No point

So here I am today (Friday, October 10, 2008) at the Eye Center in Canandaigua to pick up the new clear lenses for my nighttime frames — just titanium frames.
Finished, I head for the mens room, to empty out before a long journey to Henrietta; the Funky Food Market.
A gray-haired dude is blocking the entrance; “my father is in there,” he says.
“Well, the door has a lock, although he might have missed it,” I say.
“Right. He’s in a wheelchair. He’s 81, and I don’t know any more.”
“Well, I was in a wheelchair once, but I escaped,” I said.
Right about then, another little old man waddles up, pushing a walker that has an oxygen tank in the seat. He has oxygen feeds at his nose.
“You can go first,” I say. “I’m not in any hurry.”

That’s it, everyone. STORY OVER! No point at all; although if there was one, the NASCAR-dad would fly right over it, so he could noisily claim I hadn’t made a point.

“The funky food-market” is Lori’s Natural Foods, south of Rochester in Henrietta — a source for salt-free cereal, sauce, etc. Henrietta is a suburb southeast of Rochester.

RE: “I was in a wheelchair once, but I escaped......” —I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and was confined to a wheelchair for about two months; although I could get by without it.

“NASCAR-dad” is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say.