Welcome Home....I think

Warning, this could become a very long blog!

We are back in Vegas all fat and happy. Much work has been done to our house and much is yet to come. Our rental house still has not sold, so our work will be at a standstill soon for lack of funds. We have promised ourselves to only pay cash. So if you know anyone looking for a house in Vegas at a killer deal, let me know.

Since I have been back in the States I’ve had some crazy encounters with baggers. Yes baggers…the people who bag your groceries. The first came while we were in Ohio. It seems that Kroger hires those less fortunate to bag groceries, but they have not really given them any training in people skills. Every time I went to the store these sweet people had to analyze EVERYTHING I bought. It took forever to get out of the store. They were not quiet about it either. I’m just glad I wasn’t buying anything too intimate!

Fast-forward one week….. I’m back in Vegas and Dave sends me to Lowes to get two 5-gallon buckets of paint. Of course, I can’t lift them so the checker asks this nice, young cart boy (AKA bagger) to help me out. He smiles and says hi, I say hi and we head out the door. As soon as we are out the door the kid looks at me and says, “Do you like clowns?” I say sure. Then he says, “I like Swedish circus clowns, the girl kind.” And for the next five minutes he fills me in on how much he likes Swedish circus girls because they don’t get fat when they get old like other circus girls. He went on about how he bought a Swedish circus girl a beer; “a Mexican beer because he’s Mexican”. But just so you know. He told me you don’t mess with Mexican circus girls because they have Mexican boyfriends and they’ll beat you up.

Fast-forward one more week. I’m at the grocery for the first time since we’ve been back in town and I bought a cart FULL of groceries. For some reason this bagger kid could not fit them back into one cart? So now I have two carts and he insists on helping me out. I finally agree. The doors of Albertson’s open and 105 degrees hits me in the face the same time this kid says, “My dad won’t let me in his house.” Trying not to make much conversation I just say, “Oh.” Then he tells me that his dad doesn’t like his religion. I’m thinking, oh great he’s going to tell me how he’s Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness and try to convert me. But no, he continues to tell me how his religion is “Black Magic”. He speaks the language! He just kept unloading my bags telling me how he has 800 year old memories and how is going to learn to be a Samurai for the “worlds only last living Samurai.” I honestly have to say I was at a complete loss for words.

I always thought bagging would be a good part-time job for my kids. Mabye not.