I am a high-school grad-you-ate!

My SmartPhone gets my e-mail.
My SmartPhone is a Motorola DroidX® through Verizon.
A notification came from Wal*Mart that an ergonomic office-chair I ordered online was available for pick-up at their Canandaigua store.
The e-mail came to my locker at the Canandaigua YMCA while I was working out.
I don’t take my SmartPhone into the Exercise-Gym at the YMCA.
I don’t want it distracting me, and beyond that it’s against the rules. —Like cellphone use while driving is illegal in this state, yet no one pays attention.
Ride-of-the-Valkyries (ringtone) on the elliptical next door.
So, e-mail received, do I go to Wal*Mart or not?
It’s out past the supermarket I was gonna patronize anyway.
I decided to do Mighty Wal*Mart.
Into the gigantic superstore, no urine-smelling geezer-greeters to kiss me.
But there was a scrawny kid outside in the cold manning a Salvation-Army Red Kettle.
His bell-ringing was intermittent — it sounded anemic.
Now, find “Customer Service.” It’s usually at the front of the store, in front of the checkouts.
“I need to pick this up,” I said, showing the Smartphone e-mail to an associate in Customer Service.
“Back of the store,” the kid motioned. “‘Site-to-store’ pick-up is in that tiny alcove.”
I hiked across the vast store.
Outrageous reflective Santa outfits were on sale, “only $5.99” (or so).
Probably made in China by child slave-labor.
I finally attained the tiny alcove, and fell into line behind doddering grannies laying away thousands of dollars of Christmas gifts.
All junk, stuff that would get liked upon opening, then tossed aside.
There were two grannies. Twenty minutes. I waited patiently. —I was tempted to leave.
Finally a clerk asked my why I was there.
“I need to pick this up,” I said.
“Uh, what’s that?” the befuddled clerk asked, peering, mystified.
“That’s my SmartPhone, and your e-mail is on it.”
“Ummmmm......”
“Wait a minute,” I thought to myself. “You’re dealing with Wal*Mart store-associates. Gizmos like a SmartPhone would cause mental block.”
“Your name please?”
“Robert Hughes,” I said, pointing to the e-mail display on my SmartPhone.
“I’ll look out back,” she said, paying no attention to my SmartPhone.
Interestingly, the SmartPhone e-mail from Wal*Mart had a scannable barcode on it.
“Wal*Mart associate only — please scan.”
In other words the clerk could have scanned that barcode on my SmartPhone. It would have told her all the details of my order.
(The SmartPhone display is good enough to render a scannable barcode.)
“But we ain’t doin’ that.
Get outta here with that SmartPhone.
What are you, some kind of Democrat? (Gasp!)
I am a high-school grad-you-ate!”

• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
• “Robert Hughes” is me, “BobbaLew.”