Rarely do I ever make it through the Giant Eagle self check-out line in Bethel Park unscathed. Thursday night was no different. Zipping my Giant Eagle savings card through the scanner, the computer tells me it’s not recognizable. After several additional swipes, my card is finally accepted.
Speaking with the floating register clerk, I mention to her that I wish I could choose the computer voice that tells me my Diet Dr. Pepper is “one dollar and thirty-three cents.” Every time a product is scanned an automated voice announces the product’s price.
The first person that comes to mind is Myron Cope. I’d much prefer listening to the dulcet tones of Mr. Cope than a random, generic voice. Hum-Hah!
I made this suggestion to the clerk.
After using my best “this is Myron Cope on sports” impression on the Giant Eagle employee, who pacified me by laughing just a teeny, tiny bit, I completed my transaction without further ado. “Okel Dokel!”
Then, out of nowhere, I heard a “yoi!” and turned my cranium in the direction of the self check-out register behind me. What in the name of the Terrible Towel was going on?
Mr. Cope passed away in 2008 – God rest his soul – so I knew it couldn’t be him.
I looked back and the clerk was helping a woman who said “yoi!” Immediately, I said ‘I told you so’ to the clerk. I wasn’t the only one who yearned for Cope’s Cabana.
I heard the clerk say to the woman in her 30s or 40s that Myron Cope used to say “yoi!”
In reply, the woman said that was “my Czechoslovakian grandfather.”
A small world, no doubt, and one that the greatest broadcaster in Pittsburgh sports history surely would have approved!
Giant Eagle, hear my plea. Use Mr. Cope’s voice as your register voice and I will pay whatever you want.
That would make things Cope-a-stetic.
Prior to jaunt to Giant Eagle, I made an infrequent trip to LA Fitness. I remember when it opened up in the 1980s as “Scandinavian Health Spa.”
Most recently, it was Bally’s Fitness before LA Fitness bailed them out.
Not surprisingly, the machines are mostly outdated. The treadmills, in particular, function poorly. They don’t keep heart rates, the treads slip, and some machines rattle the faster you go.
Nevertheless, I’ve been going there for so long that my car instinctively steers its way to the parking lot.
Thursday was the first time I’d gone to LA Fitness in about a month. I had a certain locker over the winter months, No. 159, that I liked using.
Typically, nobody uses this locker. Why? I’m guessing because a crunchy granola bar wrapper littered the locker floor.
The granola wrapper had been there since October or November and its presence seemingly assures me of No. 159’s availability.
But would it still be there? Lots of businesses do spring cleaning. Heck, I even do my marginal part in my house.
I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high.
When I walked through LA Fitness’s front doors, I saw that employee desks had been repositioned next to the entrance.
My heart sank. I figured that the company finally re-dedicated the gym after purchasing it a couple years ago.
I walked down the six steps toward the locker room. There were two employees by the pool off to the right. That was strange, usually there’s only one. Had the company upped its attention to detail?
Were they no longer just caretakers of a business many members bought lifetime memberships to decades ago?
So I passed another employee walking around the tight bend into the locker room. He had a bucket and was “redding up.”
Was the granola wrapper still there?
That’s all I could think of.
I made my way down the second row. Locker No. 159 is on the bottom. It was half open, but the open side was facing away from me.
I opened it further.
There were no gym member clothes in it, but more importantly, upon closer inspection the crunchy granola bar wrapper was still there!
I am a creature of routine.