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If you are a Gen Xer like me, you probably have some fond memories from your childhood. For me, it’s thing like:

• Seeing Darth Vader reveal the shocking truth to Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back
• Watching the Thriller video for the first time
• Trying over and over and over to beat the Rubik’s cube
• Rocking a Members Only jacket or some killer Jams shorts

Now, if you are waxing nostalgic for the halcyon days of the 80s, I’m gonna need you to take time out, contact your healthcare provider, and schedule a colonoscopy.

Sneak PSA attack!

Yes, Generation X is now at the age when we should be prescreening every few years, despite the fact that we feel like we were playing on an Atari 2600 just yesterday.

I have been dodging my obligation for several years longer than I should have. I had plenty of excuses, none of them great. There was the pandemic. There was that upcoming vacation. There was that … reason. 

But I decided this would be the year that I finally got ducks in a row and my backside on the table.

And now that it’s behind me, I’m glad I did it. Spoiler alert: I got a clean bill of health. But I also got the peace of mind of knowing that, at least in that neck of the woods, there was no unpleasant surprise lurking. But had there been it could have been dealt with.

Now, admittedly, the day prior to the procedure was not the most fun day I have ever had. But the prep day was necessary, and if that is the worst part to ensure good health, it’s worth it. I embraced it by catching up on some reading and some TV. My main movie consumptions were two pieces of cinematic art that I had been meaning to get to for a while – Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping and The Nice Guys. How these two gems missed out on Oscar nominations is … well, quite obvious. Also, neither of these movies are remotely appropriate for family movie night. But they were mindless enough entertainment to pass the time.

On the day of the procedure, check-in was a breeze. Before I knew it, I was in a gown on a hospital bed with an IV in my hand. I was wheeled back into the procedure room, and after a few minutes the doctor told me I was about to take a nap. And the next thing I knew I was sitting in recovery with a dog in my lap.

No, I was not hallucinating. Scout, a therapy dog who made the rounds at the hospital, had come to visit, and I was all for it. After petting Scout for a few minutes, I was dressed and ready to go. My wife was driving me home as I took a few catnaps here and there. Having not eaten in 36 hours, I realized I was starving. As I awoke from my snoozes, I said to my wife, “I want Wendy’s.” I haven’t eaten Wendy’s in probably years, but a junior bacon cheeseburger was calling my name. And it was the best burger I’ve had in a long time.

Post-burger, I went to bed and slept off the rest of the anesthesia. That evening, I was right as rain. And I don’t have to revisit that for another five years.

If you are like me and have put off this procedure, go ahead and make the call. Do it for your family. Do it for your friends. Do it for yourself. Those memories from childhood are awesome. But you’ve got more awesome memories to make. And you gotta be here to make them.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

My wife travels a lot for work. If she’s traveling to a cool place we’ve wanted to visit together, I sometimes will join her at the end of the trip and we will spend a few days vacationing. Other less exciting trips I skip. This most recent trip was one of those less exciting destinations. (I am refraining from mentioning exactly where, as years ago I took a silly jab at a city and I found there were some quite proud defenders of Cleveland. I don’t need that hassle again.)

She would be flying out on my birthday. A few months prior, when she was hammering out her flight details, I mentioned that, since it was my birthday, I may fly out, too, to fulfill a lifelong dream – visit the Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.

I have been a baseball fan my whole life. My first job was in a baseball card store. I was in Fulton County Stadium with my dad when the Braves won the World Series in 1995. (My wife and I were dating at the time, and she was there with her dad, too.) Whenever I’ve played sports I try to get the number 3 because of Dale Murphy. I love listening to baseball, watching baseball, reading about baseball, and just generally thinking about baseball.

And if you are like me when it comes to baseball, I think you should stop what you are doing and make your plans now. It’s that amazing. A few takeaways:

• I flew into Albany and drove a little over an hour to Cooperstown. I’ve never spent any time in upstate New York. It is beautiful country. And the leaves were beginning to change into a fantastic burst of fall color. Several locals said the colors were kinda dull this year. I assured them that to me, they were stunning. And I reminded them that the colors we have where I live are just green and brown.
• Cooperstown is a tiny little hamlet, with a single stoplight in town. But it’s a quaint, clean town with the Hall as its anchor.
• I was at the Hall about 10 minutes before it opened. There were several other folks who had started to gather. We started chatting about baseball (naturally). A Dodgers fan had made the trip from Reno. A Yankees fan had driven from the City. A man with broken English said with a smile that he had come from Japan. “For baseball!” he said. 
• I am sure all four of us experienced similar feelings of awe walking through the Hall. But for different reasons. I had a chat with the plaque of every Braves player (and wished once again that there was one for Murph.) I watched a video clip of the Pine Tar Incident over and over, and each time it ended I shifted my eyes to stare at George Brett’s ACTUAL pine tar bat. I read detailed histories of the Negro Leagues and learned more than I ever knew. I saw the most valuable baseball card, the 1911 Honus Wagner. And and on and on.
• Baseball doesn’t shy away from some of its recent scandals, either. The Hall of Fame may never have a plaque for Rose or Bonds or Clemens. And that’s why “And Museum” is important. In the museum, away from the Hall honoring baseball royalty, is a whole display about Pete Rose. And his gambling. There is one about that magical summer of 1998 when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were bashing home runs at a record pace. And the subsequent steroid fallout that tarnished that summer (even if we all probably kinda did know it at the time, but didn’t want to admit it.)

I spent the whole day there, and I probably went through it at least four times, finding something new each time. It was a magical day that I highly recommend to any baseball fan. Reward yourself. Pay tribute to your heroes. Take in the magic of the sport you love. For Baseball.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

My wife and I are shopping for a new mattress, and I have to say, bed technology has made some big strides since the last time we bought one.

We’ve had our mattress for probably 20 years, which is way longer – like more than double the time – of a recommended mattress lifespan.

When we bought it, I think we went the fairly traditional way to buy one:

1. Go to one of what seems like way too many stores in your area.
2. Start lying down on bed in the middle of a showroom while other folks do the same thing in something that without context must look really weird.
3. Realize you’ve tried out about a dozen mattresses and you can’t really remember which was one which.
4. Shrug and tell your wife, “Look, just get whatever one. Can we go?”

But this time I vowed to have a little more patience, partly because one of the many reasons we are getting a new bed is my back. I have some back issues, issues which have led my orthopedist to say that my spine is “chronologically much older” than I am. I do not think that is a compliment, like referring to a precocious child.

In an effort to offset said back issues, I have been going through various physical therapy channels. My wife, however, has also suggested two other changes: (1) new shoes and (b) a new mattress. I told her beds are really expensive, and, sorry, but there just aren’t magic shoes out there. And then I got a couple of pairs of what apparently are magic shoes. OK, they aren’t magic. They’re just super cushioned and what runners wear. Once I conceded the shoes were helping, I said we could move on to the mattress.

My wife suggested we should get an adjustable bed. I was familiar with these, but I had some concerns. For one thing, what if I wanted my feet up and she didn’t? What if she wanted to stay propped up watching tv, and I didn’t? Talking to me like you would to a very non-precocious toddler, she explained both sides adjust independently.

We went to a store and tried a few out. These actually felt a whole lot better than our current mattress, which in comparison to these new ones feels like a lumpy sack stuffed with old pillows. (OK, it’s not THAT bad.)

The sales guy was also showing me all of the add-on features – cooling technology, vibrating massage, and bluetooth. Going back to my basic self, I said, “Yeah, do you just have it in ‘bed’ style, but where you can still put your feet up?”

The split king also presented a surprise plus for us, as my wife and I found two pretty different firmnesses that we preferred. Which either means one of us or both of us has been sleeping on less than our ideal firmness of mattress for two decades.

I was pretty impressed and was really good to go with the first place we stopped. “So what does this run us?”

Let’s just say the downpayment on our first house was less than this.

We decided to keep shopping and see what other options are out there. My wife did remind me a couple of times that prices have, in fact, gone up a smidge in the last 20 years, and that we also are not buying a plain ol’ mattress. It was her diplomatic way of saying, “Quit being a cheapskate.” 

After about five stores, we are pretty sure we have narrowed down what we want. My wife has done some comparison shopping and has found us a deal that doesn’t make me wince. Of course, if the bed has the same magical healing properties as the shoes, it will be well worth the cost. And the big pain moving forward will be thinking about how I waited so long to get it.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

I love going to the movies. I would not consider myself a movie elitist in the least, as I generally focus my viewing on superhero, space and action movies.

When I go to the theater, I want to escape from the world for two hours. But I do like to escape with a bit of routine, as is baked into the bread that is me.

First off, I vastly prefer a matinee, preferably the first of the day. They are usually less crowded, and I really don’t want to go to a movie at night when my internal clock starts saying, “Alright, time to wrap it up, Mike!”

I also have my preferred seats – aisle seats right behind the section reserved for wheelchairs, as it is set higher than other rows and presents very little chance of someone blocking my view, unless someone who is about 12 feet tall sits in front of me.

Lastly, I generally go to the movie theater right around the corner from my house because, well, obviously.

Generally, I go to the movies with my kids, in particular when it comes to action, superhero and space movies. This is because my wife doesn’t particularly get into those, and once fell asleep at a Spider-Man movie. (That said, she loved The Martian!)

But this time we were going to see a comedy that she did want to go see. It was on our daughter’s 23rd birthday, and she wanted to go see a movie with us and her finance. Swell idea. Matinee show, a little shopping with mom and daughter while I took a nap on the couch while watching a baseball game, and then dinner out. Perfect way to celebrate.

My wife was getting ready to order tickets when she noticed on a local Facebook page that quite a few people were complaining about the air conditioner being out at our local theater. We all were very much in agreement that sitting in a theater without AC in August was an absolute negative for us.

So we hopped on out of my comfort zone and got tickets to a different theater, about 30 minutes away.

And outside of that comfort zone was a TON of comfort. The theater we went to is one that has all reclining seats. Plenty of room to stretch out, great clearance from row to row, and of course that sweet, sweet air conditioning.

As I played with my settings on my recliner to find the perfect movie watching angle, I noticed that the recliner went almost completely horizontal. Important to remember if I ever find myself in an evening movie and need to catch some shuteye.

We had a great time at the movie, thanks to the movie itself and the recliners. The popcorn was standard issue movie popcorn, which is a national treasure. Also, I am very much in the minority that the popcorn should have no butter because it’s gross and that’s one of the few food hills I will die on.

When we left the theater – full up on popcorn, nice and relaxed thanks to our seats, and thoroughly feeling delighted by a fun movie – we all said that we really liked the theater and wouldn’t mind making the short trek on occasion in reclining style. And the AC doesn’t get fixed by the time I go to my next movie? I assure you I’ll take the trek.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

My wife took a trip to the mountains recently. We stayed at a lovely rental that my wife found on the internet. She is always in charge of making these reservations because she is very creative and discerning, and because she will never forget Mardi Gras 1994.

We were in college and decided to head to New Orleans to take part in the festivities. I assured her that I had taken care of accommodations.

When we arrived in the Big Easy, we headed into the crowd when I shared with her what our plans were – we would find one of my fraternity brothers who lives in New Orleans and see if we could stay with them.

So there were a few problems in my plan. First, I was going on the assumption that my fraternity brothers were also in town, and not back in Tuscaloosa, AL. Second, randomly bumping into someone you know at Mardi Gras is statistically a smidge of a challenge. If you have never been to Mardi Gras, let me describe the crowds to you. You know those photos you see from the 1950s of young folks trying to fit as many people in a phone booth as they can? Well imagine the phone booth in the City of New Orleans.

Needless to say, my wife was less than pleased with this decision. However, her ire only lasted for about an hour, as we ran into TWO different fraternity brothers, both of whom offered accommodations.

Looking back on this experience with the benefit of a bit of wisdom, I think of the thing I used to say to my kids when they did something less than advisable, but it still kinda worked out. “If I drive across town and run every red light and make it to my destination without wrecking, it doesn’t suddenly make it a good idea.”

Since that time, my wife has made our travel plans. And it works quite well, since she is exceptionally good at it. In fact, the one time I can think of where she didn’t handle it, it went not so well.

My son and I decided to spend a weekend in the mountains a few years ago. We were going to a place we’d been before, and I knew there was a hotel right at the base of the mountain. It was in the winter, so no doubt there would be plenty of vacancies.

And there were no vacancies. I called another hotel. And another. And another. After the fifth one told me they were full, I asked if there was some sort of festival going on or something. “Sir, it’s Valentine’s weekend. Everything books up around here.”

We eventually found a place at a sketchy joint an hour or so down the interstate. When I called my wife to explain to her the situation, she said, “Seems about right.”

I am sure that I could competently do it if I actually put my mind to it. But part of the problem is that I think somewhere in my subconscious is a part of me that likes to flirt with danger, but not actual real danger that could, you know, hurt. It’s the same reason I have left my office with an estimated 22 miles left on my gas tank for a 20-minute commute over two bridges that, if there is an accident, will definitely make me run out of gas. DANGER!

We have a few trips planned over the next few years, and I think I will try and provide my usual inputs on the best way to get there and the best small town diners along the way. That and looking for things that we can do that are dangerous. Only, again, not that dangerous.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

On New Year’s Day, my daughter got engaged. And I am pretty sure she is the only one who didn’t know it was coming.

She and her boyfriend have been dating for five years. They started dating in high school. When she went off to college, they continued dating long-distance. When she graduated and moved back to Charleston, they were back in the same town, never having missed a beat.

I have a personal reason for feeling this is a good recipe for a relationship. My wife and I began dating in college, and when I graduated, I moved to Florida to start a job, and she finished college. We dated long-distance, until we moved to the same town. Seeing as how we have been married for almost 25 years, I’d say it certainly can work.

Her now-fiance, Tyler, came to me a few months back to bring up the topic. We were sitting on my back porch chatting, and he said he had to ask me a question. And he then asked for her hand in marriage. I found that sweet and endearing. I also know my daughter, who is a fiercely independent, brave, strong soul. I said to Tyler, “I appreciate you asking. I also think you know Allie, and she will make it very clear she’s not my property. She’s going to do what she wants to do.” I assured him, however, that I appreciated the traditional approach – I did the same with my father-in-law – and assured him my wife and I both loved and supported him, and we would be honored to officially add him to our family. The only caveat I asked him to strongly consider – my daughter has a year and a half left of grad school. If she could keep her focus on a grad degree before a wedding, that would be superb. He agreed that was a fair concession.

Tyler and Allie went to Disney after Christmas, and he was planning on asking her then. Disney is my daughter’s favorite place on the planet, and she has gone, well, a lot since she has been a kid. She has that Disney magic in her, and this seemed to be the perfect place.

On the day of the proposal, we were somewhat expecting a morning proposal. We heard nothing. We had friends and family asking us if it had happened yet. Nothing. We had been talking about the engagement for months prior, so everyone knew about it except for her. Kudos for everyone in our circle for keeping one of the most well known secrets out of her orbit.

Around mid-afternoon, my wife texted Tyler to see what the deal was. Apparently, Allie had the whole day planned out to the minute. And since she didn’t have “Get Engaged in Front of Cinderella’s Castle” on the agenda, he just couldn’t get a break in the day.

And then, at 6:23 pm, my wife and I got a text. It showed a picture of Tyler on one knee, with the castle in the background, and our daughter in bewildered shock. My wife responded with a love emoji. Because I am me, I responded with, “Did you say yes?”

Of course, she said yes. She called us a moment later, which was extra funny to us because she was bordering on having no voice because they had ridden the new Guardians of the Galaxy ride twice the day before, and she had screamed her head off. Also, according to her, the Guardians ride is amazing. I did not ask her to rank it compared to an engagement, because, let’s be honest, nothing good can come from that.

I know they have a wonderful future together. Tyler already is family to us, but it will be extra amazing to have him officially on the roster. After she has a graduate degree, of course.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. and now lives in Mount Pleasant, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com.

I woke up like I usually do most mornings. I headed downstairs and start the coffee, then make my way back upstairs to get showered and dressed for work. When I get back downstairs, I’ll usually take some time to check some emails and news sites and just get my bearings before I start my day.

As I was glancing over emails, I saw one that was from me, with nothing but a subject line. It was sent at 4:30 in the morning, and the subject line read simply, “Camera.” I don’t know about you, but at 4:30 most mornings, I’ve been asleep for quite a while.

I sat for a second and then some of the previous night began to fill itself in. But just a little bit.

See, I have always been a really hard sleeper and for most of my life have been an avid sleep talker and occasional sleep walker. 

As a man approaching my 50s, I do occasionally wake in the middle of the night (thanks, nature!), which is usually followed by a quick nature break and then a sojourn back to bed for a few more hours.

I recalled that in the middle of my previous sleep, during an evening biobreak, I had awoken from a dream and had to remind myself of … something.

Somewhere in between I’m guessing 4:29 and 4:30, I was awake enough to email myself that I needed to remember “camera,” but by 7 a.m., the reason why had totally evaporated.

I racked my brains for the better of the next day, I was trying to remember what I was telling myself. This has happened in other fashions over the years. Prior to email being on our phones, it was in the form of a notepad I used to keep by my bed. I would occasionally wake up and see a note from Sleeping Mike that read, like, “Pancake house” or “Bubble swan” or something equally weird. 

At work, I told a few coworkers about this cryptic message mostly-sleeping me had sent. We went through various scenarios it could have been. One popular theory was that “camera” was an autocorrect for something. But what?!?! I mean, did I misspell “Camper”? “Canberra”? “Cambridge”? 

I was at a loss. I spent the rest of the day spending way more time than I probably should have trying to figure out what it was about, but my brain was simply not going to unlock the mysteries of sleepy me.

And then a few days later, it all came rushing back to me. I took my car to one of those car wash places that also has free vacuums, which is one of our greatest inventions. As is my habit when I go to these places, I make a point of checking every nook and cranny to make sure I’ve got all of the unnecessary things out of my car. I opened a lid on a small area of my console, just to make sure I hadn’t stashed any old receipts or the like there. And out it tumbled. A receipt from a photo lab at a nearby pharmacy, where I had dropped off a disposable film camera weeks ago.

You see, I was going through a file cabinet at work and found this old camera from probably way before I worked for the organization. I decided to get it developed and see what mysteries it held. And this is where dream Mike entered the equation and decided to spice it up. I began to remember the dream, and the camera came back with amazing photos from some of the most significant events in history, many before a camera was invented. In my dream, there were shots of the pyramids being built, of Lincoln being inaugurated, of Gutenberg rolling out the first printed book. I was excited for all of about three seconds until my non-dream brain reminded me that this was probably a bunch of pictures of, like, a company Christmas party or something.

I’m glad the mystery was finally solved, and I am eager to get the pictures back. I know they will probably not be that exciting. But the fact that there’s a chance that it could be of the pyramids has my fingers crossed.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Who would have guessed that my daughter’s quest to furnish a new apartment would inadvertently turn me into a porch pirate.

The quest for a new place started a few months ago. Our daughter lives about 40 minutes from us, and it’s nearly an hour drive to and from her classes. And since they are mainly in the evenings, the thought of cutting that drive time in half was appealing. I assume that moving closer to us was a close second?

We began looking at apartments online, narrowing down the ones that she liked and that were affordable. And by “affordable” I mean “affordable.” Such is the life of rental living.

She found a bunch she liked, and my wife and I toured most of them with her. I say “most” because one of us may have missed a tour because Alabama was playing Arkansas at the same time. But I trust their judgment.

Eventually, the perfect apartment was found, and she is set to move in a week or so. She has some stuff to furnish it, but needs some other fundamentals to fill out the decor.

My wife is a member of an online group called Buy Nothing. If you are not familiar with it, it’s a Facebook group unique to your area. You basically give things away on the site. Nothing is for sale. If you have something you are getting rid of, you can post it, and folks can say why they would like to have it. Some posters ask for the best story as to why you should get it. Others do something like ask people to guess a number. It’s a lovely community, and reminds me that social media can actually be pretty swell when we agree to the basic tenet of being a decent human.

Anyhow, my wife had found a couple of items that she said she would like to be considered for, citing our daughter getting a new apartment. The first was a lovely corner shelf that will go nicely into, well, a corner. My son and I went and picked that up off of a porch and it now sits in our garage awaiting installation in her new apartment.

And then the piracy happened. Someone was offering a standing lamp. When my wife was told she could have the lamp, the kind Buy Nothinger messaged her and said she had a few other items that might help our daughter in her new apartment (some towels, silverware, etc.).

My wife gave me the address, and I headed out to get the lamp et al. When I arrived, I saw the lamp and a couple of bags of things on the porch. I got them in my car, headed home, and placed them in the garage, next to their new sibling, the corner shelf.

A few hours later, I was looking for my wife and could not find her. I saw that the door from the laundry room to the garage was open, so I walked outside and saw her there. “Hey…” I said, because I was going to mention something that I have no idea what it is now.

She interrupted, “Hey, did you get some pillows off that porch with the lamp?”

“Uh…I got … the stuff that was there…”

“Yeah, those pillows were from someone else…”

I immediately felt a wave of guilt sweep over me. “I THOUGHT I WAS SUPPOSED TO GET THE EXTRA BAGS!?!?!” I said.

“It’s no big deal,” my wife replied.

“I’LL TAKE THEM BACK RIGHT NOW!”

“Seriously. It’s not a big deal. We can take them back now, or tomorrow. Whenever is fine.”

“I’LL GO NOW!” I said.

I felt terrible that I had inadvertently taken someone else’s package. I grilled my wife on how the exchange went, and asked her to please explain that it was an accident. I am but a simple errand boy with a very strong desire not to take other people’s things.

She again assured me that I was adding way more drama to a simple misunderstanding. I took the pillows back a short while later, and I am hopeful that that intended recipient has gotten them and is enjoying them immensely. And I hope whoever it is knows that exciting journey their new pillows have been on.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Normally, once I transfer wet laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, a fairly straightforward process occurs. The dryer tumbles around, mixing the clothes up while blowing hot air on them. Then, maybe 30 minutes later, voila – dry clothes.

Fun fact: I once read a musing by someone that in theory, there is a possibility, albeit an infinitesimal one, that your clothes could tumble into a perfect folded stack upon the cycle’s conclusion. I have yet to come anywhere close to this, but it does give me a moment of excitement every time I open the door, much like that feeling I get when I look up the winning Powerball number. Oh, that moment of anticipation!

Upon my most recent load of laundry, I went through the usual steps. And when I opened the door of the dryer, I found that (a) they once again had not ended up in a perfectly folded pile and (b) they were still cold and soaking wet.

Now, I am not an appliance repairman, but I can say that when the “dry” part of a “dryer” is not existent, something is a tad off.

I went online and did a few searches, hoping for something like “All dryers come with a magic reset switch hidden on the back that will automatically make it work again.” Alas, that hope was quickly dashed like a Powerball search.

What I found was pretty much a general consensus that when dryers decide to die, they die. Our dryer is somewhere between eight and 22 years old, depending on whether you ask me or my wife. Either way, it is in the age range where such an end was probably.

We decided we would start our quest for a new dryer at a nearby home improvement store. We had heard that there were some supply issues in some areas, so we went to scout out what was available. When I got to the dryer section, I was pleased to see there were dozens on display. When I began asking about several of them, I was told that they may or may not be in stock. I asked if I could just take one that was on the floor. Apparently, that is not an option, as leaving them out to taunt customers is apparently a thing.

Eventually, we found a model that fit our needs – it was a decent size and it dried. That’s really all we need. We don’t have a lot of complicated laundry. Fortunately, this model was in stock, and they could deliver it tomorrow.

The employee first asked me if I wanted it delivered to my house or the store. Now, I understand scenarios in which having it delivered to the store would be a better option, such as if you were a contractor getting it for someone else’s home. However, that was certainly not my case. Also, I drive a sedan that very much would not accommodate a driver. So home delivery it is.

She then asked me if I wanted to buy the parts that went with the installation. She said if I bought them there, they would install the dryer free of charge. Once I tallied up the cost of the parts needed and saw it was under $30, I said, “Yeah, I’m gonna take that option right away.” 

Next they asked me if the plug was three or four pronged. I said, “The what now?” 

She asked me what year my house was built. I told her, and she said, “OK, it’s a three prong.” I now know that houses built after 1996 utilize four-prong dryer plugs, a fact that I am guessing I will never have the opportunity to use again.

The next day, the dryer was delivered and installed with nary a hitch. It was a curiously seamless process, devoid of the usual hitches that often come with such a thing. It feels so odds defiant, I feel like Lady Luck is in my corner. I can’t wait to open up the first load of laundry and find them sitting there folded perfectly. Now, time to go buy a lottery ticket…

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.