When I rolled into work, I had clients waiting while I pulled out a tablecloth, tacked my sign up on the wall, and flopped out the computer, printer, and tarot cards. Ready to go. Saddled up and started right away.
First one? Aries. Second? Aries. Third? Aries. Seeing a trend? I hope so. Just the way it goes.
Anyway, a little later, one of the readers [Pisces> drifted around and made a comment how someone had spread salt on her table and chairs.
One of the gatekeepers mentioned that a religious group, supposedly funny-mentalists, had come down, some from El Paso, most from Las Cruces (NM), and they had “blessed us” with salt.
It’s like, I used to carry salt, pure sea salt [according to the label> and this action of spreading salt around really helps dispel negative vibrations. Of course, that group was just trying to ward off evil spirits.
I rather enjoyed myself.
We are a little close to the fringe of the bible belt. You know, on the backside of the belt? Where it has a feller’s name? There’s El Paso.
So the gatekeeper did get license plate numbers and duly turned it over to the authorities. However, I’m not sure that it met with much assistance. Internecine war amongst religious groups doesn’t count for much airtime.
Personally, I hope those guys pray for my soul. I can always use all the help I can get.
Whatever they did must’ve helped me. I was very busy for the first portion of the afternoon. I missed getting salted.
As I was thinking about it, though, and I kept having this recurring nightmare image, free-floating anxiety, an scene of one – or more – of my buddies, upon hearing that their wives had been salted, casually reaching for a deer rifles and sportsman’s firearms, determined to protect that right of free speech.
Oh yes, I could just see bubbas, running a cleaning patch through the barrel of sidearm, or wiping some gun oil on the barrel of a long rifle, calm, determined, almost merry, “They did what?”
El Paso by morning
Ever have a morning without coffee? That’s just how Saturday started for me. I knew it was going to be a long day, so I took it easy – didn’t bother to make any coffee at home. I knew – on my way to the airport – that I could fetch some up in several places.
But the doors at the Hideout were still locked when I switched buses and hopped on the Airport Flyer. I’m used to earlier Saturday mornings, so the later flight threw me when I looked at a long line of people, families with children and baggage at the check in counter.
Behind me, a couple was arguing quietly amongst themselves as to which line was shorter, the one curbside or the one inside at the counter.
I pointed out, the other line always moves fasters.
“Inside or out?”
“Whichever one you’re not in.”
Comical moment occurred at the security gate. It’s summer time, and I’m wearing sandals, shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt.
“Want me to take my shoes off?” I asked the security cop.
“Yes.”
Another passenger rolled her eyes and shrugged at me as she slipped out of her flip-flops, and I took off my Water Walkers[/ur>.
I walked through the metal detector, picked up my X-Rayed belongings, and walked over to sit down and fasten those sandals back on.
An Austin Police Department officer was watching me, or rather, looking at the tan lines on my feet. Nothing else. Almost amused him.
Why the tan lines on my feet amuse people, I’ll never understand. It’s not different than a line from a wristwatch or a wedding band, right?
