Beware The Rodeo Zone

 

Part 26 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

If you like the impossible possibilities of the inscrutable, the mysterious, and the unexplained, you could always be a beautician. Or, avoiding the smelly classes necessary for that, go into rodeo.

There’s a signpost: “Rodeo Next Week.” Strange, isn’t it? There’s evidence all around you; it’s completely mysterious. Worn paths, strewn wood shavings indicating an arena, holes in the ground as though meant for restrooms. The weeds bending in the weird wind that kicks up at random. You think it’s oppressive, stifling, then there's a flier in the dust. The rodeo was last week and they forgot to pack the “Next Week” sign.

Yes, that was a false flag, forcing you back to apparent reality. Or was it? Couldn't that be exactly what The Rodeo Zone wants you to think, so that you will continue apace over the hill and out of sight, at which point the earth’s stranger creatures will reappear with a whole rodeo set up fully functioning, right down to the blue ribbons that competitors “win,” then pack away to “win” again at next week's show, and the week after that, and forever?

It’s a little spooky out here, like a foggy heath in Scotland or somewhere like that I’ve never been. Or one of those strange shamrock places in Ireland where they're always celebrating the earth’s fire, it’s molten core or whatever. I’ve never been to Ireland, and with their fascination with leprechauns and Irish accents I probably never will. It’d make me uncomfortable and I'd be out of place over there going “aye” and “begorrah” and the other lingo they push. Give me a good old-fashioned American rodeo alternately materializing and vanishing, portals to the great beyond and maybe back and I’ll be happy.

I certainly believe it’s possible. If rodeo energy was there once, and if we can agree that existence is more than spiritless matter, then there’s weirder things in this world possible than you can find listed in your Funk & Wagnall's encyclopedia. You occasionally discern these portals — like the Rodeo Zone — and you enter to relive whatever it was, let’s say, along with a warning, an important proviso, that, all things being other than what they seem, what it seems might be benign, but what it is is might be just the thing that consumes you, body and soul.

Say that happens. A clown leads you to the portal, promising you a good time at the rodeo in the great beyond. You foolishly step there and there’s no rodeo, but a traveling carnival. You only have thoughtful recognition of the circumstances for a few seconds, before all consciousness is mercifully removed. In those seconds you consider what you’ve now become, a beautician in an alternate world that has no hair. It's the pointlessness of hell! With another way of looking at it, it's a rodeo, true, but appearing and vanishing in some random and mad way.

I'm glad it hasn't happened to me, lately. And I'd recommend that you run -- run fast and run far -- and don't look back till you feel that you're a safe distance away, if such a thing exists.

Ten Dollar Bills And Orange Antifreeze

The other day I needed a $10 bill for someone's birthday card. I was at the grocery store, so I got $40 change from my debit card. The cashier was giving me two 20s so I asked for one 20 and two 10s instead. But she said she didn't have any 10s; they didn't give her any. I asked her if she could get me a couple, but she either wouldn't or couldn't. She shut the drawer and that was it.

I went over to customer service and asked if I could change one of the 20s for two 10s. She also said they didn't have any 10s. No 10s, isn't that funny? Apparently not a 10 dollar bill in the whole damned place! So I left a little ticked off, muttering to myself, "They built this $8 million store to appeal to customers then fall down on the little stuff. Some little piece of customer service like that." Grrrr.

I can only guess they don't believe in the $10 bill. But why? They still deal in 1s and they still have 5s. I know they have 5s because I ended up with four of them! It's just the 10. You're out of luck. Maybe one of the managers lost a $10 bill his dad gave him to go to the store and so he swore, "I'll never carry another 10, and that goes for whatever store I myself happen to manage in the future!"

My story of the orange antifreeze is similar, about a guy who didn't believe in orange antifreeze.

I took my car to a different mechanic when my old mechanic got gangrene in his foot, had to have it amputated, and retired. I was going to take a trip out of town and needed service that included draining the radiator and having it refilled. Sounds simple enough.

At the end of the trip (getting there), my car was acting crazy, overheating, going ballistic. I took it to a mechanic, who had to do major repairs that ended up costing me $539. He told me it had the wrong antifreeze in it! It had green and I was supposed to have orange!

Later then, back home, I was talking to a friend, a guy who coincidentally happened to know the mechanic. We shared some experiences of how rude he was, etc. I had already told him about the $539 bill to get the car fixed and the wrong antifreeze. My friend said something I could barely believe, that he knew for a fact that the mechanic "doesn't believe in orange antifreeze"; he only believes in green. So if your car calls for orange, and you happen to take it to him, he's only going to put in green!

What kind of bullshit is that? A mechanic whose beliefs override what your car physically needs?

This story about the 10 dollar bills and the antifreeze is true, word for word, except it might have been $593. I might have transposed the numbers but I don't think so.

Don't let your beliefs get in the way of either my money or my antifreeze!