I’m in line at a small, progressive grocery store. Things that are out of place have always bothered me, to the extent that I would put something in its proper place if its proper place were near the shelf I was looking at. I’ve been asked things by other customers who thought I was employed more times than I can remember. I would have been a worthy employee of LaFond's when he was managing.

I see one, then two, single-serving, tall, thin sausages on the floor. I hand them to the checkout clerk with a brief explanation. She comments on it to the co-worker behind her on the next register, that it’s strange and she’s not sure how it got there. The other co-worker appears to be a stereotypical dyke, older however, who gets away with that hair style because she is particularly thin. I wonder how she reconciles her rejection of the patriarchy with acceptance of the gay, thin, boyish, fashion-industry image of a woman, at least as objectifying and constraining as having to answer to someone with more power or authority.

“Probably some badly behaved children whose parents needed to be spanked,” I say humorously. The shriveled dyke is, at that moment, waiting on a parent with a child. In my usual lack of hunnish diplomacy, I hadn’t noticed, because this one was, actually well-behaved.

“I haven’t seen any misbehaved children here at all,” she asserts, throwing off some offended vibes.

“Oh, I have,” I say (at the beginning of my shopping trip), refusing her effort to shut me up, and we both leave it at that, her ruffled feathers sticking up off of the back of her shoulders, me smiling to myself.

What, is she worried that she will be held personally responsible for the words of another customer? Compelled to avoid being remiss in her liberal duties to come to the defense of the innocent, unprotected, or mistreated? PC?? Ya think? Odin keep me from dour, humorless dykes—please?

Almost home, I watch a young male crossing the major, four-lane road on his cell phone, while walking his medium-large dog. It’s a ways before I will reach him, but he feels it necessary to face my oncoming vehicle and look on the whole time he is crossing. He doesn’t feel it necessary to get off the phone while he crosses a major road, nor pick up the pace. He is clearly less empowered with a sense of personal responsibility than entitlement. Neither of these stories involve dindus, but they are illustrative of liberal poisoning of our society, which has produced the dindus. As I grew up hearing in Philly, “Same difference,” (though definitely less violent than the poisoned dindus).