I don't know if I've mentioned my post-WWII-era retro suitcases before. I don't have luggage. I inherited suitcases. They are old...real old, like the newest one is from the late 60s. It's plastic...or PVC or somesuch. The older one is canvas over cardboard and it's old as hell. Plus I have some black travel bags that I got as free promotional items. So essentially I've not spent a dime on luggage. I figured it's about time I do.

I went to ShopKo and got a good deal on a 3-piece teal-colored luggage set (no more black...it's too hard to see the contents and I don't think they make lighted luggage yet). I don't need anything fancy, but I was getting really tired of my embarrassing slapped together non-matching bags and suitcases. It's one thing to use those when we travel to CO to stay with parents...I know my parents don't care, hell, they're the ones who I inherited the old bags from anyway (old bags, heh). But this trip we'll be staying in motels and hotels a lot and I'd rather consolidate things in larger and fewer units. The irony, this trip down Route 66, sort of screams out for a blue plastic suitcase from another era. It also screams out for a Cadillac Convertible, but that's not exactly in our budget.

Anyway, as soon as we got to the checkout line, I could just tell the checkout lady, who was near retirement age, was going to ask us where we were traveling to. I just knew it. I could just tell. But by the time I loaded my items on the conveyor belt and pulled out my credit card, I had been completely distracted and forgot about that thought. I was trying to figure out which way to orient my credit card to swipe, as each swiper gadget is different. As a little boy passed by in the outer aisle, the checkout woman looked towards him and asked, "Where are YOU going?" The little boy looked her direction, but continued to skip by. Still preoccupied with the credit card situation, I wasn't paying much attention. I figured he might be a relative, and she knew him. Having swiped correctly, I was now trying to read the display screen and figure out which button to push. Then she looks at me and says "Is it hot down there?" I had no idea what she was talking about. I had been trying on clothes in the fitting rooms, and yes, it was hot there. Very hot. I guess it was hot down there, where the fitting rooms are, but...what? OK, was this some kind of a shortperson joke, like what people say to very tall people "what's the weather like up there?" except in reverse..."is it hot down there?" But the checkout lady wasn't any taller than me.

"What?" I finally ask her.

"In Arizona. Isn't it hot there?"

Now I realized what was going on. She wasn't asking the little boy anything. She was asking me "Where are YOU going?" while not looking directly at me. And Stan must have answered her, although I didn't hear any of it. Had I realized she was talking to me at first and not the little boy, I would've responded "on a trip."

"Uh, yeah, I guess it is," I said in response to her heat query as I'm still struggling to read the display on the card swiper. And because of my eyesight, I'm struggling to read the receipt she hands me to sign. She must have thought she was dealing with a deaf and blind person. She checked my signature *very* carefully.

Maybe I'm paranoid, but first she asks where I'm going because I happen to be buying luggage, and then she's scrutinizing my card, like she's thinking I'm a fugitive or something. I don't know, it was odd. Ever see those skits on the recent SNL where someone is buying something at Target and the checkout clerk starts talking to them about the product they're buying, asking them where they got it and just being a general yahoo? It was like that. I'm just not big on people you don't know asking you personal questions about the products you're buying. I mean it's one thing if you're buying shampoo, for example, and they ask "have you tried this before? is it any good?" because they're not asking about YOU, they're asking about the product. But asking where you're GOING? That's just a little too personal. Maybe I'm going to a funeral. Maybe I'm expatriating from the country. Maybe I'm going to Hell in a Handbasket, or at least in a teal-colored 3-piece luggage set. Maybe I'm not going anywhere, but I need some place to store the various body parts I've cut up and stored in the garage. Now that would've been a great response.

Is it hot down there? Duh. Just as stupid as when I tell people in the west that I live in Wisconsin and they say "Isn't it cold up there?" Duh. Maybe you should go buy some luggage and travel there to see for yourself.

Labels: Vacation