“It’s a pain-in-the-neck”

Two summers ago, my sister from Floridy came up to visit, with her husband Tom.
My all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, also came on his blatting GeezerGlide, with great flourish, with his poor long-suffering wife Lynn-Ellen in tow, in her so-called “Toy-car” (a Toyota Corolla).
Together we all piled into our Bathtub for a lengthy sojourn.
This included a visit to the mighty Canandaigua Wal*Mart.
My siblings all loudly declare Wal*Mart to be the greatest store in the entire known universe, and the fact I don’t shop there means I’m rebellious, stupid, and of-the-Devil.
It’s inconvenient, and I’ve had bad shopping experiences there — particularly being bussed by a urine-smelling greeter. I once asked two store-associates where something was, and got snapped at for interrupting their day-long donut break.
No matter, aside from it being the greatest store in the entire known universe, “Wal*Mart has everything!”
That’s what they keep telling me.
Linda and I tried to find dishtowels in there, and their selection was puny and garish.
Plus we bought an electronic bathroom scale there that renders a different reading every time ya stand on it.
We call it the roulette scale.
“Manufactured in China,” it says.
“By Chinese child prison-labor,” I always add.
Either me or Tom forgot something — I think Tom needed a jacket — so we exited the store into the vast parking-lot.
“Doncha have keyless entry?” Tom asked, as we approached the van.
“Yes; but I never use it,” I answered.
Okay; radio key fob located — the same thing I’ve had with every rental-car we’ve ever had.
“This thing is almost four years old, and I’ve never used it,” I think to myself. “Will it still work?”
“Be-Beep!” Lights blink.
And this button cycles the power side door.
“Immense Powah!”
“Be-Beep!” Doors unlocked. “Be-Beep!” Doors locked. Ain’t technology wonderful?
Right at the moment the Bathtub is parked outside, so Art Dana’s Cherry-Bomb can be inside over my pit.
I used the electronic key fob to open the side-door from the garage to let the dog in the van yesterday (Friday, July 3, 2009).
I also unlocked all the doors from the garage.
Another foray this morning to the so-called elitist country-club; van still parked outside.
Disconnect radio key fob from the actual key, so I can pin the key to my shorts.
I need a spare key on the van exterior, in case the key fob battery goes dead.
“Where’s the key fob?” Linda asks.
“Still inside the house,” I say. “I have the same key I’ve always used, but that key fob is too much trouble.
It’s a pain-in-the-neck!”

• “GeezerGlide” is what I call all Harley Davidson ElectraGlide cruiser-bikes. My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston has a very laid back Harley Davidson cruiser-bike, and, like many Harley Davidson riders, is over 50 (52). So I call it his GeezerGlide.
• The “Bathtub” is our 2005 Toyota Sienna van; called that because it’s white and like sitting in a bathtub.
• “Linda” is my wife of 41+ years.
• Re: Art Dana’s Cherry-Bomb is a 1949 Ford custom hot-rod we’re working on. It’s over the pit I have in my garage.
• “The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin” as in “ow”) Park, where I run and we walk our dog. It was called that long ago by an editor at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I once worked, because it will only allow taxpayers of the three towns that own it to use it. We are residents of one of those towns.