Be Sure to Check in Innumerably Before You Check Out

I checked the weather.

I should have checked my blood pressure before I checked the weather. The weather report was dire. If I were a crack meteorologist, I’d predict bad weather every day. That way, if we didn’t get bad weather, everyone would be happy because we’d dodged the bullet. If we got bad weather, everyone would think I was a crack meteorologist whose Magic 8 Ball was brilliant.

I checked my cell phone and fitness tracker to make sure they had enough battery to make it through the day.

I checked for a check engine light on the car’s dashboard.

I checked the traffic.

I parked in a parking lot. It’s the right thing to do. I checked to make sure I had properly placed my car within the pavement markings. People gripe when vehicles stray from their proper parked positions.

I checked to make sure my car was locked before I checked in at the clinic by using a check-in kiosk.

I sat in a waiting room. My phone made a sound. A friend had sent a text, checking in to see how I was doing.

When I began my appointment, I checked my weight, blood pressure and heart rate. Then I became one with an elliptical exercise machine. I checked its settings – fittings, difficulty and watts.

As I slaved away, I checked the mileage I was getting and wondered if I was getting good mileage.

After 30 minutes, I moved to another machine, doing similar checks before taking flight.

At the conclusion, I cooled down to see if my major body parts were still functioning.

Then my blood pressure and heart rate were checked.

I wished I were wearing a T-shirt with a checked pattern, but I don’t own one. The next time I shop for clothes, I’ll check on a checked T-shirt. I checked my phone’s calendar and saw that my next clothes shopping event is scheduled for June 2028.

As I put on my jacket. I didn’t need to check if I’d taken a jacket. I grew up with a mother who advised, “Always take a jacket. You never know.”

There was a second reason I didn’t have to check if I’d taken a jacket. It was colder than a polar bear’s nose outside. I knew because fellow clinic goers had asked me if it was cold enough for me.

I checked the date on my phone. I was pleased that it was March and not July. What was a passable March day would have been a horrific July day.

I checked my coat pocket. Then I checked a second pocket. I checked a third pocket before I found the shopping list my sweet bride had given me to attend to.

I got back into my car. I checked the idiot lights on the dash. It’s a force of habit from driving hoopties and jalopies for years.

I checked the traffic.

I parked in another parking lot, fitting my car properly within the pavement lines.

I checked that I had my list, wallet and phone before entering the grocery store.

I pressed a button on my key fob to ensure the car was locked.

I grabbed a shopping cart and checked to make sure the wheels went round and round without veering.

I was staring at a shelf when someone asked if she could scoot around me. I complimented her cart driving.

When Sylvan Goldman introduced the first shopping cart in 1937, customers didn’t embrace a cart designed to make shopping easier in self-service grocery stores. Men thought pushing a cart made them look weak, and women believed it resembled a baby stroller. Goldman hired models to push carts around the store and employed greeters to explain the benefits. The convenience of shopping carts became undeniable.

I checked things off. I make a list of things to do each day. Checking things off that list provides a sense of accomplishment.

Sometimes I must check with my wife when a product is unavailable to get approval to switch to a similar item.

Before I turned into the checkout lane, I checked my phone to see if my spouse had any last-minute additions to the list.

There were none.

I checked out.

Without writing a check.