Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Maybe Otis the drunk should move there

Oh, yeah. I was going to say a few thing about my trip up to North Carolina several weeks ago.

It was a nice week up in the mountains, where you have cool breezes even in the middle of July (A welcome change of pace from North Florida). We visited the usual spots: Asheville, downtown Brevard, Hendersonville, Pisgah National Forest. On the last night we were there, we went up to a picnic spot right on the Blue Ridge Parkway where we had sandwiches, chips, soda and freshly made ice cream (One batch of Butterfinger and one batch of Blackberry). A very nice trip.

The funniest thing that happened, though, occurred on our first full day there.

On that Sunday, Mrs. Mosley and I were in charge of fixing dinner for the whole family. We went to the Ingles grocery store (which is pretty much North Carolina's version of Publix) and stocked up on $80 worth of groceries (Big family). Mrs. Mosley elected to wait outside the store while I checked out.

Shortly after she exited, I noticed an older man, in his 60's or 70's, complaining over at the high customer service desk at the front of the store. His complaints were getting louder, until he was yelling at anybody and everybody working behind the high desk. The words were always the same: "I want my money back! Are you going to give me my money back?!" ad infinitum. The cashier and bagger that were handling my groceries started to chat about this guy (Pretty much everybody in the store at this point were either looking at him or doing their best to ignore him).

Over at the left entrance, I saw a police officer walk in and cross in front of me to where the old man was. Ten seconds later, a second police officer came through the same door and headed in the same direction. And then a third. And then a fourth. And then a fifth. And then a sixth. And then a seventh.

At this point, I stopped counting, which was about the time that the cashier had rung me up and handed me the receipt. I rolled the cart out, stealing a backward glance at the knot of men in blue centered at the customer service desk. When I met up with Mrs. Mosley outside, she asked what was going on inside and I explained to her about the old man. She described how she saw four police cruisers plus an unmarked police car (?!?!) drive up one at a time to the front of the store and disgorge what appeared to be the entire Transylvania County police force.

So the moral of this story? If you're looking to live in a place where the crime doesn't get any more serious than rowdy senior citizens, then Brevard might be for you.

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