So, most people who live here or visit regularly know the “rules of the road.” But, every now and then, there is what I call a “flummox” - you know, a crossed wires situation. In the words of some famous movie person, “A failure to communicate.”

Grover's Alley (my name for it) presents “flummox” opportunity.

Most “regulars” know that you don't get to Grover's Hardware parking via the alley between the hardware store and First Federal Savings Bank, even though the alley is right next to the hardware store and would seem like the logical way into the back lot. It's really the way out, not the way in, generally speaking.

However, occasionally, there is confusion. Once, a southern New England elder's large car turned down the alley heading for the back lot. At the same time, an old and dear fishing friend, accompanied by his six pack, was exiting the bank lot, as was his habit after a week of hard hauling.

Elder large car and six pack met just west of the overhead doors in Grover's Alley. They sat nose to nose for what seemed like forever and then my friend, bottle of Bud in hand, exited his truck and approached the car. A conversation took place and my friend opened the driver's side door and handed the driver his beer. The driver slid across the big bench seat to the passenger's side while my friend backed the big car out to Townsend Avenue and parked it in front of Grover's.

He returned to his truck, which was now blocking many, got in, opened another beer and drove off.

Maine, the way life used to be.