Yesterday I left our apartment with the intention of going to the library. I had very simple directions from my friend Jenn. David and I had read through them on Saturday, and we had even simplified them a little more. I went out of the house, got in the car, got out the gate, got to the corner, turned right, and then I made mistake number one.
When I got to the Valero station, I turned right again. I was now no longer on Military, but on the 151 access road. Now it was no longer a trip to the library, but an adventure. I sensed something was wrong, but I continued down the pike. (Heck, something is always wrong when I leave the casa.)
After motoring quite a ways, when I realized I probably should have written down mileage on the directions, I saw a sign for Military. Good. I got off the access road. Here's some interesting information for you folks who might want to take a trip to San Antonio: there are a whole lot of roads down here whose first name is Military. Unfortunately, their second name can be different. Just like Jim, Bobby, or Tom, not all of them have the same last name. This one was a case in point.
Soon enough, mistake realized. I was back on an access road. Somehow it had morphed into the 410 access road. Never mind. I still had an idea where I was going at least, even if it wasn't to the library. Aha! An HEB! It took a while to find the actual store, but soon I was inside, pushing my cart. I think I alluded once before to the fact that we bought stuff in small quantities, and toilet paper had moved very quickly back onto the list.
This HEB had a very distinctive Mexican flair--in other words, I heard more Spanish than English. Also, the menfolk seemed to have quite a few tattoos. Still, it was an HEB, and I needed stuff. Like toilet paper. HEBs are great stores. They have everything a person needs, except Diet Mt. Dew in 24 oz bottles. Poor David. The drink salesman who was stocking the shelves helped me look for the nonexistent stuff, all the while chatting about lawyers, for some reason...He was nice, though.
Eventually I checked out behind a woman who had over $100 worth of coupons, as well as a grocery bill that approached $500 dollars! My groceries really looked meager, compared to hers. As I type this, I recognize she might have been a member of a very large family, shopping for her Thanksgiving dinner. Or for a food pantry. Or for the entire gang. She seemed really friendly, though.
I was back in the car. I had three or four perishable items, only a small amount, so I would be able to get them back up to the apartment. Next step, get back up to the apartment.
Somewhere on the drive home, I made a left turn. I know it wasn't at my Military, but I don't know where it was. It took me half an hour to find a place I felt comfortable enough to turn around, somewhere past about 20 auto parts stores, a zillion taco stands, and even a few pinata shops. There were no markings in the parking lot, and I almost drove over the sidewalk to get out, but I finally wised up and followed another car. I headed back for the states. (Read that I410)
After I got on 410, I knew what to do. Get on 151 and drive until I saw the Sea World exits. Get off when I saw the roller coaster. Turn left. Go to the Valero station and turn right. Go to Dugas, turn left again. I did all that flawlessly, and made it home.
I carried the perishable groceries up to the apartment very quickly--good thing I still had a roll of toilet paper up there! I sat down and relaxed for a few minutes, then started putting stuff away. Whoops--no hamburger. It was still down in the car. I really didn't want to do it, but I traipsed back down to the car. When I got there, I realized I had left the car keys up at the apartment. So I went back up, got the keys, and went down again. Before I did, though, I put a post-it note on the door that said, Purse? Keys? Glasses? Mail?
Anyway, I survived my sidetrip to Mexico, and that's the way things are down south.
Love to all, and God bless.
PS David and I found the library last night, five minutes after it closed.