small town day

Last night, Robert had a minor tooth irritation. This morning, the tooth had progressed to real pain and I urged him to call his dentist to at least see if there was anything that could be done over the weekend. Robert got an emergency number from the dentist's answering machine, and when he dialed it, got the dentist himself. No answering service, no long wait, just the guy he wanted to talk to.

After a few minutes' discussion, the dentist prescribed some medications and asked that Robert call first thing Monday if the tooth hadn't improved. Robert called the drug store when it opened, but waited on the phone too long, so he just drove downtown, got the prescriptions started, and came home again.

But it was hazardous waste day. Last week, we put together a small bag and yesterday I found out that the once-a-year event was today. So off we went to the town yard and sat in a short line waiting to donate our goodies (15 year old wood floor cleaner, anyone?). I've learned to go early. Later in the day, the lines back up and you run the danger of getting there after they've run out of money and have had to close the lines down entirely.

We spent part of our line time chatting with the policeman who was there to warn us that another policeman up ahead would ask for our driver's license (to prove that we were actually attending our own town's hazardous waste day, not some other town's). He talked about the difference between his training in LA and his work in our small town. In LA, he said he saw eight people killed, just driving around the streets. Here, he's seen dead people, all of whom died of natural causes. I laughed about a police blotter item I'd seen last week about a man who called in to complain that crows were nesting in the back yard. He said they get calls like that all the time. Once again, I feel good to live in a place where police at least hear out all phone calls, even if they don't actually take action on every single one.

Then we went to the Boy Scout bottle drive and car wash. For some reason, Boy Scouts around here think it's worthwhile to collect five-cent returnable bottles. Maybe it is a good fund-raiser; I think of it as a great service. We saw a neighbor. Robert thought the volunteers looked old, way past high school, and wondered if there were any Boy Scouts or just adults. Yes, there were some older scouts working the operation. Unlike in previous years, perhaps because there were so many adults there, I didn't even have to unload the bottles from the car -- someone did that for me.

Finally, back to the drug store, where they of course recognized Robert and handed him his meds. And then off to the local airport for breakfast, where the motto is "Not your average $100 hamburger", and they're right. Except now, for those who fly in rather than drive, it's probably more like a $250 hamburger. Last time we were there, the owner realized that I had left my jacket there the time before and made sure I took it with me. So I thanked her again and told her how happy I was to have it back. We ran into another friend, had a good meal, and came home.

Oh, and once upon a time, I lived in a city and none of this would ever have happened. We'd still be waiting for the dentist to call back, there would be no hazardous waste because there would be no garage to store it in, the policemen would probably be jumpy and curtly polite, the people at the drug store would be surly and spend hours filling the prescription, the Boy Scouts would be going to the country for relaxation, and my jacket would have been tossed in the dumpster with the rest of the evening's trash. I'm sure there were reasons to live in the city once upon a time, but I can't remember what they were.