I was talking to a friend and told him I wanted to mark a few things for passing on. Things like family heirlooms that you have but never use. The trench knife Grandpa carried in France in 1918, Grandma's figurine she brought from the old country. things like that. He suggested 'Toe tag them'.
I knew what he meant. The tags the morgue uses on bodies but for the life of me forgot what the real name is. Anyway, I was off to Target.
There I made the mistake of asking a young lady working in the stationary section if she carried toe tags.
"Toe tags?" she asked.
"Yeah. You know. the kind they toe to someone's toe at the morgue," I said.
"What would you possibly need something like that for?!"
There was a woman behind her that had turned her head. I can't really call her a busybody because I would have stopped dead to hear where the conversation was going. It was just too juicy to pass up.
I also realized this was an excellent target of opportunity. A man's gotta do what he's gotta do.
"Don't ever buy a house that a drug dealer lived in," I said. "You're always getting people that don't know he moved out and you get home invasions by druggies looking for drugs and money. Since we moved in we've had four invasions and the score is 12-0. It's 14-0 if you count the 2 crackheads that lived. Last night I came home late from work and found three dead crackheads the old Lady shot sprawled around in the living room."
"Oh, my God!" said the young shelf stocker. "What did the police do?"
"They're pretty good about it. They said they recognized all three and told me to call the coroner's office in the morning, I answered. "Oh yeah, the sergeant gave the wife another box of ammunition."
I looked over her shoulder and saw the woman behind her was trying not to outright break into laughter. She was dying inside.
"Anyway we slept in late after the excitement and when I called the coroner's office they said they wanted the three stiffs tagged. I gotta find some toe tags fast because the Old Lady don't want them stinking the place up and we can't leave them on the porch because the raccoons and the coyotes will start chewing them up. I gotta have them tagged before the coroner's office closes. I'll tag 'em and they'll bag em and the coroner will cart them off."
Visibly shaken she pointed and showed me the label section. They had nothing I could use. She left instantly and I was approached by the woman that had overheard everything. She was laughing like hell. "You scared the hell out of that poor girl. That was just plain cruel."
"You're laughing," I said.
"Yes I am. I guess there's something wrong with me, too." she said.
If I was still single I'd have probably offered to buy her a drink or a cup of coffee. I instinctive liked her.
Off to Staples. I went to the counter.
"Do you carry toe tags?" I asked. The woman was about the same age as the Target girl.
"The kind the morgue uses?" she asked.
"Yeah. That kind," I replied.
"They call them shipping tags. They're in aisle 5 next to the manilla envelopes," she said.
I was in and out in a couple of minutes.
