I once worked with a crew of practical jokers. You never wanted to be out of the office for long. You were never quite sure what you would walk into when you got back. Over time though, people moved on and all the joking came to an end. It just kind of faded away.
One day I got a call from one of the primary jokesters. He had moved on to another company and he was calling just to say hi. While we were talking I had a flash of brilliance. He may have left the office, but he could still be a primary target for harassment.
At the time I subscribed to a variety of periodicals. Once a month or so, the publisher would package up all the little postage paid response cards that come in the magazines and send them out to the readers. I would end up to two or here of these packets a month. These packets each contained over a dozen of the little cards. While I was talking to my friend, it dawned on me I had the perfect vehicle for continuing our practical joke war. As he was talking, it dawned on me that, I could fill out all these cards. Only instead of using my information, I could use his. I found this to be an extremely amusing thought. I couldn’t let this bright idea and golden opportunity pass. So while he was talking, I was busy filling out mailers. I thought why stop at this little group? I started looking for postage paid cards to fill out all over the place. I eventually filled out several hundred of the little things. I was filling these things out for weeks. I was pulling them out of magazines; I filled out surveys at the mall and I entered all the contests at the home show. Every time I filled one out, I giggled. Boy oh boy this is going to be grrrrreeat.
A month went by, then two, then three. I was starting to lose my faith in my little trick. Six months went by, still nothing. As the year mark started to approach, I began to feel my prank had failed. I was starting to get pretty bummed. I had filled out hundreds of cards and heard nary a peep. All that work for nothing. All that anticipation, all the excitement, and there was nothing to show for it. Then I got the call. It was my friend, my pal, my amigo. It was my target
At first, we were just chit chatting about nothing. While we were talking, I could tell something was bothering him. After a few minutes, I asked what was wrong. He told me he wasn’t going to say anything but yes, something was bothering him. I asked what it was. At this point almost a year had lapsed since I launched my great plan. I was no longer even thinking about it. I was just concerned from my troubled friend. He said “Joe, I don’t know what it is, I don’t know why it is happening but I think someone is out to get me.” I asked what he was talking about. It still hadn’t hit me what was going on. He went on to say “I must have done something to someone but I don’t know who. I can’t think what I could have done but someone is harassing me. It can’t be an accident. Someone has to be doing this on purpose and I can’t figure out why.” All of a sudden it hit me. I had to put the phone on mute so that he wouldn’t hear me laughing. It had taken almost a year but FINALLY my plan was working. I got back on the phone and asked him what he was talking about. He informed me that he was getting dozens, no hundreds of calls from all kinds of people. He was getting calls in the office, he was getting calls at home, he was getting calls on his cell phone. And people were sending him things too. They were sending all kinds of ads, and magazines and junk. Everyone was looking to sell him something. He was getting calls all day and all night. He was going out of his mind with the harassment. He kept asking how these people were getting his name and number. No one had a good answer. They just kept saying he had filled out a customer response card for more information so they were calling him for follow up. I was saying things like, “What did you do?” Who could you possibly have made mad at you? What do you think is the reason?” And it’s obvious he’s upset, he’s not laughing or fooling around. He’s seriously troubled. He kept asking what he had done, who he had done it to and how he could make it stop. He was thinking of changing his phone number and having it unlisted. He eventually said he was thinking of approaching the Attorney General’s office to see what he could do. Eventually he asked me “Can you think of anyone that would do this to me?” I responded, “Yeah, I would”. He then launched into another round of “Why would anyone do this to me.” And “Can you think of who might be doing this”. I again said “Yes, I would.” He launched into saying he might call the police or Attorney General’s office. He asked a third time if I knew who would do this to him. At this point, I thought it best to let him in on the joke. I said “John (after all, that is his name) listen to me, I’ve said it several times, YES, I would, I would know who would do this to you. I would do it to you.” There was a pause, then he said “Who do you think is doing this?” I said “I am, didn’t you hear me the first three times?”
At this point he launched into a stream of obscenities. I was a son of a bi, a dirty rotten AS#@$#%^, A Fr&&^%$ing BA^^@&#*. OH baby he was mad. I think he was making up some of the words. I’m not even sure all of them were in English. Now that the cat is out of the bag, I’m laughing hysterically. I’m just killing myself. I’m crying I’m laughing so hard. And he doesn’t think it funny. Eventually he acknowledged the humor in my trick. He said it lacked originality. It was a little pedestrian for him. Not very creative at all. But he also acknowledged that I had gotten him and I had gotten him good. He said he had been getting calls for months. He said originally, he thought it was a joke. He said he THOUGHT it was me. He also said that when it went on so long, he stopped thinking it a joke and started trying to figure out just who would be trying to harass him. I came off the suspect list because; well he just didn’t think I had that kind of thing in me. The call ended with a promise that he would get even. (He hasn’t, yet.)
To this day, I can still tell when he gets a fresh batch of calls about vinyl siding, replacement windows and/or the Encyclopedia Britannica. He’ll send me an email. The frequency is tapering off. The time lag between messages is starting to expand. And the email always says the same thing. Periodically I get and email with only one word in it. It just says “BASTARD”
I love it. It’s my favorite message.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
There’s no such thing as common sense – Duh!!!
One of my first “real” jobs was as a Manager of a convenience store. I managed a Cumberland Farms. Yeah that’s right, I was one of the “kids” trusted to run one of these fast paced enterprises. I quickly learned that the only pre-requisite for getting this job was, well, all you really had to do was apply.
Anyway, I managed a store for almost two years. Quickly I learned that the reason most people were coming to my store was for the milk. Cumbies had a reputation as a milk store that also sold other things, like bread and eggs. But mostly though, it was a milk store. Most people came for the milk, and picked up other things up as an impulse
One day my milk truck had an accident. As such, I didn’t get my milk delivery. That’s OK, typically the store kept a 4 or 5 day supply on hand. We got new milk deliveries every other day. Missing one would be OK. This milk truck had a rather significant accident. It was down for a week. Needless to say, by day 5, I was completely out of milk. I quickly got tired of customers coming in and asking “Do you have any milk?” I mean, the cooler was empty. There was nothing on the shelves. Just like Mother Hubbard, the cupboard was bare. The only things in the cooler were a couple of out of date/sour bottles of non-fat milk way in the back that were waiting to be returned to the factory. Eight empty chests now lined the back of my store; And since there’s nothing on the shelves, you could see all the way to the back of the walk-in cooler. People would walk into the store, go over to the milk case, see it was empty, come up to the register and ask ”do you have any milk?” To which I’d have to say “No, I’m sorry we are out.” A couple of folks asked if there was any out back. They had looked into the empty cooler. What, do they think we keep extra milk out on the loading dock or something? Maybe it’s in the back seat of my car. Yeah, like I’m hording milk in the hallway waiting for the price to go up. I’m trying to corner the sour milk market. One guy insisted he could see milk at the back of the cooler and that he’d wait for me to put it out on the shelves.
Eventually I got tired of answering the question. I made up a handful of signs. The signs all said the same thing. They said, “Sorry, we are temporarily out of milk.” The signs were in big bold letters and were brightly colored. I wanted to make sure people could see them. I posted a sign on the front door, eye level. I put a sign on every door in the milk case. There were eight doors. I had four ice cream chests. A sign went on the top of each ice cream chest. I had two signs at the register as well. One was on the counter; one was on the back of the register. Some people would grab the door handle, read the sign then turn around and leave. Others would come into the store and ask when I thought I would be re-supplied.
One guy walked into the store and over to the milk case. I could see him pacing back and forth like a caged lion at feeding time. I then saw him circle the ice cream cases. After a minute or so he came over to the register. I could see that there was something in his hands. He walked up the register, handed me what he was holding and asked “Do you have any milk?” I looked at what he had just given me. It was the four signs off of the ice cream chests. I looked up at him only to see him trying to peel the “out of milk” sign off the counter.
I was speechless. This guy had seen the milk chests were empty. He had just walked past a sign on the front door saying we were out of milk. He had picked up four more signs saying the same thing and was now peeling a fifth one off the counter. I just looked at him and said “Yes, it’s out back. I haven’t had a chance to restock the cooler yet. Please, feel free to return tomorrow, the shelves should be full by then.” The next day was Saturday. Saturday is my day off. Let the weekend crew deal with him.
Anyway, I managed a store for almost two years. Quickly I learned that the reason most people were coming to my store was for the milk. Cumbies had a reputation as a milk store that also sold other things, like bread and eggs. But mostly though, it was a milk store. Most people came for the milk, and picked up other things up as an impulse
One day my milk truck had an accident. As such, I didn’t get my milk delivery. That’s OK, typically the store kept a 4 or 5 day supply on hand. We got new milk deliveries every other day. Missing one would be OK. This milk truck had a rather significant accident. It was down for a week. Needless to say, by day 5, I was completely out of milk. I quickly got tired of customers coming in and asking “Do you have any milk?” I mean, the cooler was empty. There was nothing on the shelves. Just like Mother Hubbard, the cupboard was bare. The only things in the cooler were a couple of out of date/sour bottles of non-fat milk way in the back that were waiting to be returned to the factory. Eight empty chests now lined the back of my store; And since there’s nothing on the shelves, you could see all the way to the back of the walk-in cooler. People would walk into the store, go over to the milk case, see it was empty, come up to the register and ask ”do you have any milk?” To which I’d have to say “No, I’m sorry we are out.” A couple of folks asked if there was any out back. They had looked into the empty cooler. What, do they think we keep extra milk out on the loading dock or something? Maybe it’s in the back seat of my car. Yeah, like I’m hording milk in the hallway waiting for the price to go up. I’m trying to corner the sour milk market. One guy insisted he could see milk at the back of the cooler and that he’d wait for me to put it out on the shelves.
Eventually I got tired of answering the question. I made up a handful of signs. The signs all said the same thing. They said, “Sorry, we are temporarily out of milk.” The signs were in big bold letters and were brightly colored. I wanted to make sure people could see them. I posted a sign on the front door, eye level. I put a sign on every door in the milk case. There were eight doors. I had four ice cream chests. A sign went on the top of each ice cream chest. I had two signs at the register as well. One was on the counter; one was on the back of the register. Some people would grab the door handle, read the sign then turn around and leave. Others would come into the store and ask when I thought I would be re-supplied.
One guy walked into the store and over to the milk case. I could see him pacing back and forth like a caged lion at feeding time. I then saw him circle the ice cream cases. After a minute or so he came over to the register. I could see that there was something in his hands. He walked up the register, handed me what he was holding and asked “Do you have any milk?” I looked at what he had just given me. It was the four signs off of the ice cream chests. I looked up at him only to see him trying to peel the “out of milk” sign off the counter.
I was speechless. This guy had seen the milk chests were empty. He had just walked past a sign on the front door saying we were out of milk. He had picked up four more signs saying the same thing and was now peeling a fifth one off the counter. I just looked at him and said “Yes, it’s out back. I haven’t had a chance to restock the cooler yet. Please, feel free to return tomorrow, the shelves should be full by then.” The next day was Saturday. Saturday is my day off. Let the weekend crew deal with him.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Old Guys Rule
Remember the golfing story about taking $100 off the twenty-nothing year old kid and how much fun it was? That day was just a string of victories for the Old Guy. After all OLD GUYS RULE!!!
We finished the 12th hole and I informed my little golfing victim that we were done, there was no way he could beat me. We had six holes left to play and I was ahead by seven. That’s the beauty of this match, we were scoring by hole, not strokes. It works like this, let’s say I beat him by seven strokes on one hole and I lose by 1 stoke on the next two holes. In stroke play, I’m ahead by 5. Playing by the hole, I’m down by one. So I’m up by seven with six to go, there is no way he can win. I offered to end the match and go have breakfast. He wants to soldier on, so we start the next hole. As I pointed out in my earlier story, we are on a par three course. What that means is, it should take you 3 strokes to play a hole. We’re on the 13th hole and this kid is torqued. He knows he’s been beat, he knows I’ve made a sucker out of him, he knows it was my plan all along and he’s mad. But there’s nothing he can do about it. Golfing and mad is not a good combination, even on a par 3 course. By the time we’ve reached the green on 13 (50 feet away mind you, he could have just underhand tossed it there) he’s already hitting a seven and he’s lost three balls. I have parred the hole. I just looked at him and said ‘Why don’t you just pick that up and we’ll go to the next hole”. He looked at me and said “Why don’t you just shut the F@#! UP and let’s go have breakfast.” So we packed up all out stuff and walked off the course.
So we’re in the parking lot talking about the match and how my REAL plan was to take him to the Chip and Putt. He’s laughing. He’s had a few minutes to get over it and now can see some humor in his plight. At one point he looked at me and asked “What would you have done had I beaten you?” That’s when I walked over to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door and pulled out the bag of nickels. I looked at him and said “I wouldn’t have cared, I kinda wish you had. I would have just loved handing you all these nickels.” He burst out laughing. He’s now commenting on my sanity and whether or not a normal person would have put so much thought and effort into our competition. He’s trying to salvage some dignity at this point. He thinks I’ve now handed him an opportunity to turn the tables on me. He thinks I’ve given him the ammunition to start ridiculing me. He started to laugh “HA HA HA, HO HO HO, you had to unwrap ALLLLL those nickels, that must have taken forever, boy you really showed me How dumb is that?” I just looked at him and responded “I did it with my daughter. We stood in the kitchen and talked while we did it. It took about ten minutes. Boy does she want to meet you. She thinks you’re some kind of sucker. We had a great time laughing at you. I wished we had bet $1000. Would have given Cait and me something to do for an afternoon.” This guy just bit his lip. Damn, even that attempt at salvaging some pride failed. Chalk another one up for the Old Guy.
We eventually headed off for breakfast. After a while, it dawns on pigeon-boy that I’m now stuck with $100 worth of unwrapped nickels. He again tried to salvage some pride and launched into “boy are you dumb, now you have to wrap them all back up ha ha ha ha ha.” To which I responded “I have a coin machine. I just drop them in the top and the machine does the rest.” The score is now, OLD GUY 4, Sucker 0. This day is going WICKED AWESOME!
In a last desperate attempt to salvage some kind of victory no matter how trivial, he makes one last attempt to throw some harassment my way. After a minute or two, he looked at me and said “What are you going to do with all those nickels? You can’t spend them like that.” I responded that I would just give them to my daughter. Now he smiles, there’s the crack he was looking for. He piped up with a stinging retort of, “So, you’re down $100 any way you look at it.” I just looked and smiled. I responded “Nah, I’d have given her that money anyway. She’s going off the school soon. I’ll probably give her the money you gave me too.” Ooooooohhhhh, BURN!!!! Another failed attempt.
He gave up. He wasn’t going to get any satisfaction from this battle.
Later when I got home I handed Cait the bag of nickels and told her if she wrapped then, she could have the money. She looked at me and shouted, “I’M NOT GOING TO WRAP ALL THOSE NICKELS, YOU DO IT.” So we entered into a negotiation on the nickels and who would wrap them. I kept telling her she could have the money. She kept saying “great, you wrap the nickels; I’ll take them when you are done.” I kept telling her she was missing the point. Eventually, she said she didn’t want to wrap the nickels because it would take too long. I looked and her and asked, “How long do you think it will be, we have a machine that does it for you?” She said, “I don’t know, an hour?” At this point I changed tactics. I shifted gears and started asking her what she was doing the rest of the day. She said she had to go to work. We started talking about work. At one point I looked at her and asked what they were paying her. She said “8 bucks.” I said, “What, a DAY?” She look at me like I had two heads and said “no, an hour.” You could actually see the little light bulb turn on in her head. As soon as she said “an hour” I smiled. As soon as I smiled, she paused then said “Alright, give me the nickels, I’ll wrap them.”
This day was awesome. I suckered a kid that had been teasing me mercilessly about being old. Did it publicly too. There were about 25 people waiting on the results of our match, just so they could pounce on the loser. I absolutely trashed him on the golf course. The only holes I lost were ones I lost on purpose. I deflected about a half a dozen futile attempts made by him to regain some pride. I out smarted Caitlin, a rare feat in and of itself. She ended up wrapping all the nickels (She unwrapped most of them too by the way). And it only cost me $100 worth of nickels. Money I would have given Caitlin in the first place. Well worth the price if you ask me. In the final analysis, it just goes to prove what we all know anyway. “OLD GUYS RULE!!!” (Excalibur drools)
We finished the 12th hole and I informed my little golfing victim that we were done, there was no way he could beat me. We had six holes left to play and I was ahead by seven. That’s the beauty of this match, we were scoring by hole, not strokes. It works like this, let’s say I beat him by seven strokes on one hole and I lose by 1 stoke on the next two holes. In stroke play, I’m ahead by 5. Playing by the hole, I’m down by one. So I’m up by seven with six to go, there is no way he can win. I offered to end the match and go have breakfast. He wants to soldier on, so we start the next hole. As I pointed out in my earlier story, we are on a par three course. What that means is, it should take you 3 strokes to play a hole. We’re on the 13th hole and this kid is torqued. He knows he’s been beat, he knows I’ve made a sucker out of him, he knows it was my plan all along and he’s mad. But there’s nothing he can do about it. Golfing and mad is not a good combination, even on a par 3 course. By the time we’ve reached the green on 13 (50 feet away mind you, he could have just underhand tossed it there) he’s already hitting a seven and he’s lost three balls. I have parred the hole. I just looked at him and said ‘Why don’t you just pick that up and we’ll go to the next hole”. He looked at me and said “Why don’t you just shut the F@#! UP and let’s go have breakfast.” So we packed up all out stuff and walked off the course.
So we’re in the parking lot talking about the match and how my REAL plan was to take him to the Chip and Putt. He’s laughing. He’s had a few minutes to get over it and now can see some humor in his plight. At one point he looked at me and asked “What would you have done had I beaten you?” That’s when I walked over to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door and pulled out the bag of nickels. I looked at him and said “I wouldn’t have cared, I kinda wish you had. I would have just loved handing you all these nickels.” He burst out laughing. He’s now commenting on my sanity and whether or not a normal person would have put so much thought and effort into our competition. He’s trying to salvage some dignity at this point. He thinks I’ve now handed him an opportunity to turn the tables on me. He thinks I’ve given him the ammunition to start ridiculing me. He started to laugh “HA HA HA, HO HO HO, you had to unwrap ALLLLL those nickels, that must have taken forever, boy you really showed me How dumb is that?” I just looked at him and responded “I did it with my daughter. We stood in the kitchen and talked while we did it. It took about ten minutes. Boy does she want to meet you. She thinks you’re some kind of sucker. We had a great time laughing at you. I wished we had bet $1000. Would have given Cait and me something to do for an afternoon.” This guy just bit his lip. Damn, even that attempt at salvaging some pride failed. Chalk another one up for the Old Guy.
We eventually headed off for breakfast. After a while, it dawns on pigeon-boy that I’m now stuck with $100 worth of unwrapped nickels. He again tried to salvage some pride and launched into “boy are you dumb, now you have to wrap them all back up ha ha ha ha ha.” To which I responded “I have a coin machine. I just drop them in the top and the machine does the rest.” The score is now, OLD GUY 4, Sucker 0. This day is going WICKED AWESOME!
In a last desperate attempt to salvage some kind of victory no matter how trivial, he makes one last attempt to throw some harassment my way. After a minute or two, he looked at me and said “What are you going to do with all those nickels? You can’t spend them like that.” I responded that I would just give them to my daughter. Now he smiles, there’s the crack he was looking for. He piped up with a stinging retort of, “So, you’re down $100 any way you look at it.” I just looked and smiled. I responded “Nah, I’d have given her that money anyway. She’s going off the school soon. I’ll probably give her the money you gave me too.” Ooooooohhhhh, BURN!!!! Another failed attempt.
He gave up. He wasn’t going to get any satisfaction from this battle.
Later when I got home I handed Cait the bag of nickels and told her if she wrapped then, she could have the money. She looked at me and shouted, “I’M NOT GOING TO WRAP ALL THOSE NICKELS, YOU DO IT.” So we entered into a negotiation on the nickels and who would wrap them. I kept telling her she could have the money. She kept saying “great, you wrap the nickels; I’ll take them when you are done.” I kept telling her she was missing the point. Eventually, she said she didn’t want to wrap the nickels because it would take too long. I looked and her and asked, “How long do you think it will be, we have a machine that does it for you?” She said, “I don’t know, an hour?” At this point I changed tactics. I shifted gears and started asking her what she was doing the rest of the day. She said she had to go to work. We started talking about work. At one point I looked at her and asked what they were paying her. She said “8 bucks.” I said, “What, a DAY?” She look at me like I had two heads and said “no, an hour.” You could actually see the little light bulb turn on in her head. As soon as she said “an hour” I smiled. As soon as I smiled, she paused then said “Alright, give me the nickels, I’ll wrap them.”
This day was awesome. I suckered a kid that had been teasing me mercilessly about being old. Did it publicly too. There were about 25 people waiting on the results of our match, just so they could pounce on the loser. I absolutely trashed him on the golf course. The only holes I lost were ones I lost on purpose. I deflected about a half a dozen futile attempts made by him to regain some pride. I out smarted Caitlin, a rare feat in and of itself. She ended up wrapping all the nickels (She unwrapped most of them too by the way). And it only cost me $100 worth of nickels. Money I would have given Caitlin in the first place. Well worth the price if you ask me. In the final analysis, it just goes to prove what we all know anyway. “OLD GUYS RULE!!!” (Excalibur drools)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Mother knows best, sort of
I think I’ve mentioned that I was on the seven year plan for college. I went for two years. I was forced into early retirement and after two and a half years off, went back and finished up. I was twenty twoish (give or take a few months) when I returned. As such I had been out on my own for a few years. When I decided to go back, Dear ole Dad made me a deal. In order to enable me save some money, he offered to let me live at his house. While I was in school, I didn’t have to pay Room and Board. That was a good deal so I took him up on his offer.
When I went back to college I was going to school full time and working full time. It was tough schedule. Typically, I was on campus until 3:00 or 3:30. I worked from 4:00 to 12:30. It took me a half hour to get home. When I got home I had to eat, study and get ready for class the next day. I wouldn’t get to sleep most nights until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. I really hated 8:00 AM classes.
Living at home had some perks. Yeah, not having to pay for an apartment was nice. However, it was all the little things that really took the sting out of life. Things like, I never had to go food shopping and there was always toilet paper in the bathroom. One of the things that was really great was if my dirty clothes were down by the washer/dryer Mom would do my laundry. That was awesome. She’d wash it, dry it, fold it, put the shirts on hangers. Nothing was ever wrinkled when Mom did laundry. I just loved that. I tried to make sure my laundry was always in front of the washer.
I was lying in bed one morning. It was one of those days that I didn’t have an early class. I’d say it was about 9:00 AM. A real treat, I got to sleep in. I woke up because the whole house was shaking. As I was rousing I could hear pounding coming from down stairs. All of a sudden I heard a very loud, “jooosssssEEEEPPPPHHHHH!!!" I tried to ignore it. I then heard a loud, staccato "JOSEPH!" I rolled over and mumbled “wwhhhattttt???” I then heard pound, pound, pound, coming up the stairs. The whole time I’m listening to the pounding I could hear my mother yelling “JOSEPH, GET UP.” I’m half asleep. I’ve only been sleeping four hours or so. I’m lying in bed trying to wake up now. I’m trying to figure out just what is going on. Next thing you know the door to my room explodes open. It’s the Mom-inator, she’s in the doorway and she’s breathing fire. The door bounces off the wall as mom yells "GET UP, I WANT TO SEE YOU DOWN STAIRS AND I WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOWWWWWWWW!!!!" I looked at her and asked if it could wait until I woke up a little bit. Mom-enstien yelled “NO IT CAN’T WAIT. I WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW IN THE BASEMENT. DO YOU HEAR ME? NOWWWWWWWWWW!!!” I’m like, awwwww, what now, give me a break. She just looked at me and said “NOWWWWWWWW!!!" As I started to get up she headed back to the stairs. As she started down she yelled "I WANT YOU NOWWWWWWW!!!" I yelled back “Give me a second, I’m looking for some pants.” She yelled back to forget the pants. She wants to see me, and she wants to see me now. Uh oh, what have I done?
As I got to the kitchen, I can see Robo-mom standing by the open basement door. I slowly walked over and asked what this was all about. She looked at me and said “You keep your mouth shut mister and get in the basement. I want an explanation and I want it now. Don’t you even try to lie to me, I know what you kids are like, I know what’s going on. I can’t BELIEVE you……..” She was still ratchet jawing as I climbed down the basement stairs. We got to the bottom and I looked at Predator-mom and asked “now what?” She walked over to the washer and dryer and said “That, right there I want to know what those are. And you better tell me the truth. Don’t you make me go get your father. You don’t want HIM involved with this so, you better tell me and you better be quick about it.”
I slowly walked over to the dryer. I’m in my underpants, half asleep and I’m not wearing my glasses. I’m trying to see what the heck has her so spun up. I looked over at the Mother of Chuckie. She’s standing there with her arms folded across her chest. She had a look of pure evil about her. There was anger emminating from every facet of her being. You could feel it, you could see it, you could just taste it. Fire was coming from her eyes. She’s just standing there, and she’s tapping her foot. The foot is tapping at about 100 beats a second. This woman is spun up and she’s spun up good. She’s ready to explode, I don’t think I’ve ever seen mom this mad, let alone been the cause.
So as I head to the dryer, I mutter “How am I supposed to know?” I thought the top of her head was about to come off. “AAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH, because they came out of YOUR SHIRT POCKET” she yelled. Mommy Dearest had started my laundry. Apparently she found something she didn’t like. Now she's peeked my curiosity. Now I want to know what it is. I looked at the dryer and there they were, six or eight little red pills, all neatly lined up in a row along the top edge of the machine. I looked at the pills, then looked at mom and asked “What the hell are those?” Wholly shit, I thought I was going to die. She lunged at me. As she was coming towards me she’s saying ”That’s what I want you to tell me. And don’t try to lie about it. I know what you college kids are up to. You have seven brothers and sisters, do you think I’m stupid? I know what’s going on. What do you think I’m some kind of fool? I watch 60 minutes, I watch the news. You better tell me what those are. I can’t believe you brought that stuff into my house. What would your father say? What do you think your father would do? Do you want me to call the police…….” I recoiled in fear. I’m looking for something to use to fend her off. Maybe if I drop to the floor and curl up into the fetal position she’ll leave me alone. Maybe if I close my eyes…..
I again looked at the pills. I shrugged my shoulders and told her I didn’t know. She’s now so tense she's starting to crack, she's bursting at the seams. That foot is again tapping. It’s so fast she’s hovering. She again launches into a string of “Don’t give me that, they came out of your pocket….(yadda yadda yadda)”
I looked at mom then grabbed a couple of pills. As I did, mom’s eyes widened. I opened my mouth and threw them in. You could literally see mom starting to explode. She seemed to inflate to twice her size. Fire and smoke were just steaming out of every orifice. She yelled “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WHAT ARE THOSE?” You could see it in her face, I was already dead.
I very calmly said “Tic Tacs, want one? Can I go back to bed?”
When I went back to college I was going to school full time and working full time. It was tough schedule. Typically, I was on campus until 3:00 or 3:30. I worked from 4:00 to 12:30. It took me a half hour to get home. When I got home I had to eat, study and get ready for class the next day. I wouldn’t get to sleep most nights until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. I really hated 8:00 AM classes.
Living at home had some perks. Yeah, not having to pay for an apartment was nice. However, it was all the little things that really took the sting out of life. Things like, I never had to go food shopping and there was always toilet paper in the bathroom. One of the things that was really great was if my dirty clothes were down by the washer/dryer Mom would do my laundry. That was awesome. She’d wash it, dry it, fold it, put the shirts on hangers. Nothing was ever wrinkled when Mom did laundry. I just loved that. I tried to make sure my laundry was always in front of the washer.
I was lying in bed one morning. It was one of those days that I didn’t have an early class. I’d say it was about 9:00 AM. A real treat, I got to sleep in. I woke up because the whole house was shaking. As I was rousing I could hear pounding coming from down stairs. All of a sudden I heard a very loud, “jooosssssEEEEPPPPHHHHH!!!" I tried to ignore it. I then heard a loud, staccato "JOSEPH!" I rolled over and mumbled “wwhhhattttt???” I then heard pound, pound, pound, coming up the stairs. The whole time I’m listening to the pounding I could hear my mother yelling “JOSEPH, GET UP.” I’m half asleep. I’ve only been sleeping four hours or so. I’m lying in bed trying to wake up now. I’m trying to figure out just what is going on. Next thing you know the door to my room explodes open. It’s the Mom-inator, she’s in the doorway and she’s breathing fire. The door bounces off the wall as mom yells "GET UP, I WANT TO SEE YOU DOWN STAIRS AND I WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOWWWWWWWW!!!!" I looked at her and asked if it could wait until I woke up a little bit. Mom-enstien yelled “NO IT CAN’T WAIT. I WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW IN THE BASEMENT. DO YOU HEAR ME? NOWWWWWWWWWW!!!” I’m like, awwwww, what now, give me a break. She just looked at me and said “NOWWWWWWWW!!!" As I started to get up she headed back to the stairs. As she started down she yelled "I WANT YOU NOWWWWWWW!!!" I yelled back “Give me a second, I’m looking for some pants.” She yelled back to forget the pants. She wants to see me, and she wants to see me now. Uh oh, what have I done?
As I got to the kitchen, I can see Robo-mom standing by the open basement door. I slowly walked over and asked what this was all about. She looked at me and said “You keep your mouth shut mister and get in the basement. I want an explanation and I want it now. Don’t you even try to lie to me, I know what you kids are like, I know what’s going on. I can’t BELIEVE you……..” She was still ratchet jawing as I climbed down the basement stairs. We got to the bottom and I looked at Predator-mom and asked “now what?” She walked over to the washer and dryer and said “That, right there I want to know what those are. And you better tell me the truth. Don’t you make me go get your father. You don’t want HIM involved with this so, you better tell me and you better be quick about it.”
I slowly walked over to the dryer. I’m in my underpants, half asleep and I’m not wearing my glasses. I’m trying to see what the heck has her so spun up. I looked over at the Mother of Chuckie. She’s standing there with her arms folded across her chest. She had a look of pure evil about her. There was anger emminating from every facet of her being. You could feel it, you could see it, you could just taste it. Fire was coming from her eyes. She’s just standing there, and she’s tapping her foot. The foot is tapping at about 100 beats a second. This woman is spun up and she’s spun up good. She’s ready to explode, I don’t think I’ve ever seen mom this mad, let alone been the cause.
So as I head to the dryer, I mutter “How am I supposed to know?” I thought the top of her head was about to come off. “AAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH, because they came out of YOUR SHIRT POCKET” she yelled. Mommy Dearest had started my laundry. Apparently she found something she didn’t like. Now she's peeked my curiosity. Now I want to know what it is. I looked at the dryer and there they were, six or eight little red pills, all neatly lined up in a row along the top edge of the machine. I looked at the pills, then looked at mom and asked “What the hell are those?” Wholly shit, I thought I was going to die. She lunged at me. As she was coming towards me she’s saying ”That’s what I want you to tell me. And don’t try to lie about it. I know what you college kids are up to. You have seven brothers and sisters, do you think I’m stupid? I know what’s going on. What do you think I’m some kind of fool? I watch 60 minutes, I watch the news. You better tell me what those are. I can’t believe you brought that stuff into my house. What would your father say? What do you think your father would do? Do you want me to call the police…….” I recoiled in fear. I’m looking for something to use to fend her off. Maybe if I drop to the floor and curl up into the fetal position she’ll leave me alone. Maybe if I close my eyes…..
I again looked at the pills. I shrugged my shoulders and told her I didn’t know. She’s now so tense she's starting to crack, she's bursting at the seams. That foot is again tapping. It’s so fast she’s hovering. She again launches into a string of “Don’t give me that, they came out of your pocket….(yadda yadda yadda)”
I looked at mom then grabbed a couple of pills. As I did, mom’s eyes widened. I opened my mouth and threw them in. You could literally see mom starting to explode. She seemed to inflate to twice her size. Fire and smoke were just steaming out of every orifice. She yelled “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WHAT ARE THOSE?” You could see it in her face, I was already dead.
I very calmly said “Tic Tacs, want one? Can I go back to bed?”
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Here's another fine mess I got me into
You know, you can never tell just how or when your kid is going to throw you under the bus. Oh sure, the day can be going along just fine, then WHAM out of nowhere, there you are, in trouble up to the eyeballs. And it usually starts so innocently.
Cait the Great was young; I’m talking like 3 years old young. I mean she’s young enough that she’s not in school yet, but old enough to be walking and talking. The family is at the in-laws for dinner. After dinner, I grabbed Cait and took her for a walk. Dan was too young, he wasn’t quite yet walking. We left him behind to fend for himself. It was time to clean up from dinner and I wanted no part of that. My job was done, I was there to eat. So Caity and I are walking and all of a sudden she started gacking. I asked her what was wrong. She said a bug or something was in her throat. I did what any dad would do. I told her to spit it out and kept walking. She’s gacking and choking and making all manner of ungodly noise. She asked where to spit it. Again, being a dad I said, “on the ground, duhhhh” and didn't break stride. I just kept going. A short discussion ensued regarding spitting on the ground. Caitlin won’t do that. She’s choking and hacking and gurgling but won’t try to spit out the bug because, spitting on the ground is gross. It’s not the act of spitting that bothers her, it’s that fact that, well, she’s going to just do it on the ground. Eeewwwww, gross, icky pooo, the ground is dirty. I just shake my head. Whose kid is this and where does she get such whacky ideas. Anyway, I looked up the street and saw a sewer grate. I took her hand and walked her to the grate and told her to do it there, that’s what sewers are for. She leaned over the grate and started making all kinds of funny noises and faces. I asked her what she was doing. She looked at me and said, “I don’t know how.” I’m puzzled. I thought spitting was one of those instinctive things that you were born just knowing how to do. You know, it just came naturally, like breathing. After a couple of minutes of questioning whether she was kidding me, I decided to show her. We practiced the “technique” into the sewer. Eventually she gets it down and after another few minutes she said the “bug” was gone. We continued walking. We got to another sewer and she started spitting into in again. I’m like, “Cait, are you alright?” She said that she felt like the bug might still be in there. She does this a few times and then we move on. Eventually we headed back. Every sewer we passed she stopped and did her new trick. She gets to the sewer in front of Grammies and I had to tell her to stop spitting. I told her I would be in big trouble if Grammie saw her doing that in front of her house. We went inside. I thought nothing more of the whole episode. Cait had something in the back of her throat. She had gotten rid of it. Enough said.
I used to work in Boston. I commuted on the train. Lisa used to drop me off and pick me up every day. We only had one car. We only needed one car. When the weather got nice, Lisa and the kids would wait for me on the train platform. Lisa would wait with the other mothers and the kids would play together. There were maybe four or five women that would meet and chat while waiting for the train.
One glorious summer day I was leaving work and was in a terrific mood. I picked up flowers for Lisa and was looking forward to the big hug I would get from Caity as I got off the train. I was surprised when the train pulled into the station and no one was waiting for me. I could see the car, but Cait wasn’t on the platform. It was a little unusual, but I thought nothing of it. I got in the car and Lisa shot me one of those looks. She had fire in her eyes. The look she shot me was not one of those “hey baby I’m burning with desire for you” looks. It was more of an “If we weren’t in public I’d punch you in the face” look.
Before I could say a word, Lisa asked”What did you teach Caitlin?” I said “What?” She repeated her query, “What did you teach Caitlin?” I said “what? When?” Lisa said “Last week, at my mother’s house, what did you teach Caitlin?” I said “Nothing, what the heck are you talking about?” Then Lisa told me a little story.
Seems Lisa WAS out on the platform waiting for me. She WAS talking to the other mothers and the kids WERE playing. The women were in their little “mother pod” chatting it up when one of the mothers yelled “STOP THAT!” at her son. The kids stopped what they were doing and all the other mothers turned to see what was going on. They turned just in time to see my daughter spit into the sewer. This woman now starts scolding her son for spitting in front of my daughter. To which Cait piped in and said, no she was showing him how to spit. The boys didn’t know how to do it right so she was showing them. Lisa then chimed in with a “CAITLIN, what are you doing?” To which Caitlin very matter of factly looked at Lisa and responded “hucking loogies.” Lisa is now mortified. Lisa asked her where she had learned such a gross, disgusting, filthy, vile habit and that particularly nasty name for it. Without missing a beat Caitlin said “Daddy, he said I should huck loogies into the sewer, that’s what they are there for” There’s my darling little three year old daughter, surrounded by a group of 3 year old boys, teaching them to spit into the sewer because, I told her that’s what they are there for. This little episode ended with each mother grabbing their child and retreating to their own car to wait for their respective commuter to return.
So there was Lisa standing on the platform hand in hand with her cute little daughter in a pretty pink dress with the bow in her hair. They are standing all alone because this cute little girl was a bad influence on the boys. Eventually, Lisa too retreated to the car.
I’m in the car listening to Lisa tell the story. I looked at Cait and she’s back there smiling. “Hi Dad, Luv ya, how was your day?” She hasn’t a clue. I don’t remember Lisa waiting for me on the platform with the kids ever again. Hey, what was I suppose to do, let the kid choke on a bug? How was I supposed to know that she would end up being the central figure in the “Great Sewer Expectoration Debacle?” Or that Lisa would never ever again feel free to show her face at the train station.
Cait the Great was young; I’m talking like 3 years old young. I mean she’s young enough that she’s not in school yet, but old enough to be walking and talking. The family is at the in-laws for dinner. After dinner, I grabbed Cait and took her for a walk. Dan was too young, he wasn’t quite yet walking. We left him behind to fend for himself. It was time to clean up from dinner and I wanted no part of that. My job was done, I was there to eat. So Caity and I are walking and all of a sudden she started gacking. I asked her what was wrong. She said a bug or something was in her throat. I did what any dad would do. I told her to spit it out and kept walking. She’s gacking and choking and making all manner of ungodly noise. She asked where to spit it. Again, being a dad I said, “on the ground, duhhhh” and didn't break stride. I just kept going. A short discussion ensued regarding spitting on the ground. Caitlin won’t do that. She’s choking and hacking and gurgling but won’t try to spit out the bug because, spitting on the ground is gross. It’s not the act of spitting that bothers her, it’s that fact that, well, she’s going to just do it on the ground. Eeewwwww, gross, icky pooo, the ground is dirty. I just shake my head. Whose kid is this and where does she get such whacky ideas. Anyway, I looked up the street and saw a sewer grate. I took her hand and walked her to the grate and told her to do it there, that’s what sewers are for. She leaned over the grate and started making all kinds of funny noises and faces. I asked her what she was doing. She looked at me and said, “I don’t know how.” I’m puzzled. I thought spitting was one of those instinctive things that you were born just knowing how to do. You know, it just came naturally, like breathing. After a couple of minutes of questioning whether she was kidding me, I decided to show her. We practiced the “technique” into the sewer. Eventually she gets it down and after another few minutes she said the “bug” was gone. We continued walking. We got to another sewer and she started spitting into in again. I’m like, “Cait, are you alright?” She said that she felt like the bug might still be in there. She does this a few times and then we move on. Eventually we headed back. Every sewer we passed she stopped and did her new trick. She gets to the sewer in front of Grammies and I had to tell her to stop spitting. I told her I would be in big trouble if Grammie saw her doing that in front of her house. We went inside. I thought nothing more of the whole episode. Cait had something in the back of her throat. She had gotten rid of it. Enough said.
I used to work in Boston. I commuted on the train. Lisa used to drop me off and pick me up every day. We only had one car. We only needed one car. When the weather got nice, Lisa and the kids would wait for me on the train platform. Lisa would wait with the other mothers and the kids would play together. There were maybe four or five women that would meet and chat while waiting for the train.
One glorious summer day I was leaving work and was in a terrific mood. I picked up flowers for Lisa and was looking forward to the big hug I would get from Caity as I got off the train. I was surprised when the train pulled into the station and no one was waiting for me. I could see the car, but Cait wasn’t on the platform. It was a little unusual, but I thought nothing of it. I got in the car and Lisa shot me one of those looks. She had fire in her eyes. The look she shot me was not one of those “hey baby I’m burning with desire for you” looks. It was more of an “If we weren’t in public I’d punch you in the face” look.
Before I could say a word, Lisa asked”What did you teach Caitlin?” I said “What?” She repeated her query, “What did you teach Caitlin?” I said “what? When?” Lisa said “Last week, at my mother’s house, what did you teach Caitlin?” I said “Nothing, what the heck are you talking about?” Then Lisa told me a little story.
Seems Lisa WAS out on the platform waiting for me. She WAS talking to the other mothers and the kids WERE playing. The women were in their little “mother pod” chatting it up when one of the mothers yelled “STOP THAT!” at her son. The kids stopped what they were doing and all the other mothers turned to see what was going on. They turned just in time to see my daughter spit into the sewer. This woman now starts scolding her son for spitting in front of my daughter. To which Cait piped in and said, no she was showing him how to spit. The boys didn’t know how to do it right so she was showing them. Lisa then chimed in with a “CAITLIN, what are you doing?” To which Caitlin very matter of factly looked at Lisa and responded “hucking loogies.” Lisa is now mortified. Lisa asked her where she had learned such a gross, disgusting, filthy, vile habit and that particularly nasty name for it. Without missing a beat Caitlin said “Daddy, he said I should huck loogies into the sewer, that’s what they are there for” There’s my darling little three year old daughter, surrounded by a group of 3 year old boys, teaching them to spit into the sewer because, I told her that’s what they are there for. This little episode ended with each mother grabbing their child and retreating to their own car to wait for their respective commuter to return.
So there was Lisa standing on the platform hand in hand with her cute little daughter in a pretty pink dress with the bow in her hair. They are standing all alone because this cute little girl was a bad influence on the boys. Eventually, Lisa too retreated to the car.
I’m in the car listening to Lisa tell the story. I looked at Cait and she’s back there smiling. “Hi Dad, Luv ya, how was your day?” She hasn’t a clue. I don’t remember Lisa waiting for me on the platform with the kids ever again. Hey, what was I suppose to do, let the kid choke on a bug? How was I supposed to know that she would end up being the central figure in the “Great Sewer Expectoration Debacle?” Or that Lisa would never ever again feel free to show her face at the train station.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Never mess with the master.
I think I’ve mentioned that I can be a bit of a heckler. Yes, I get a perverted pleasure out of being a pest. And I really don’t have anything or anyone that is off limits. However, every now and then it doesn’t go quite according to plan.
Back before I got married I used to work second shift. My shift was from 4:00 PM to midnight. As you would expect, lunch break (dinner really) usually came at about 8:00 PM. I had just graduated from school and was just weeks away from getting married. Periodically, my betrothed, my true love, my little hunney bunny would drop by the office and we’d do dinner together. Normally, she’d bring me something she had lovingly made herself (pizza, sub, Big MAC). One day as we were eating she started talking about a little place up the road where you could get fried clams. She was lamenting the fact that she hadn’t had this delicious delicacy in a long while. She was sad because, these were her favorite fried clams in all the world. Why oh why had I not taken her to dine on these exquisite clams when I worked so close to the restaurant. Don't I love her? Doesn't she DESERVE this fine dining experience? Back in the day, I was a little sharper than I am today. I picked up on this not so subtle hint. I offered to take her the next time she was available. Needless to say, we were off for fried clams the very next night.
She picked me up at our usual meeting time and off to the restaurant we went. I jumped into the car and we started to chat. Quickly I detected that something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was amiss.
As I was talking to her, I noticed that her answers lacked her normal crisp delivery. That she’s responding a little slower. She’s a little fuzzier. She’s not really following the conversation. Her movement wasn’t quite as fluid as usual either. I kept asking her what was wrong, was she mad at me, was she feeling alright? All the while she kept responding “I’m all right, I’m OK, I don’t care”. Her delivery was a little slow, I guess you could call it lilting really. A little sing songy. As she delivered her response, you could literally see her drifting off into space.
Let me explain something about my little drop of sunshine. She has a very bad back. She’s got a couple of compressed disks, a couple of ruptured disks, bone spurs, pinched nerve and a few other things wrong in there. Periodically what would happen is, her back would get stiff. Then the muscles would spasm, which caused them to tense up. Tense back muscles caused her back to twist. This in turn would cause severe pain. The more the pain, the more she tensed. The more she tensed the more her back twisted. The more the back twisted the more pain she would experience. The more pain………. It was a vicious cycle. The way the doctors treated the back problem was, they gave her a pretty strong muscle relaxer. My little sweetie pie didn’t really like taking the relaxer. She would tough out the pain as long as she could. She would only take the medication as a last resort. When she did, she would only take half of one pill. So, when her back got really, really bad, she would take a total of one quarter of her total perscribed dosage of the muscle relaxer. She didn't like the pills and therefore resisted taking them to the extent that she could.
We’re sitting in the booth at the clam place. My little dumpling is wearing more clam in her hair then she’s eating. She eyes were like glass and were starting to drift in different directions. She’s grinning ear to ear and occasionally, chewing on her fingers. I kept asking if she was OK. Eventually, I started to piece things together. I asked if her back was OK, if it was bothering her. Her response was yes, her back was bothering her. I asked if she had taken her “medicine”. She said yes. I commented that I had never seen her have such a reaction to the relaxer before. It was then that she informed me that she had taken the full dosage. I had known her for five years. I had NEVER known her to take the full dosage. I now knew why. You could have hit her with a brick and she wouldn’t have cared.
Being as I can be a heckler, I started to tease her. Hey, nature preys on the weak. Right? Who's going to argue with that? Not me, that's for sure. And at this table, who's weaker than the woman strung out on the muscle relaxers? To everything I said, her, response was, “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” Hey honey, would you like some ketchup on your ice cream? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.”. Hey baby, there are bugs in your hair, “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” Did you hear the UFOs have landed on the Boston Common? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” When we got back to the office, I stepped it up a notch. I wanted to see just what it would take to get a rise out of her. As we were saying goodbye, I told her I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the week, her response was “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” I told her I wouldn’t see her on the weekend either. And her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” I then told her I was going away for the weekend, with Vicki, to the White Mountains, to the Red Jacket Inn, for a nice intimate, romantic weekend, just the two of us. What was her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” For the coup de gras, I took her hand, looked her in the eyes and very lovingly said, Honey, sweetheart, darling, I don’t think I want to get married.” What was her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” At this point, I realized, this woman shouldn’t be walking, let alone driving home. I took the rest of the night off, drove her home and sat with her until I was sure she was going to be alright.
Eventually, her back started feeling better, the pills wore off and she started to remember our dinner date. She started asking me what went on. I burst out laughing and started telling her the tale. I told everyone. Oh, this was precious. My blushing bride to be was the butt of the joke and boy oh boy did she not like it.
It gets to be about two weeks before the wedding. We’ve been slowly moving our things into our first apartment. My little sugar plum has again started talking to and having dinner with, me. One night after we got back to my office, she told me she had a few things for me to bring back to the apartment. We started moving things from her car to mine. All of a sudden I heard a shout. She shouted “What the hell are these”. She then turned around. When she did, I could see she was holding up a pair of very bright, very red, very sexy, woman’s unmentionables. Now the little woman looks mad. I responded that I didn’t know. She looked at me and yelled “BullSh!t, these came out from under your seat.” To which I said “They are probably yours”. She just looked at me and said “Do these LOOK like anything I would wear, do they LOOK like they would even fit me?” I know I haven’t done anything wrong, but still I’m starting to sweat. She started yelling, she started crying, she started making a scene. She’s in the parking lot in front of my office and she’s hopping mad. Now I’m trying to calm her down. But she’s having none of it. I tried to put my arm around her. She throws my arm off and yells at the top of her lungs “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!” Tears are rolling down her cheeks, she’s bright red and she’s cursing. People going in and out of the office are stopping to see what’s going on, heck people driving by are stopping to watch. She’s stalking around her car calling me every name in the book. And she's crying like I've never seen anyone cry before. Tears are streaming . Now I’m starting to squirm. I’m apologizing, begging for forgiveness. She’s screaming the wedding is off. I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say. I'm just saying brilliant things like "eeerrrrr, ahhhhh, ummmmm, aaaaa, they're not mine, ahhhhh, I don't,,,,, what??? errrrr, maybe they're, someone else OOOPs, not what I meant, come on sweetheart you know I'd never, ahhhhhhhh, woah." After what seems like an eternity, she grabed the door to her car and flung it open. As she does this, she looks at me and says “There, now we’re even.” She shut the door, waved and drove off. I’m left standing in the parking lot. My mouth is agape and my heart is pounding. I’m not sure I know what has just happened.
I went inside. Everyone wanted to know what happened. They asked me what had I done? They asked how could I be so mean, so cold, so cruel to such I wonderful woman. They didn't even know what was going on, but they knew it just had to be my fault. They kept telling me I was lucky to have her, why was I so mean, My only response was “I don’t know, I don't know what just happened. I didn't DOOOO anything.”. About an hour later the phone rang. It was the Bride of Satan. Everyone was now waiting to find out what she wanted. I got on the phone and she asked what time I was coming over. I asked "What was that all about?" I said everyone in the office was freaking out, wondering what had happened. Her response? She just said, “Serves you right, stop picking on me.” So I asked, “Are we still getting married?” Her response was “You don’t get off that easy. I’ll dig up your cold stiff body if I have to. Yes, we are still getting married.” I asked, “Are you mad?” She said “At what?” I said “Weren’t you just in the parking lot?” She just laughed and said “Serves you right.” To which I said, “So those WERE yours?” She said “No, they aren’t, but I did put them there.” To which I responded, “oooohhhhhhhh, you are evil.” To which she responded “And don’t you forget it.”
Back before I got married I used to work second shift. My shift was from 4:00 PM to midnight. As you would expect, lunch break (dinner really) usually came at about 8:00 PM. I had just graduated from school and was just weeks away from getting married. Periodically, my betrothed, my true love, my little hunney bunny would drop by the office and we’d do dinner together. Normally, she’d bring me something she had lovingly made herself (pizza, sub, Big MAC). One day as we were eating she started talking about a little place up the road where you could get fried clams. She was lamenting the fact that she hadn’t had this delicious delicacy in a long while. She was sad because, these were her favorite fried clams in all the world. Why oh why had I not taken her to dine on these exquisite clams when I worked so close to the restaurant. Don't I love her? Doesn't she DESERVE this fine dining experience? Back in the day, I was a little sharper than I am today. I picked up on this not so subtle hint. I offered to take her the next time she was available. Needless to say, we were off for fried clams the very next night.
She picked me up at our usual meeting time and off to the restaurant we went. I jumped into the car and we started to chat. Quickly I detected that something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was amiss.
As I was talking to her, I noticed that her answers lacked her normal crisp delivery. That she’s responding a little slower. She’s a little fuzzier. She’s not really following the conversation. Her movement wasn’t quite as fluid as usual either. I kept asking her what was wrong, was she mad at me, was she feeling alright? All the while she kept responding “I’m all right, I’m OK, I don’t care”. Her delivery was a little slow, I guess you could call it lilting really. A little sing songy. As she delivered her response, you could literally see her drifting off into space.
Let me explain something about my little drop of sunshine. She has a very bad back. She’s got a couple of compressed disks, a couple of ruptured disks, bone spurs, pinched nerve and a few other things wrong in there. Periodically what would happen is, her back would get stiff. Then the muscles would spasm, which caused them to tense up. Tense back muscles caused her back to twist. This in turn would cause severe pain. The more the pain, the more she tensed. The more she tensed the more her back twisted. The more the back twisted the more pain she would experience. The more pain………. It was a vicious cycle. The way the doctors treated the back problem was, they gave her a pretty strong muscle relaxer. My little sweetie pie didn’t really like taking the relaxer. She would tough out the pain as long as she could. She would only take the medication as a last resort. When she did, she would only take half of one pill. So, when her back got really, really bad, she would take a total of one quarter of her total perscribed dosage of the muscle relaxer. She didn't like the pills and therefore resisted taking them to the extent that she could.
We’re sitting in the booth at the clam place. My little dumpling is wearing more clam in her hair then she’s eating. She eyes were like glass and were starting to drift in different directions. She’s grinning ear to ear and occasionally, chewing on her fingers. I kept asking if she was OK. Eventually, I started to piece things together. I asked if her back was OK, if it was bothering her. Her response was yes, her back was bothering her. I asked if she had taken her “medicine”. She said yes. I commented that I had never seen her have such a reaction to the relaxer before. It was then that she informed me that she had taken the full dosage. I had known her for five years. I had NEVER known her to take the full dosage. I now knew why. You could have hit her with a brick and she wouldn’t have cared.
Being as I can be a heckler, I started to tease her. Hey, nature preys on the weak. Right? Who's going to argue with that? Not me, that's for sure. And at this table, who's weaker than the woman strung out on the muscle relaxers? To everything I said, her, response was, “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” Hey honey, would you like some ketchup on your ice cream? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.”. Hey baby, there are bugs in your hair, “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” Did you hear the UFOs have landed on the Boston Common? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” When we got back to the office, I stepped it up a notch. I wanted to see just what it would take to get a rise out of her. As we were saying goodbye, I told her I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the week, her response was “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” I told her I wouldn’t see her on the weekend either. And her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” I then told her I was going away for the weekend, with Vicki, to the White Mountains, to the Red Jacket Inn, for a nice intimate, romantic weekend, just the two of us. What was her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” For the coup de gras, I took her hand, looked her in the eyes and very lovingly said, Honey, sweetheart, darling, I don’t think I want to get married.” What was her response? “That’s OK, I’m all right, I don’t care.” At this point, I realized, this woman shouldn’t be walking, let alone driving home. I took the rest of the night off, drove her home and sat with her until I was sure she was going to be alright.
Eventually, her back started feeling better, the pills wore off and she started to remember our dinner date. She started asking me what went on. I burst out laughing and started telling her the tale. I told everyone. Oh, this was precious. My blushing bride to be was the butt of the joke and boy oh boy did she not like it.
It gets to be about two weeks before the wedding. We’ve been slowly moving our things into our first apartment. My little sugar plum has again started talking to and having dinner with, me. One night after we got back to my office, she told me she had a few things for me to bring back to the apartment. We started moving things from her car to mine. All of a sudden I heard a shout. She shouted “What the hell are these”. She then turned around. When she did, I could see she was holding up a pair of very bright, very red, very sexy, woman’s unmentionables. Now the little woman looks mad. I responded that I didn’t know. She looked at me and yelled “BullSh!t, these came out from under your seat.” To which I said “They are probably yours”. She just looked at me and said “Do these LOOK like anything I would wear, do they LOOK like they would even fit me?” I know I haven’t done anything wrong, but still I’m starting to sweat. She started yelling, she started crying, she started making a scene. She’s in the parking lot in front of my office and she’s hopping mad. Now I’m trying to calm her down. But she’s having none of it. I tried to put my arm around her. She throws my arm off and yells at the top of her lungs “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!” Tears are rolling down her cheeks, she’s bright red and she’s cursing. People going in and out of the office are stopping to see what’s going on, heck people driving by are stopping to watch. She’s stalking around her car calling me every name in the book. And she's crying like I've never seen anyone cry before. Tears are streaming . Now I’m starting to squirm. I’m apologizing, begging for forgiveness. She’s screaming the wedding is off. I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say. I'm just saying brilliant things like "eeerrrrr, ahhhhh, ummmmm, aaaaa, they're not mine, ahhhhh, I don't,,,,, what??? errrrr, maybe they're, someone else OOOPs, not what I meant, come on sweetheart you know I'd never, ahhhhhhhh, woah." After what seems like an eternity, she grabed the door to her car and flung it open. As she does this, she looks at me and says “There, now we’re even.” She shut the door, waved and drove off. I’m left standing in the parking lot. My mouth is agape and my heart is pounding. I’m not sure I know what has just happened.
I went inside. Everyone wanted to know what happened. They asked me what had I done? They asked how could I be so mean, so cold, so cruel to such I wonderful woman. They didn't even know what was going on, but they knew it just had to be my fault. They kept telling me I was lucky to have her, why was I so mean, My only response was “I don’t know, I don't know what just happened. I didn't DOOOO anything.”. About an hour later the phone rang. It was the Bride of Satan. Everyone was now waiting to find out what she wanted. I got on the phone and she asked what time I was coming over. I asked "What was that all about?" I said everyone in the office was freaking out, wondering what had happened. Her response? She just said, “Serves you right, stop picking on me.” So I asked, “Are we still getting married?” Her response was “You don’t get off that easy. I’ll dig up your cold stiff body if I have to. Yes, we are still getting married.” I asked, “Are you mad?” She said “At what?” I said “Weren’t you just in the parking lot?” She just laughed and said “Serves you right.” To which I said, “So those WERE yours?” She said “No, they aren’t, but I did put them there.” To which I responded, “oooohhhhhhhh, you are evil.” To which she responded “And don’t you forget it.”
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