I’m madder than Fred Flintstone on the day his wife Wilma gets her credit card in the mail over the fact that there a way too many places — physical or digital — for my lovely wife Sharon to spend my money on things that do not include my favorite Hawaiian shirts!
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher proudly wears a size 6X shirt and my favorite designer is not Calvin Klein or Tommy Hillfinger; it’s Omar the Tent Maker! So you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that when the new Gateway II shopping mall opened off the Belt Parkway last weekend, I was there with Sharon looking to buy some regular-guy fashions for the coming holiday season.
We hopped in the Plymouth, gassed it up, and hit the road with Tornado in the trunk (which is the biggest in its class), and before we knew it, we were getting off at Oisk Street by the old dump where we saw the new shopping paradise rise up before us.
Our first stop was the Burlington Everything Factory, where they have just about everything my wife “needs,” which is basically whatever she lays her eyes on.
Sharon’s shopping adventures is akin to Paul Revere on his horse screaming “The British are coming!” Sharon’s goal is to add as many shopping bags as possible to her collection, and unfortunately for our budget, they are full of sales items, so she “saves” me hundreds of dollars — while charging up thousands of dollars quicker than Tornado connected to a 220 outlet. But don’t fret folks, when she shops the Dow Jones Index goes up.
And with such a helpful staff, it’s no wonder that Tornado’s wheels seemed flat as she piled on knickers after pantaloons after stockings. They woudn’t think twice of finding you a garment in a different, size, color, or price, no matter how many times you asked them. It was as if you were courtier shopping on the Via Vento, Rodeo Walk, or at Coco Puffs Chanels. I know because all the shirts and jackets I tried on had teams of runners going back and forth and we had to leave most of my choices at the register because we couldn’t carry them all.
The downside to this shopping spree was that we then had to get all of our purchases back to the Plymouth, which seemed to be parked miles away. So we instead decided to head to Applebees for a quick snack, because it was closer than the car, and appeared to be the only restaurant in a five-mile radius. Where is the hot dog stand when you need it?
Well, by the time our beeper went off telling us our table was ready, our “snack” turned into a full-fledged meal, and by the time we were done, Sharon couldn’t even walk. So I had here hop atop my chariot with me and all the clothes.
Not surprisingly, this was quite a scene, and as we drove through the parking lot, cars were honking at us, their passengers waving, with some even taking pictures! Hey folks, if you like, send them to me and I’ll sign them!
Now’s the point in the column where I give you my hideous crime update of the week, this one happening Downtown at Smith and Schermerhorn streets, where a poor 55-year-old woman’s walker was stolen from her when she reached down to pick up a dollar bill off the ground. Now, I know what your thinking: “Carmine, what was that woman doing picking up a dollar off the floor? They ain’t worth nothing these days.” Well, that may be true to you young whippersnappers, but it is the furthest thing from the truth to a true child of the Depression like myself whose motto is “A penny found is a penny that gets added to my pile of pennies in the basement.”
So I could understand why this woman wanted that dollar, which is worth about a thousand pennies.
And I’ll have you know this: if I were the judge judging this case, I would judge that that person have the book thrown out him for doing such a thing to a person that couldn’t walk without a walker. And when I say throw the book at him, I mean literally throw the book at him — and the chair, and his wig, and his little hammer and whatever else he can get his hands on. For shame!
Screech at you next week!
