Tuesday is the day the garbage trucks return to my block. To prepare, I have two jobs.
First, I top off the landfill and recycling containers with the weekly junk. Then, I pull them behind me on their rollers to the end of our long driveway.
As the Buddha said, “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”
His point is that life goes on either way. I don’t chop wood, but I haul trash bins. The Buddha would be pleased, and so is my wife.
Since the refuse vehicle operator arrives early, most neighbors do this the day before, around dinner time. As you can imagine, I live in an enlightened neighborhood.
Here’s the exciting part of last Monday: When I was halfway into the dragging phase, a beautiful, smiling, graceful 30-year-old woman slowed her pace down the sidewalk I was heading for and spoke to me.
“What’s your sign?”
Back in the day, this was a come-on.
At a bar or a party, someone would move in your direction because they found you attractive and potentially interesting. Referring to your sign could be a conversation starter.
My ears told me the lady in question referred to signs of the Zodiac, which some believe explain your personality.
They think your daily horoscope hints at what the future holds. Put another way, it’s like a Chinese fortune cookie prediction.
Well, of course, I am an aging babe magnet, I thought, and put on my biggest grin. The charming woman took one step toward me. I continued my gradual roll in her direction and uttered:
“Capricorn.”
“Oh, I like your your sign!”
She seemed enthusiastic to the max.
“Yes, well, it’s the only one I have.”
At this point, the femme fatale raised two thumbs and smiled again but turned and walked away.
What happened? I was at a loss.
Bummer, I thought to myself. Not Boomer, the derogatory expression some young people use to dismiss anyone my age.
Still functioning, I placed the plastic refuse containers at the curb’s edge and began my brief return to the house.
Looking back at my home and the grass in front of it, I figured the whole thing out.
I need to tell you that I wear hearing aids. Though they cost a fortune, they do not reproduce sound as well as tip-top ears. I am at the mercy of mishearing imprecise words and those at some distance.
Like, maybe the gap between me and the lass.
I am also subject to the clutches of a wishful thought or two.
Ahha!
The charmer wasn’t responding to my studly, hunky, ancient self in the way I thought. She never said, “What’s your sign.” She said, “I like your sign,” twice since she realized I had misheard her first attempt.
What was she talking about?
She referred to the placard I placed on my front lawn almost three months ago.
The poster promotes one of the two leading US presidential candidates. A bit late, I realized that the beauty agreed with my advocacy of one of them.
Harris.
See you at the polls.
You never know who you might meet there.
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The Singapore Safety Sign is the work of Uwe Arana. The sign below it is the Penguins Crossing Funny Road Sign from New Zealand. It was created by MSeses. Both were sourced from Wikimedia Commons
