At least when God closes a door, He opens a window.

I overused my legs this weekend, and it was only partly intentional.

I ended up working late on Friday -- late enough that I had to skip the gym before my cheeseburger, but early enough to get in a half-hour ride on my exercise bike before Monk and Psych started.

I did my usual 1.25-hour walk Saturday morning, made myself a breakfast burrito, then went to the gym (weights and another half-hour on a bike) to make up for missing the day before. By this time, my legs were thinking about feeling sore.

I decided, for my late lunch, to try the relatively new (open a few months) barbecue place that's just a bit past the library. (I had walked the equivalent of there and back nearly four times already that day, so what's one more?) The big "Closed" sign out front started to tick me off. "Aren't restaurants ever open in this town?" I asked myself aloud. (Really, are these people so well-off that they can afford to be open when they want to, rather than when potential customers are hungry? This is the third place I know of with very limited seating hours.) The hours posted on the door said they are open from 11 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday. I checked my cell phone for the time; it was 1:59 p.m.

Okay, where to go next? What, indeed, was nearby? I wasn't sure if Day's was still open (and I had eaten there the night before), and I knew the new pizza-like place also closed at 2:00, so I decided on Roberto's. That was a walk uphill, with a detour around the new federal courthouse construction site that had eaten up the sidewalk and part of the road -- and another detour on the other side for the same reason. When I got to Roberto's, the parking lot was so empty (much like my stomach), I was afraid they were closed, too. Thankfully, they weren't, so I was able to satisfy a whit of my frustration. At least I could point out to my legs that the walk back home was downhill, but that didn't stop them from grumbling.

Sunday morning, I did only half my usual walk then walked to the grocery store to compensate for the second half. As I approached the supermarket through the parking lot, I observed that the sign for the new dollar store next door wasn't centered on the wall. I then noticed that there was a for-lease sign in the window to one side of the store. It appeared that the store took up only part of the previous tenant's space. I then wondered how the rest of the space could be accessed and used. I presume that they put up a wall inside to block off the area needed by the store, but there wasn't a new door added through the outside wall or window area for the smaller space. (Insert post title here.)

Upon entering the store, the first thing I needed was bread. It's next to the produce section. I always go to that aisle first to get my salad, bananas, oranges, and/or bread then work my way east through the rest of the store. All I saw was a wall of juice. "Excuse me," I said to the manager, who just happened to be walking by, "where did you move the bread?" (After years of items in the same aisles, indeed after my visit just the previous week, they decided to rearrange everything?) So, I went to aisle 12. (Since it was adjacent to the lunchmeat case, it was oddly appropriate to see the hot dog buns across from the hot dogs.)

Then I went back to get mustard, which is still in its usual aisle with mayonnaise, ketchup, and salad dressings. (Why on earth do they put mustard and mayo on the bottom shelf, so I have to squat down to reach it, but ketchup, which I eat once in a blue moon, is on the upper four shelves, spread halfway down the aisle?) Incidentally, the chips and pretzels are now in this aisle, rather than with the sodas. (I didn't go look to see what was put in their place.)

Valentine's Day candy (and other "seasonal" stuff) should have been where the bread is now, so by the time I found it (can't remember where; I was lost by this point), it had been replaced by Easter candy. (Had I been in the store that long?)

I went to where the manager and an employee were dismantling the Valentine's floral/balloon display and asked where the discounted candy was. (Yeah, it makes me sound cheap, but I was too frustrated by this point to bother with polite euphemisms.) He called over to the asst. mgr. at the service desk, who told him that the employee who will mark down the candy won't be in until 7 a.m. Seven? You expect me to wait until seven? I want my freakin' 50% off candy now, darnit!

Ahem. Sorry.

I was forced to use the electronic-self-checkout-from-Hell lane, since they don't find the number of customers at that hour worth posting an actual cashier. (Actually, I used the second electronic-self-checkout-from-Hell lane, since the first one had plastic bags over the scanner and display, but they didn't bother to turn off the light which indicates the lane is open for service.) Then I had to ask the asst. mgr. for assistance. This store gives a 5-cent discount for every bag you bring in to reuse, and the cashiers know this, but the automated scanners don't, and I'll be darned if I'm going to give up my 10 cents off. Then I had to ask her for help again because the automated change and receipt machine isn't set up for their promotional game pieces, and she had to unlock the spare cash drawer to get them.

As I walked out the door, I wondered if they were glaring daggers at my back for being irritating and needy. I pondered if they had voted me Annoying Customer of the Day -- and they hadn't been open for an hour yet.

I still have to go back for my discounted candy. I wonder if they'll have any left tomorrow afternoon, when I stop by after work for fresh bananas.