Working up a sweat on the trail to Vegas.

September 28, 2008

Some meanderings on our way to Las Vegas:

Scenes from the Auckland Airport:

One miniature rugby ball, bought for a five-month-old boy who will likely use it as a teething toy: $5.50

Two litres of 42 Below vodka, bought at Duty Free: $62 (a savings of nearly $100)

Eating a stranger’s cold, left-behind fries: OK, maybe not exactly priceless, but definitely free.

Somewhere over the Pacific:

Viking Woman develops some kind of rash (revenge of the leftover fries?) and is suddenly surrounded by Air New Zealand flight crew. Once it’s established she is not suffering from a) Legionnaire’s disease or, b) ebola, moisturizing cream is produced and seems to help reduce the hive attack. Plan B was an emergency landing in Hawaii, which might have made us the most detested passengers on the plane.

Home, as in Langley, British Columbia, visiting family for two days until Las Vegas beckons:

A visit to the Willowbrook Shopping Centre on a Saturday reveals the mall to have a larger population than our new home of Napier, New Zealand. And they all want to walk in front of me, very, VERY slowly.

I come across the aftermath of a motor-vehicle accident in a busy intersection. While the wife sits on a nearby retaining wall, head down, teary face in her hands, the husband stands at the curb, fists shoved deep in pockets, staring at the remains of his Chrysler 300 and looking for all the world like someone had just shot his dog.

While I did finally manage to track down my favourite Micro-tip pens (unavailable in New Zealand), I was stunned to find that, in the span of a mere seven months since I left Canada, roll-on deodorant has, seemingly, gone the way of the dinosaur. No Ban. No Dry Idea. Only stick available on the shelf. I don’t drive stick when it comes to transmissions, and I discovered w-a-a-a-a-y back in high school that stick deodorant does not do the trick for my personal perspiration.

I never thought I’d ever say this, but I can’t wait now to shop in the United States of Consumers. Surely that vast and mighty population still seals up the old sweat glands with liquid instead of goo.

As an aside, when I asked the young stock boy the whereabouts of the store’s roll-on deodorant, he looked at me as if I’d just asked to be pointed to the 8-track display. I suddenly felt very old and barely contained myself from starting in on one of my “When I was a young man” stories. I particularly like the one about Betamax.

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