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There’s a store just around the corner from my house. It was closed for awhile and I figured it would be torn down and replaced with something essential to mankind’s survival, like a nail salon or another mattress outlet. But somebody bought it, cleaned it up, replaced all the underground gas tanks and re-opened it as a convenience store.I began stopping there on my way to the office because their 16-ounce sodas were about a nickel cheaper than the other nearby convenience store, and that meant I didn’t have to break a dollar to pay the tax. Their coolers weren’t turned down as low as the other store’s but that was OK. I could always toss my drink into the freezer at work until it was close to the point of freezing. I like ‘em that way – especially on a hot summer day.The people who bought the store turned out to be a family from India so recent to the United States they had not lost their accent and in fact, spoke little English. I spoke not a word of Hindi, either, but that too was. Just as I thought he would turn back to his work, he shut down the trimmer and stood it up beside a nearby utility pole, leaving his hat & vest alongside. I watched him cross the road and disappear around the side of the house. 30 seconds later, the doorbell. I rose to answer, chastising myself all the while for such impetuous behaviour. What to hell, I thought, in this heat it could only be considered civic to offer respite. I threw on a camisole top and opened the door. “Morning ma’am.” Very nice smile. “My name’s Jason with the DoT. I’ve been instructed to inform homeowners of potential invasive plant infestations where encountered. I thought I should let you know that your property is showing signs of encroachment along the south edge.” “You don’t say Jason. I had no idea. What should be done?” “Well ma’am--”. “Call me Vivian,” I interrupted. “I’m only supposed to inform the property owners,” he continued. ”But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to knock it down, seeing as it’s.
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