Yesterday I went to work for Rob & Laura, my nonagenarian clients. If you follow my blog you already know that I adore them and we have fun doing mundane errands. Yesterday did not disappoint. Laura was getting a hair cut at a nearby salon while Rob and I did some food shopping.
We were in the frozen food aisle at the intersection of peas and dried beef (in Pennsylvania you must be age 75 or greater to purchase dried beef) when we bumped into Marty. You might think, how lovely is Marty a personal friend, acquaintance or helpful employee? Those are all really good guesses so don’t berate yourself for being wrong. Nay, nay friends, Marty is a robot who wanders the grocery store scaring the sh*t out of small children, robophobics (robophobia is real, I Googled it) and customers with a touch of dementia.
In fairness to Rob, Marty showed up out of nowhere. Just appeared at the end of an aisle. Marty and Rob starred at each other for a solid two minutes. Rob watched in a trance as Marty did that awkward oh-shit-where-do-I-go-now robot dance. I’ve only ever seen it before when the Roomba ricochets down the hallway like some modern day version of pinball or drunk staggering down an alley after last call. The worst part is that Marty doesn’t seem overly useful. He’s supposed to clean up spills or something but he’s no Rosie from the Jetsons that’s for sure.
After the grocery store we collected Laura and made our way to Miracle Ear and then a meat store. Rob has a special fondness for the meat store and he purchased several items. When we got back to the house I noticed that the meat drawer in their fridge was overflowing. I date everything and I noticed somethings from mid February. I pointed this out to Laura who assured me that an exhaustive sniff test would be performed before they consumed anything. Then I emailed their adult children to alert them of the rotting meat in the fridge.
After my outing with Rob and Laura I went home. I got home early and offered to make lunch for my husband. I made him a sandwich, it was a fine sandwich by any standard. Later I asked him how he liked it and he replied with a “meh, needed more seasoning”.
Then I threw a heavy object in his general direction. Through keen observation he was able to recognize that this response did not please me. Then he said (in a heavy Brooklyn accent) “whadda ya want me to lie?” To which I replied, “yes, yes I do….unless it is in regard to fidelity or finances, lie to me.”