… something beginning with m. Muggles! All the muggles!
I went to a nearby shopping center on the way home from work for my cache of the day, which turned out to be a bison hidden on an interesting lamppost of a patio. Once I parked near ground zero, I noticed two alarming things: (a) a restaurant that I liked had closed down since I was last there a couple of months ago, and (b) the space next door to my now-bemoaned restaurant was being used as an early voting location for the looming US elections (and yes, I specified which elections because there are people in the world who are not “USian”). On a greater level, I didn’t care because I voted days ago, but there was still a line stretching out into the street and so many sets of strangers’ eyes that could pose an issue. But I thought all these people would be focused on voting, so why would they pay any attention to little old me?
The second I got out of my vehicle, I was on the receiving end of the proverbial hairy eyeball. An older dude with an I Voted sticker was watching my every move. I tried my best to ignore him as I walked over to GZ, but I quickly ascertained why I had his attention: I had parked next to his Jaguar, and I assumed he wanted to be sure I didn’t scratch it with my plebemobile. His scrutiny disappeared as he drove off, and I went to lift the skirt of a “traditional” lamppost. The skirt was bolted to the ground; therefore, I failed to lift it. Then it clicked that all the fanciful musical sculptures around me were also lampposts. I went over to the nearest one and began to look it over when scrutiny returned, this time driving up to me as a working man in a work van. He was friendly and was wondering what all the people were about. I let him know about early voting. He then began to inquire about all the things: when did they close (I don’t know, but probably 7:00 p.m. or later), could he vote at this location (probably, if he was registered in Travis County), what to do if he wasn’t registered (I don’t know, but the election judges inside might be able to help). He was friendly, so I felt bad being mildly annoyed at his presence. He’s just a dude who wants to exercise his franchise, and I’m a big believer in that. Once his questions were satisfied, he idled off, leaving me to continue my immediate search, which turned up nothing. I moved from the lamppost with the bass over to the one with the fiddle. You know the difference between a violin and a fiddle? A violin has strings, and a fiddle has straaangs. This fiddle also had that bison obscured nearby, so I pulled it out and unscrewed it. As I pulled out my pen, I saw a little toddling girl approaching, followed by her father (also wearing an I Voted sticker). She wanted to look at all the instruments, so she and her father entered the patio to look at the colorful sculptures. As we all know, I don’t exactly like caching near kids, even—perhaps especially—with parents present because that’s the ultimate beacon for scrutiny. But I was there before they were, which probably made me slightly less suspicious looking. Ultimately, all I got from them was a nod from him and a wave from her. And yes, I waved back. I’m not a monster.
Inveni, inscripsi, reposui. And with that, I quickly returned to the air conditioning of my car and shot off. I much prefer doing my work far from the madding crowd, but it’s not like I can complain about people doing their civic duty. Well, not much, anyway.
Geocaching While Black 