Once a teacher, always a teacher

One of the adjustments of condo living is the issue of storage.

Pretty much all the kitchen cupboards are filled with dishes, glassware, and cookware, so every time I need a can of tomato sauce or another bottle of soda, down I go to the basement.

With poor planning, preparing dinner can easily mean five or six trips up and down. I’m thrilled to say that’s about to change.

          I hadn’t put our marriage to the test lately, so off we went to Lowe’s to buy racking to transform a teensy closet off the kitchen into a desperately needed pantry. I had used it for coats but it only held four, so no great loss.

          There we were, struggling with higher math – if I need four lengths of racking, 16” each, how many can we have cut from a six-foot section? – when I felt something ricochet off my back. I turned to see two early-teenish goofball boys standing there with stupid smirks on their faces. I may be retired these past ten years but I immediately went into full teacher mode:

          “Why are you throwing things? What are you, NINE? Grow up!” and returned to calculations with my husband, candy Skittles on the floor at our feet.

          Much like some days I had when I was working, the two continued to stand there, still smirking. I ignored them, but glanced over in time to see one of them pick up a can of spray paint from the display at the end of the aisle. I commented to the sales person who was helping us that they were likely going to boost it, and sure enough after the two left and we were heading to check out, I saw our sales clerk speaking to someone who looked like a manager and who was holding a can of spray paint. He winked as I went by.