In the Other Cart

"I'm sorry!" I said to my fellow grocery shopper as he stood gazing over the cart I had left behind for a minute at the shelf beyond. "Let me move that!" 

"Oh, you're fine," he told me. "It's not even in my way. I'm just nosy, and I was looking at what was in there.

"Oh!" I laughed as I rolled away. "I hope it was interesting!"

A little while later, I passed him again, and this time, he had his cart with him. It was literally half full of NY strip steaks—there was over a thousand dollars' worth of meat in there! I looked down at the oranges, fennel, potatoes, and olives in my own cart and thought how boring they were in comparison.

Exhibition Game

We share a quarter-season ticket plan with some of our neighbors, which this year included an exhibition game between the Nats and the Orioles. It was a bonus game, and no one else in the group was interested, so I texted my friend Mary, who is an Orioles fan, to ask if she wanted to go with me this afternoon. "Sure!" she agreed to take off early from school, "It will be like practicing for retirement!"

And as it turned out? It was. 

The weather was lousy, but we didn't care; we expected it to clear up by game time. There was a snafu with the parking pass, which I spent a frustrating hour dealing with before just reserving parking somewhere else; all fine. 

When we arrived, the park was nearly deserted due to the weather and the time of day on a Monday. Even so, we enjoyed rattling around like we owned the place, and all the employees were super cooperative and friendly. It was their opening day for the season, and their excitement was contagious. 

The game was delayed, but Nats radio was kicking, playing hits old and older, which I was only too happy to sing along to. Mary had a great ballpark hot dog before we ditched our drizzly seats on the field level for some dryer nose-bleeds under the eaves way up in section 405. 

We chatted, admired the view of the city and the Anacostia River, and watched the raindrops bounce off the tarp for an hour, scanning the field, the dugouts, and the bullpens for any activity that might give us a clue to the fate of the game. A little after 2, a guy dressed in red corduroys and a sportcoat approached us. We were two of the only three people in the section. "I think you're in my seat," he said, waving his phone. 

Against the odds, we were, so we moved on up a couple of rows. A minute later, we saw some Orioles dragging their equipment duffles from the bullpen and decided to go. We hadn't made it to the stairs before the announcer confirmed what we suspected: the game was canceled. 

"So that's retirement," I told Mary as we ambled down the ramp toward the exit. "Not always what you expect, but if you roll with it, it can be nice in its own way."

"I like it!" she said. "I'm in."

The Troll in the Bookstore

"I'm right here! Why don't you see me?" 

I heard the words as I browsed the discounted games at a local bookstore that was temporarily closing for renovation. I spied a young man with his back to me, his phone to his ear, looking out the huge plate glass window at the end of the aisle. We were on the second floor with a clear view of the plaza below.

Among the people enjoying the spring sunshine, a young woman, also on her phone, paced the promenade, craning her neck left and right in exasperation. I could not hear her side of the conversation, but I was sure she was who he was talking to.

"You are wearing your school sweater," the guy laughed. She looked down at herself and then sat in one of the Adirondack chairs. "Why are you just sitting there? " he taunted her. "I'm waiting for you!"

She stood and scanned the area again, never once looking up. Then, she turned on her heel and headed the other way.

"No! Wait!" said the guy. "I was just playing!"

She never broke her stride, but he took off for the escalator, and a minute later, I saw him tap her on the shoulder. I didn't need a phone to understand what she said when she turned. "Asshole!"

Get Outta Here

We heard them before we saw them.

Our walking route today took us about a block from a Tesla dealership. About a hundred protesters were jammed onto the narrow sidewalk in front, chanting and waving anti-DOGE signs at the busy intersection of a main road and a couple of off- and on-ramps for the interstate. A cheer rose up every time a passing motorist honked in agreement. 

As we turned the corner, a woman approached us from the other direction. "Were you at the protest?" she asked breathlessly.

"No," I told her. "We're just walking by. They seem to have a good crowd, though."

"Well, this cute dog looks like she might have an objection or two to Elon Musk's meddling in the federal government," she laughed as she leaned over to pet Lucy. "I heard the group is planning to demonstrate every week," she said as she turned to go. "They call it 'Tesla Tuesday'! Catchy, right?"

"Easy to remember, for sure," I agreed.

As we continued on our way, I thought about the history of that particular location. It had always seemed outlandish to me when they had replaced the long-time local seafood store with a high-end car dealership fifteen years ago. First, it was Maserati, but Tesla took over the site in 2021. Suffice it to say, I haven't had the occasion to patronize either business.

Elon Musk and his wicked ways aside, I wish they would bring back the fish!

What Always Follows

The day was deceptive: from the window, bright sunlight, blue skies, and blossoms suggested a mild warmth, but in reality, the breeze was chill, and the air cold enough to keep the temperature below 50. Even so, in my hoodie and sunglasses, the weather was fine, and walking the dog was a joy rather than a chore. 

As we meandered through the neighborhood, something about the sun's slant through the newly budding trees reminded me of so many Easter Sundays in the past, when we shivered in those nippy early spring mornings in our holiday finery, hunting for eggs and posing for pictures. Still, the cold didn't really matter back then, either.

Although we may have been surprised by the crispness of the day, the promise of warmer weather was always there.

A Prequel to What?

I read The Hunger Games shortly after it was released in 2008. Back then, reality TV was still in its early stages, and the dystopian premise of a show where kids fought to the death was darkly original. 

It's hard to remember how perceptive and novel Suzanne Collins's concept was because, since then, the book and movie franchises have become a part of our cultural fabric: the name is shorthand for any brutal, unfair competition, and the term tribute is widely recognizable as someone immorally sacrificed by the powers that be. 

In the 17 years since The Hunger Games was published, reality TV has also evolved into a cultural phenomenon; by some reckonings, 80% of American adults who watch TV watch at least one hour of reality TV per week. Many producers, cable stations, celebrities, and politicians (ahem) owe a considerable measure of their success to the genre. Arguably, its popularity also paved the way for people's willingness to share so much of their lives on social media.

Now Suzanne Collins is back with a new novel in the series. Sunrise on the Reaping is a prequel to the original trilogy and tells the story of Haymitch Abernathy and his experience in the 50th Hunger Games, 24 years before he mentors Katniss and Peeta. Despite its foregone conclusion, it's a really good book, in my opinion, almost equal to the first novel, which was my favorite.

I'll spare you any spoilers; what caught my attention was an almost toss-away line in a minor scene. Talking about editing footage for the broadcast, a character "sighs when he mentions the tools that were incapacitated and abolished in the past, ones deemed fated to destroy humanity because of their ability to replicate any scenario and any person, and in mere seconds." 

He's talking about deepfakes and AI, of course, and his words made me wonder just what we might be saying about those topics in 17 years.

Magical Gateway

At first, I thought I had gotten away with something. As I was leaving the parking lot of a big box store, the gate opened before I could even fish out my validated ticket. The relief I felt at not having to figure out where and which part of the ticket to scan was immense: those automatic gates can be so finicky, and a line of cars behind you waiting to exit the busy lot only makes the situation more stressful.

When I returned a few weeks later, I had my ticket handy, but I made certain to use the same gate. Sure enough, I was on my way out before I could even roll down my window, and I did a little happy dance in my seat. Curiosity made me try another gate the next time, mostly because it seemed so impossible for any machinery to read a parking ticket that was closed up in a car. But again, the barrier lifted as I approached.

The next phase of research would probably require not getting my ticket validated to see if they are just pretending to charge for parking, but that? Would entail being unprepared at the gate, and you know, that line of cars. So, for now my inquiry is on hold.

But whatever that technology is? I'm a fan!