I recently wrote about how I got sandbagged into a million dollar bet with Elsbeth on whether the garbage man was due to pick up the big blue recycle bin and lost, and she went out and spent 35 bucks on a new outfit the next day.

Well ... my drivers license was about to expire so Elsbeth urged me to go to the White Center license office next door to the Westwood Village shopping center and get it renewed this week.

This is a five-year event and requires taking a number and a chair and waiting. As Elsbeth and I entered the main door a tiny woman came up behind us and I, as my father taught me, allowed her to enter first and get in line ahead of me.

She got number 49, I got number 50.

Waiting my turn does not bother me much while seated as it is a treat to just study baggy pants teenagers, tall willowy blondes, an international medley, obese and bed-slat thin bodies, stiletto heels, brand new and tattered tenny runners, girls with ragged knee jeans, vain guys with sculpted mustaches, hairless bowling ball heads and curly locks, ugly, pretty, smiling and frowning faces.

Fascinating stuff, and it makes the time fly quickly.

As I listened for the voice announcing each succeeding number I was both alert and restless.

There are six windows so you must stay attentive. After a while, I did grow tired of studying people and noted that the tiny lady's number 49 had been called. That put me on red alert.

I also became alert that my imminent number 50 coincided with some internal discomfort, but bravely put mind over bladder and waited some more. Then I noted that four of the six stations were devoid of clerks for some reason.

Where did everybody go? Maybe it had to do with rest break, something I could use.

I got a little envious when I saw that number 49 was walking out and fretted some about holding the entry door for her. Then I quickly discarded that ungentlemanly thought. Don't be a cad. Just be patient.

It worked. I kept my pride intact for a few more minutes and then a voice sang out number 50.Hooray.

Still in small agony, I went to an open window and met a pretty brunette named Janice and she whisked through the process, including taking my mug shot in less than two minutes.

I will be forever grateful to her.

As we departed Elsbeth noted how efficient and attractive Janice was. I said I didn't notice and then she said, "I noticed you were jogging standing still. You must be feeing pretty good.

"Do we have time to go across to Marshalls? They have a bathroom and you still owe me $999,065.00 from the garbage can bet."

Amazing how she got me to a store across the street from a license agency.

At one time this historic house was a small grocery store operated by Dick Mansfield's father who was a meat cutter, very popular with residents of Three Tree Point for fancy cuts of beef.

It boasted a small supply of canned goods, bread, milk, fresh veggies and eggs, and was popular with kids for Popsicles, candy and ice cream. It is on Maplewild at 169th.

Over the years since it was built it has had numerous owners who struggled to make it pay year round.

Peggy Steele, now 75, was raised at the Point and still lives in the oldest house there, a short hike from the store. She remembers buying Popsicles at the store and the Mansfield's children with whom she played 70 years ago. They all went to now-demolished Burien Elementary.

The old store is now owned by Fred and Anne Feiretag from Woodmont in Des Moines, where they owned a small farm and raised flowers.

Fred is a UW grad and seventh grade school teacher at Seattle Academy of Arts and Sciences, and formerly was a materials engineer at Boeing.

Fred and Anne have one daughter, Lisa who lives in Chicago.

Anne is a Tyee High and UW grad who is now a chemical engineer at Boeing. They have a huge orange cat named Gilbert.

Anne is also an accomplished fine arts painter.

Dick Mansfield also owned stores in Olde Burien, next to the feed store and in Boulevard Park.