In the nick of time, my bonus socks from work arrived on a Saturday morning. Their arrival had taken so long that when I’d asked for an update during a past meeting, one supervisor said that she’d heard that that email, asking for our sock size, was a hoax.
Seeing is believing. I packed my socks into my already bloated backpack for the beach.
My sister picked me up later that day. Even later than planned, thanks to my nephew. Once we rolled up to the condo entrance, the attendant told us, with a big smile on his face, that our reservation had been cancelled. He then informed us we’d stay in the rental mansion across the way. All we had to do was pay the rental fees.
I corrected him. If we stayed there, the fees would be on him.
We unloaded our things into the condo where my nephew immediately reported to his usual spot on the sofa as if it were his job.
My sister noticed that the floors had been redone, along with some furniture upgrades. We’d been vacationing at that condo for decades. For me, it had lost its shine, but that was more due to not doing anything more than eating seafood, hot tubbing, then walking on the beach in the morning.
I did the exact thing this go around as well. I’d come off a very taxing work week where four days had felt like six. Plus, I’d worked my last day with my former team and come Monday, would start a brand-new position. An overnight beach trip in between the transition brought relaxing closure.
Either the sound of birds or the sunlight peeking around the curtains woke me up on Sunday morning. I’d effortlessly slept in. Even though I’d forgotten my night guard, my jaw didn’t hurt in the morning.
As a matter of fact, I’d slept so well, I thought that tingling nerve pain in my low back, which hovered around my right hip, had been remedied with a better mattress.
Nope. I hadn’t been walking fast enough around the condo to trigger that tingling sensation. I’d skipped my morning stretches: knees into chest while lying in bed, forward bend while standing beside the bed, squatting, followed by shifting from one side to another while squatting on one leg with the opposite leg stretched out to the side.
When we reached the pier, I stretched out my back. For once, I requested that we walk slower, which was usually my sister’s request of me.
Although my nephew stayed a week at the condo, my sister and I returned home the next day. She had to finish out the school year by working on Monday and Tuesday. I, of course, worked the entire week.
On our way back home, we stopped by Bucc-ee’s. The last time I visited was my first time. The rain had pelted down so hard, I credit the weather for thinning the crowd.
This time, the weather was perfect, the crowd unreal. As soon as we walked in, I made a beeline to the bathroom. Thanks to my sister, she brought my attention to the line for the women’s bathroom, which I was about to bypass.
The line moved quickly. Women employees directed women visitors to bathroom stalls that wrapped around the perimeter of the large room as soon as they became available. Despite the efficiency of the fast-moving women’s bathroom line, men leisurely strolled in and out of their bathroom. Even men who escorted their sons walked in and out with ease.
Our second “line” was a tightly-packed crowd gathered around the large warming bin where brisket sandwiches should have been. We’d already foraged the sweets we wanted as we made our way to the sandwich line: beaver nuggets, peanut butter and caramel popcorn, and a pecan praline.
We eased our way into the waiting crowd and befriended two women, who confirmed that the mob had gathered around for a brisket sandwich. My sister told one of the women, who was closest to the empty bin, that once the next batch of brisket sandwiches were loaded, she should pass back four of them, one by one. That strategy worked and we bounced to our third and final line to pay.
Although we paid separately, I followed my sister to the next available cashier. I took pictures while he rang her up. Despite his masked face, the mirth in his eyes shone through as he rang me up.
“How did you enjoy your visit?”
“Are you serious?”
My sister and I maneuvered out of the establishment as deftly as we’d circulated around it while shopping. Other stupefied shoppers had stopped and stood, blocking our direct path to escape, ahem, exit. Scanning the crowded chaos, the other shoppers were either looking for separated loved ones or attempting to visually locate something they wanted to purchase.
Once outside, I breathed easier. Although I don’t suffer from claustrophobia nor panic attacks, I was hangry, but happy to be out of the crowd.
We devoured our sandwiches in the car, followed by the sweets. The brisket sandwich seemed a little thrown together, but still tasty. Next time, I’ll stick to the chopped barbecue. I’m almost convinced that one has to be in Texas to enjoy good brisket.
Regardless, I flowed into my new position as relaxed as one could be when, typical Monday, platforms glitched and directives were scarce. I loved it.