The coming Hippie Eupocalypse: Day “Oh who cares?”


The Hippie Eupocalypse

Rog and I are in the Family Dollar on Main to get pops
some collector’s edition toilet paper.  I grab the
biggest one of ’em I can and Rog says, “Damn, that’s $9.50.”

I said, “I know but it’s the best value.”  Rog doesn’t want
anything for his 50th birthday, at least not from Family
Dollar.  Hell, it was like pulling teeth trying to get him in
the store with me.  Rog is my pops’ brother but he never
officially adopted me as a nephew so I just call him Rog.

Trouble at the counter, the computers are fucking with me
again.  First, the scanner won’t read Rog’s Turtles candy bar
and the girl behind the counter fiddles around, first with
the candy bar, then tries punching in the numbers, then tries
scanning again a couple times.  Finally, she reaches over the
counter and grabs another Turtle and it scans.

I go to swipe my pass card on the reader and it’s cranked up
against the register and my card won’t slide right.  I try it
from the bottom and it reads.  I go to punch in my PIN and the
girl pushes the reader down and I hit the wrong digits and panic.
I let out a groan and the girl says, “Sorry!

I say, “No problem, not your fault…  I was just trying to
punch in my PIN when you moved the reader.  It’s the machine’s
fault.”  Rog and I grab our goods and I head off in the wrong
direction for the door.

Rog says, “The door’s this way Mike.”

I reply, “See, I told you to come in with me.  I’d have gotten
lost and had another panic attack.  And you didn’t want to come
in with me.”

Pops, doesn’t feel much like drinking, says he’s been sick for
three days, but Rog and I are by the liquor store so we stop
to get a bottle.  Rog won’t come in again and I’m not gonna
argue with him so I head into the store by myself, leaving Rog
in the minivan listening to the radio.

The girl at the liquor store says, “Hi!”  I’d only seen her
there one time before but she seems to recognize me.

I say, “Hi!” back at her and look behind the counter at the
liquor bottles.  They put all the hard liquor behind the
counter a couple months ago because too many people were
stealing.  The Evan Williams isn’t on sale any more so I ask
for a fifth of Kessler’s.  That’s pops’ usual brand anyway, it’s
alright I guess, but I would have preferred the Evan.

Rog is in the minivan, zoning out when I come out with the
Kessler’s.  The doors are locked and I can’t get in.  Rog
fumbles around and I point to the lock switch and he flips it.
I get in and Bob Seger is still playing Ole Time Rock ‘n’ Roll
on the radio.  Time is moving slow again so I bang my chronometer
on the dashboard.

We’re listening to the radio about to turn on Jefferson when I
see the soy bean trucks going in and out of the processing plant.
There’s no hurry now on the narrow stretch to Huckabuck, just
take it slow and let them do their things.  A tune pops into
my head, a fragment of a new one.  I sing:

“The GMOs are running slow on Jefferson today…” as we’re going
over the railroad tracks and Rog pipe’s in with another fragment:

“With the old soy beans laying across the tracks
Hope that trains full of women
‘Cause I’m tired of going in men’s backs…”

Rog, it’s at moments like these when I realize just why I love
Rog & pops and Downertown.

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