Super Samaritan Man

Yesterday I went out with my daughter for some child-free time. We had lots of stuff planned. Well, a little stuff planned, as we didn't have all day. But we were going to check out a place with lots of crafters and artisans, and then try to find the Russell Stover outlet that we saw advertised on the way to Branson. And maybe get a manicure.

We couldn't find the craft place, so we just got onto the highway and went looking for the Russell Stover place. We found it, and got some yummy chocolate. (Naturally, we went there first, and got to haul the chocolate everywhere we went afterwards, as opposed to leaving it in the car, where it would melt in the 100 degree heat. Remember this fact, as it will have bearing later in the story.)

Afterwards, we went to Walmart across the parking lot to buy a blanket for my frozen granddaughter, and then went back across the parking lot to a nail place for manicures.

Fresh from the newly drying manicures, we set off for the condo we are staying in. Just at our exit, we heard a noise like we'd driven over a stick or something, and then an ominous sound that meant only one thing: flat tire. In a tire that was less than a week old.

I've never changed a tire in my life, though I've seen it done. Cassandra either. And there we were. The one person in our party that could have done it was back at the condo with two children and no transportation. Good times. With her freshly manicured nails, Cassie managed to get the tire out of the trunk while I got the instruction manual out of the glove box. I then got the jack out. That was the extent of our knowledge. Mind you, the entire time we were striving to look as pretty and helpless as possible so that someone would stop. So far nobody had. Luckily, just as we were despairing how to use the jack, and wonderful good samaritan stopped. I think he had previously been by and circled back to save us. He was wonderful. He changed the tire and refused any reward.

And he did it so quickly that the chocolates were still nice and firm when we got them home. And also the manicures survived quite nicely, thank you.

She's a Rebel

Last week Joseph went to a school party, which included swimming. The nice thing was that they took his bus home from the party, so Joseph simply left his swim bag on the bus, in order to hold his seat, while he went to the classroom to gather his things. An oh, so helpful teacher's assistant saw the bag and took it to her classroom. Joseph found out about it when he got back on the bus and found his bag missing. The bus monitor told him that he didn't have time to go retrieve it, and that she would get it for him later. Saturday...Sunday...Monday (a holiday)...Tuesday. She didn't have it when the bus arrived in the morning, but said that she'd get it. After school she didn't have it, and told Joseph that he'd said that he was going to get it. Wednesday morning, I spoke to her and told her that he didn't know where the classroom was. She said she'd get it. Bottom line, the oh, so helpful teacher had just abandoned the bag on a table outside. It was nowhere to be found at the school, not even in the black hole that they call Lost and Found. One pricey swim bag, one swimsuit, and our best swim towel. Gone. Forever.

Perhaps you are wondering what this all has to do with the title of this blog entry. Try to imagine my feelings after trying to get this bag back for nearly a week, and then tromping all over the school in search of it today, this last day of school. Frustrated? Angry? Extremely annoyed? All of the above.

So, as we were making our way to the parking lot, we had to pass in front of the front bus in the line. A man--monitor? bus driver? who knows?--stopped me and told me that we weren't allowed to pass in front of this bus, because we couldn't see any traffic that might be coming up beside the bus, IN THE PARKING LOT. I gave him my what am I, a moron, look, told him that I was capable of looking for cars before stepping out from the front of the bus, and continued right on my way. In front of the bus. And I lived to tell about it. Go figure.