Our community is a typical, southern, PA community. It’s small enough for the shop owners to know your name, and neighbors to still loan out tools, and for *Lost Dog* posters on phone poles to actually help find the dog.
Enter the US Open. Oakmont PA is only 10 minutes from my home. In the last week, our small quiet, everybody-knows-your-name community became something it wasn’t. I went to my Wal-Mart. Driving up the lot I was shocked at the number of busses in the lot. MY lot. As I slowly creeped by the impressive blue behemoths I glanced in the windows, and every head had on a white visor. Each strand of hair carefully placed over the visor just so, and the lip of the visor peeking out like it was perfectly part of the persons head. I found out MY lot had become LOT L for the US Open. I had to park in GODS country so DeeDee and DumDum could catch a bus. I proudly paraded by in my I survived the Blizzard of 77 tee shirt and went to shop.
That evening, my friend and I went out to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner. Smoky Bones has always been a place for good food, laughs, and being as they have a TV on every wall, keeping up on sports. As we walked into what we thought would be our familiar stomping ground, we were stopped dead in our tracks. We did hear the usual “Welcome to Smoky Bones” voice that always welcomed us, but our eyes were looking at a sea of white and pale blues, and pinks and light greens. I looked at my *dress tee* and Debi looked at her *dress tee* and we groaned. Again, the US Open. As we wandered to our tables, we noticed that not one person had a bottle of domestic beer sitting in front of them. Everyone was talking in “golf whispers” except when Tiger flubbed another putt in the third round. You’d then hear a collective groan. I was waiting for the man with the *quiet paddles* to walk around the room when Angel was about to drive. I actually found myself holding my fork before eating so HE could drive in peace. As I sit here, watching the snoopy blimp fly over my home for the last time, I don’t think I will be going to Wal-Mart for another few days. The invasion of the Biffs and the Buffys and the DoDos and the Dadas hasn’t ended you see. For some reason, they like it here. I think they find it “quaint”.
All I know is I want them to move their Beamers and their Jags out of my LOT L and give me my Wal-Mart back.
Enter the US Open. Oakmont PA is only 10 minutes from my home. In the last week, our small quiet, everybody-knows-your-name community became something it wasn’t. I went to my Wal-Mart. Driving up the lot I was shocked at the number of busses in the lot. MY lot. As I slowly creeped by the impressive blue behemoths I glanced in the windows, and every head had on a white visor. Each strand of hair carefully placed over the visor just so, and the lip of the visor peeking out like it was perfectly part of the persons head. I found out MY lot had become LOT L for the US Open. I had to park in GODS country so DeeDee and DumDum could catch a bus. I proudly paraded by in my I survived the Blizzard of 77 tee shirt and went to shop.
That evening, my friend and I went out to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner. Smoky Bones has always been a place for good food, laughs, and being as they have a TV on every wall, keeping up on sports. As we walked into what we thought would be our familiar stomping ground, we were stopped dead in our tracks. We did hear the usual “Welcome to Smoky Bones” voice that always welcomed us, but our eyes were looking at a sea of white and pale blues, and pinks and light greens. I looked at my *dress tee* and Debi looked at her *dress tee* and we groaned. Again, the US Open. As we wandered to our tables, we noticed that not one person had a bottle of domestic beer sitting in front of them. Everyone was talking in “golf whispers” except when Tiger flubbed another putt in the third round. You’d then hear a collective groan. I was waiting for the man with the *quiet paddles* to walk around the room when Angel was about to drive. I actually found myself holding my fork before eating so HE could drive in peace. As I sit here, watching the snoopy blimp fly over my home for the last time, I don’t think I will be going to Wal-Mart for another few days. The invasion of the Biffs and the Buffys and the DoDos and the Dadas hasn’t ended you see. For some reason, they like it here. I think they find it “quaint”.
All I know is I want them to move their Beamers and their Jags out of my LOT L and give me my Wal-Mart back.
