We walked over the intracoastal bridge to the beach, then returned home and made breakfast. We need a stereo cabinet. After breakfast, we shopped the second hand stores along Federal Highway in Delray and found one for $49. I want to paint it white, Rich wants to paint it black. Maybe we’ll agree on gray. Nothing’s ever black and white in my life, I live in the gray areas.
Our next errand took us to a strip mall in Boynton, west of ninety-five. My husband needed something. We passed these two on our way there.
Halter top, no helmets, drink in hand. No fear. Only in South Florida, baby.
I wandered around the shop with my husband, selected some incense, and then got bored. Rich was procrastinating about his purchase. I went outside and walked the entire strip. It was an interesting little shopping destination. There was the ever popular Cash for Gold. We actually met the man who started this franchise at a bar in Lantana one night. He was in a wheelchair, laid up by multiple sclerosis, but loving life. He got around town, from Walgreens to the bar and everywhere in between, riding his motorized chair. He moved here from Chicago where he was housebound for half the year and now loves South Florida life. Somehow, work came up and he asked, “You’ve heard of Cash For Gold? That’s me. I started that.” He told us amusing stories of the people who delivered bags of teeth with gold fillings.
The strip mall had two nail salons. I see this often, I’m not sure about the business logic behind this.
There was a dentist’s office. I am in need of a new dentist. I hate all this having to find new doctors, hairdressers, and all those other things you need for the maintenance of living. The older we get, the more miles we have on our odometers, the more maintenance we need. I don’t think I will go to this guy. This is the sign he had in his window:
One of two pet grooming salons was next door. Again with the duplicating of services. Maybe he was performing a canine tooth cleaning? This might be their distinction from the other pet grooming establishment, they offer dental services for pets.
There were also two bars. This one allows smoking:
Clearly there are no signage rules at this strip mall. The DIY style is all the rage here.
The man who owns this bar is a writer. He posted one of his essays outside the door, along with the menu.
It was titled What Deep Thinkers Men Are. They never reveal this though, because as he noted, sometimes when he’s sitting outside in his yard, relaxing by himself, deep in thought, his wife passes by and asks, “What are you thinking about?” If he told her, this would lead to a conversation and disrupt his alone time drinking beer and contemplating life. So he always answers, “Nothing.”
One day he was thinking about how women always say childbirth is the most painful experience in the world. But he was wondering how it could possibly be more painful than getting kicked in the balls. He came to the conclusion getting kicked in the balls had to be more painful. After all, a woman gives birth and a few years later, she says, “Let’s have another kid.” She’s forgotten the pain of childbirth. He asks a very important question here. “Have you ever heard a man ask to get kicked in the balls again?” No, of course you haven’t. This leads him to the conclusion getting kicked in the balls is far more painful than childbirth. He ended the essay with, “Time for another beer.” He didn’t sign his name. Otherwise, I would share it with you.
I may have to return to this bar one night, order a cold beer and meet this fellow writer. Another storyteller trying to make sense of his life.