When we checked into the motel on the Friday, one of the first things the son did, was try to open the top dresser drawer. Perhaps he had a sudden urge to read the Gideons’ Bible. The front of the drawer just came right off in his hand.
With sleep schedules now totally confounded, the son was asleep shortly after 11 PM Saturday night, while I was still lurking around outside, reading newspapers and doing crossword puzzles in the vending room, and gabbing with the security guard.
Son was up at 7:30, and went over to the office to get yet another tea, while I “slept in” till 8 AM. Just as he quietly eased the door open at 7:45, the maintenance man fired up the snow blower, right outside the unit.
The son’s OCD shows differently from mine. Now that we were both awake (Speak for yourself, son and heir.), things should “be done”, we should pack immediately and vacate the premises. I made toast juice and pills, washing dishes and final packing, last till almost 9. We visited the office, finalized all paperwork, and offered many thanks to Connie, to be spread among all the nice desk clerks.
The car is loaded; we’re ready to go, and it’s just 9:10. Finally, the son asks the question he should have thought about before. What time is this County-Line Trade Center open? I had hoped that it was at 9 AM, like the Gibraltar Trade Center. The reason we stayed up here, was to try something new. I had used the Google Maps overhead view to find that it was an ell-shaped building, about half as big as Gibraltar.
We drove a mile in five minutes and pulled into the parking lot. There was one snowed-in car, and a half-ton with a plow blade clearing the lot. One wing of the ell is a furniture resale store and a dental office. The Trade Center is only half as big as I’d hoped and imagined. The sign on the door says opening is at 10. We drove back down to last night’s McDonalds, and parked at the back, trying not to get plowed in by the guy clearing their lot.
Finally we drove back up, and the plow jockey unlocked the door, and let a couple of vendors enter. With no booths open, I got into a conversation with one, about socialized medicine, Obamacare, and a second international bridge, while the son prowled this tiny little microcosm. One unopen booth shows Saturday hours of noon to 5, and Sunday from 1 till five. On a Superbowl Sunday, after a significant snowfall, this is not going to get much better.
The Gibraltar center is full of kitsch, “As seen on TV.” This County-Line place also has lots of stuff seen on TV – if you used to watch Sanford and Son. The food service area looks like where Sly Stallone got rat burgers in Demolition Man. There are signs on the doors which say, “All hoods must be removed before entering.” and, “We will provide security escort to your vehicle, but we will not carry merchandise.”
Eleven o’clock – we can’t go home yet. What do we do?? The son’s paying for the gas; let’s drive 25 miles and go to Gibraltar. We stopped at a nearby Meijer’s gas bar to fill up. “Let’s go into the store.” The son found and bought two big bags of Chili-Cheese potato chips the Meijer’s on the other side of town didn’t carry, and I located and bought two large bottles of McIllhenny’s Chipotle Tabasco Sauce the other store also didn’t have, for the daughter.
Right across the street was a small health food store. Between it and its larger parent two miles down the road, I found most of the items the big GNC stores didn’t carry, for the niece. Touchdown, Yay!
The kid and I spent several hours touring Gibraltar, its yummy food court and the gun and knife show they had on the display side. While I got to caress a Beretta 92 pistol, similar to Rants’ military version, the son found that he likes shotguns.
I got rid of another small pocketful of change to an old veteran, collecting to support other vets, down on their luck. I saw at least two “girly” guns, one a little .22 caliber varmint plinker for a 12 to 18 year old, the other, a more serious, semi-military style .308, shoot-a-moose, or a trespasser, rifle. Both were done in camouflage finish – if you were hiding behind Sailor Moon, the darlingest pink and black daubs and lines.
About 3, we decided to head home. Plows and volume of traffic finally had the roads down to bare and damp. Since we’d driven south, we decided to cross back, over the bridge. The same factors which kept people out of the Trade Center, kept them off the bridge. I again was able to get into a Customs line with only one car ahead of me.
When I was allowed to roll forward, the window of the booth slid open, and I was greeted by a female customs officer. Not unheard of, but not common on the Canadian side of the Windsor/Detroit crossings. She smiled at me and said, “Hello/Bonjour.” “Bonjour,” I replied, “now I know I’m truly back in Canada.”
“Pardon me; could you please pass me a serviette? I appear to have spilled my poutine.” Every Canadian knows exactly what that sentence means, but I may have to translate it for my American readers.
A couple of questions for me, and a couple for the son, and we were soon on our way home. I coulda brought that beautiful Beretta back, and no-one but me would have been any the wiser. The son called the wife, now that Canadian cell phone towers would carry my Canadian cell phone plan. We told her we were on our way, and three hours later, we were ordering pizza, after covering 870 Km./555 Mi. over a very enjoyable three-day weekend. Thanx for reading along with us. 😀