The real meaning of Labor Day

I asked a friend about the meaning of Labor Day and he responded with an explanation of stuff like labor laws and unions and working. I’m sure that he must be right; however, my mind reverts back to “never wear white shoes” and dear Lord, I hope I don’t have to hit the mall for any last minute back-to-school stuff.

I took my daughter last week and finished the list, right down to an extra stack of index cards. So today, I think that I’m in the clear.

Think again. Here’s a note from my daughter sitting by my coffee cup.

Smart kid, she knows not to ask me in person to get anything this weekend.

It looks like we missed the calculator and it’s on sale, of course, a one-day only thing. How stupid do those retailers think we are anyway? They mark this stuff up and then drop it to where it should be anyway, to lure us back into that store on a holiday weekend. They’re hoping that we will impulsively buy up all of that summer leftover stuff.

Okay, guess I’m going to have to head over to Wal-Mart after work today.

I decide to get in a pre-shopping mood by walking. I’m on my way for my morning walk, so I can be in a calm state when some one pulls up to me in Barryville.

“Do you know where my son and I can get breakfast?”

I point across the street and give him directions to the second diner as a back up.

Then this gentleman does something unexpected. Instead of going forward and turning around, he proceeds to back up along Route 97, nearly causing an accident with someone going a tad too fast for 6:30 a.m.

I close my eyes and wait for the sound of an impact.

Car #2 misses car #1 and I hear them both shouting about each other’s mothers.

Wow, if their moms could only hear them.

Let those Labor Day games begin.

After finishing my work, I head to Monticello. I have to run an errand there so I guess I’ll make it to Wal-Mart. I’m stuck in traffic when a rather good-looking guy motions for me to open my window. I really do not want to repeat the diner moment of this morning, but I figure that since we are stuck a traffic light what the heck.

“Can you tell me how to get to Wal-Mart? I’m from out of town.”

I tell him to just follow the traffic. He smiles and I say, ‘God bless you.’ Poor guy, he thinks I’m a religious fanatic.

But I know that of all the Wal-Marts on the planet the one in Monticello is by far the worst one. I really hope I’m wrong, but as soon as I pull into the parking lot, I notice two people fighting for a handicap spot. Neither of them look like they are wounded and again these people are speaking about their mothers.

Wow! Moms are getting a bad rap today.

I grab my purse, and head off into the crowd. My kid was really smart leaving a note because right now I’m having flashbacks of last Labor Day.

“All departments get your returns. All departments clean up your aisles. All departments to the front.” This will be the fastest trip I can manage. I grab my cart and run to the calculator aisle. Do I need a cart? Nope, it’s just for protection.

Ouch, just then I am slammed in the back of the legs. Someone’s horrible child is racing his friend through the video section towards the sporting goods aisle. Okay, I’m ready to play shopping cart defense. If the second child comes for a second pass, I know that I must get the cart between him and the backs of my knees. Wait, what’s that noise? Someone is paging those kids. He stops dead in his tracks for a moment. It’s mom over in Aisle 7. He assures her that he is looking for the perfect pen. A quick wink to his buddy and he’s off tearing full speed ahead to the grocery isle—undoubtedly to open up some boxes of stuff and leave it on the floor. You just know that kid’s going to grow up to be a lawyer.

Okay, I bring myself back to the calculators. I grab the ad and ask a sales associate if they have anymore purple ones like in the circular.

“Huh?” he says.

I turn around to read the back of his vest. It says, ‘How can I help you?’ I look around again. I know that I’m in the right place and have asked the right question. “How about the purple calculators?” (I show him the picture for a visual aid.)

“Don’t know,” he says. “Look in Aisle 6.”

It really is a good thing that I had that extra little walk this morning. I just might lose my temper and start screaming about my mother.

I know better though, because my mother would sense that I was talking about her and have an Ancient Greek family member whip up a quick curse.

No, I can’t go there!

Okay, I found the calculator but they only have it in blue. Blue it is and my Labor Day is now finished. All I have to do is fight the mob, avoid those kids and make it home.

Now, that’s why I call it Labor Day.