usually wait til Sunday to do your errands, don’t you? Like filling up your gas tank.”
As with many conversations in Retirement Acres, I didn’t have the faintest idea where this was headed.
“Because I’m here to offer you some advice,” he smiled. “Rearrange your schedule.”
“I…you think I use a schedule? For anything? Ever?” For people who claim to have known me since childhood, they don’t seem to know a lot about me.
“Not a smart one,” he answered. “Here’s the problem: every Sunday, you leave church and go to the gas station.”
“Well, yeah, because the gas station is a block away and there’s no way I have enough gas in the car to drive the half mile back–”
“Everyone thinks you’re leaving church to buy beer and lottery tickets,” he clarified. “They’re talking about staging an intervention.”
So now I buy my gas, beer, and lottery tickets on Thursday.
Plan accordingly, friends.