"Do you want your cute little pumpkin in the bag, or would you like to carry it with you?" the cashier asked as he finished ringing up and packing my order.
"Oh, the bag is fine," I answered, gesturing at the small pie pumpkin I was going to steam and make a casserole from. "That one is food, not friend."
"Okay," he laughed as he dropped it in the bag. "Sorry, fella."
Our neighbor, James, was sitting outside this afternoon when the cab from the airport dropped us off. "That was a quick trip!" he said.
We laughed, both because he was right - we had flown to Atlanta for just the weekend - and because he knew how long we had been gone. James is a TSA agent, and he and his mom have lived right across from us for the last four years.
"Whenever we fly out of DCA, I always ask Heidi if she thinks we'll see you," I told him, and he smiled.
"I'm always there," he said. "And that side is always quicker than the other one."
Even so, we have never seen James at work, and Friday morning, as we entered the security line, I turned to Heidi and asked my customary question. She scanned the sea of deep blue shirts and black armored vests behind the glass and shrugged.
"I know he's working," I said. "His car was gone when we left this morning, and his shift is until noon." James and I often see each other when he's coming home and I'm taking Lucy for a walk.
"Wait!" Heidi pointed at a tall, bearded figure with glasses. "Is that him?"
"Yes!" I answered. "James!" I waved both my arms and hopped up and down a couple of times. All the TSA agents looked our way, and he did, too, with a bit of a scowl. Then he recognized us, smiled, and gave us a little chin nod. His colleagues relaxed, but with raised eyebrows.
When we were through security and on our way, he waved again from his post. "Have a good trip, guys!" he called across the hall.
"Thanks!" we waved back. "We will!"
"Everyone at work was like, Who are they?" he told us this afternoon. "And I was like, Those are my neighbors. They're cool."
"I feel like I'm living two separate lives," my cousin laughed this afternoon as she held her two-year-old on her lap. "In one, I'm a successful executive and people actually listen to me and do what I say," she paused and looked at her daughter, "and in the other, children ignore and throw up on me."
As we nodded in amusement, she gasped. "She's peeing on me!" Then she stood up quickly and deposited her child on the floor, standing.
Sure enough, a puddle formed at the little girl's feet, but the toddler did not seem bothered. In fact, she widened her stance and doubled down on the peeing, side-eying her mother with a devilish little grin.
Stunned at the perfect timing, we all stood in silence for a moment before scrambling for the clean-up kit.
Our go-to pet sitter, a recent college graduate, lives in a one-car household with her parents and 20-year-old brother. She's reliable, though, and when we go out of town, there's always a car left behind, so we lend her the second vehicle when she's on the job.
That used to be a Honda HRV, a basic little subcompact crossover SUV, which was similar to her folks' C-RV, and which she liked very much. Recently, though, our second car became a Jeep Wrangler, and when we communicated the good news, she was clearly a bit daunted, as was her mother. "She keeps asking me how a Jeep handles and whether it's different from a car," confided a former colleague about conversations with the mom.
"Can I come over and test drive the Jeep?" our pet-sitter texted earlier this week. "Just to see how it is?"
"Sure," I replied, "but we're flying on this trip, so you can have a choice of either the Jeep or the Subaru."
"Oh, then I pick the Subaru, lol," she answered.
"The Jeep is really fun," I assured her, but she stood firm, and this evening came by to pick up the keys and the car.
As Heidi walked her out, they ran into our downstairs neighbor (who also happens to be a Jeep driver) and his dog. After a quick chat, the pet-sitter excused herself and headed home.
A minute later, the neighbor turned to Heidi, wide-eyed. "Wait!" he said. "She's taking your car!"
"I know," Heidi laughed. "But it's not the Jeep!"
He nodded, satisfied that the situation wasn't as dire as it could have been.
In general? I trust the service department at the car dealership where we bought our Subaru in 2018, and we have taken the car there for its every need since. Their service representatives are responsive and transparent, and I feel like the dealership is playing a long game: they value their reputation enough to avoid any shenanigans aimed at making a quick buck at the expense of repeat customers and good consumer ratings.
But lately, every time I bring our aging Outback in for a scheduled service or to address a specific issue, the complimentary scan reveals another major repair that needs attention. Oh, I know our car is seven years old, and admittedly, they have a conflict of interest, selling new cars as they do. I also confess to occasionally clicking on offers for newer models when I receive them. Still, part of my strategy in bringing the vehicle there, despite the distance and extra cost, is to make that good old station wagon last a while longer.
Today, though? They may have tipped their hand. The estimate for service (on something I didn't suspect was a problem) was a couple grand, and the repair time was long enough that they offered me a loaner. And when I went up to the cashier to get everything squared away, I saw an envelope with my name on it clipped to a little easel nearby.
"What's that?" I pointed, curious.
"That's a personalized trade-in offer," the cashier told me. "Do you want to look at it before you sign the approval?"
"No thanks," I answered, tucking the envelope into my bag. Not gonna lie. I left feeling less confident in the service I was receiving.
