I lean onthe counter to add up my tab. Rather surprising, it comes to more than I had figured.
The Salesperson has stepped outside. And then I hear the rumble of what sounds like a forklift.
I go out to see that the salesperson is directing the forklift to set a pallet loaded with assorted shovels and rakes pitchforks and the like to beside my truck.
"Since you are headed that way, would you mind dropping off these gardenning supplies off at the Weenerman Estate?" she asks with asmile, "HM rented our beginning gardener’s package, but we couldn’t very well put them in that trailer of his, the RodneyMobile was wheezing from being overloaded already."
I shrug and motion for them to go ahead.
The forklift sets the pallet down beside the buck-truck, and then heads off.
"You’ll have to load the Gardener’s Package," she apologizes, "We need to let the fork-lift cool off."
Before I start loading, I hold up my bill.
"Oh that?" the salesperson explains, "WeenerMan said to put it on your tab."
I toss a long handled shovel, a rake, a pitch-fork, an owl (for scaring off varmints), and miscellania into the back of the truck, and come upon a bag of fertilizer, "What’s this?" I ask.
"A bag of organic mulch-starter," she tells me, "I explained to HM that he would need it if he wanted to keep his raised bed garden organic."
"Great," I growl, "In this day and age, sort your own fetilizer."