I'm always amazed to look back and realize the key moments of how I ended up where I've landed. Ocassionally things that seem minor at the time sometimes in reality are the driving forces of how things work out as they do. It's amazing really when you stop and think about it. Here's but one example.
In my youth I used to work for a local bank. It was wonderful. There were fifteen women, and me. I just loved that job and going to work. You may be asking yourself why, why would I enjoy being a bank teller so much?. Well, I guess it was because you could say that all these women were in competition for my attention and I was loving it. I never wanted for something to do or anyone to do something with. And there were no secrets. Everything was out in the open. I’d have lunch with Lucy and dinner with Debbie. The next day I’d be off for cocktails with Caroline. The following night maybe it’d be the movies with Marylyn. Every now and then, I even got to go out as a small group ;-). And everybody was fine with this arrangement. Especially me. Ahhh, the glory days, it was good to be young.
I was thin when I was young. OK, I was skinny, really, really skinny. One fall this collection of women decided I wasn’t eating right and that they’d have to fix that. They began to bring me all kinds of food. Well, I guess what they really brought were desserts. It was great. I must have gotten a couple of dozen pies, and countless plates of cookies or brownies. If someone brought in a pie for me today, someone else would bring a cake tomorrow. Again, it was like a competition and no one wanted to be out done. Don’t ask me why they thought eating right meant pies and cakes. Lord knows I wasn’t going to argue.
In the spring, a new girl started in the office. She was kinda small, and she was kinda pretty and I was kinda oblivious. The first few weeks she worked at the bank we had coffee together a couple of times. That was our whole interaction. A couple of cups of coffe in the break room. I'm not sure we even actually talked other than "hi, can you hand me the cream?" I didn’t think anything of it. After all, it was just coffee, and she wasn’t bringing me pie.
One day I was in the men’s locker room. The women’s locker room was on the other side of the wall. The walls were thin. Conversations in one room were very easily heard in the other. As I was taking off my coat I could hear voices coming from the other side of the wall. One of the voices was saying how she was “attracted” to me and how she was going to "get” me. The other voices were telling her “No way, that’s not going to happen. “ They kept trying to explain that oh I’d go out with her alright but a serious relationship? Not going to happen. Others had tried, none had succeeded.
Now my curiosity was peaked. I approached one of the women whose voice I recognized and asked what it was all about. She had a good laugh. She said it was the “new” girl. She went on to explain that the new girl seemed to have a thing for me. She went on the tell me that she and the other women (yup, that’s plural) that were in the locker room kept trying to explain to her that I was not the serious type and that quite frankly, I was having way too much fun to be with just one girl.
Now this conversation made me a little gun shy. I’m not playing these kinds of games. Life was too good to mess with any of the variables in the equation. I didn’t think too much of it. I’ve only had coffee with this woman a couple of times. We haven’t really spent any time together. And besides, I still have a ton of people bringing me pie.
A week or so goes by and nothing more happens or is said. Then one evening as I’m descending the stairs to the locker room I see, the new girl is coming up. We exchanged pleasantries as we passed each other. As she reached the top of the stairs she turned around and said “I brought something for you”. Surprised, I turned and asked “What?” She replied “I brought something in for you.” I asked what it was. She just said “It’s in the refrigerator, in two plastic containers. It’s for you.” And with that, she was out the door and gone.
I went to the refrigerator and there they were. Two plastic tubs filled with some kind of red gelatinous goo. What the hell is this? This isn’t a pie? I want pie, or at least a cake. What the heck is this gloopy stuff? Who the heck is this woman and why did she bring me this stuff? And more importantly, what was her name again?
When I got back to my apartment one of my roommates was there. I showed him my two containers of goo. A series of questions ensued. What’s that? Who’s this girl? Why did she give that to you? Do you know what it is? And so on. All I could say is, “I don’t know who she is, she just started” and “I don’t have a clue what this is.” We debated for a while about what it was and why it was given to me. We debated whether or not we should heat it up or try to eat is as is. Eventually, we decided to heat it up. We dumped the containers of who knows what into a large sauce pan. As soon as it hit the pan my roommate looked at me and said “I know what that is, that’s Chicken Cacciatore,” Now, let me tell you something about the roommate, He’s Lithuanian by birth, but Italian at heart. One thing he knows is Italian food. When he said it was Chicken Cacciatore, I believed him. My only question was, what the heck is Chicken Cacciatore?
At my house growing up, Italian food came out of a can. It consisted of spaghetti from a can, spaghetti and meatballs from a can, and ravioli from a can. And these cans all said “Chef Boyardee” on the label. What the heck do I know from Chicken Cacciatore?
The next round of questions from the roommate is centered on whether or not this girl can cook. Again, I have to adopt the Sgt Shultz “I know nothing” response. After all, she’s only worked with me for a couple of weeks and besides, we’ve only had a couple of cups of coffee together. I don’t really even know her. The roommate decided it’s better to be safe than sorry. Oh sure, we have this chicken thing cooking on the stove. But he decided we’d better have a backup meal already to go, just in case. On the back burner he started to prepare some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. He was even talking about throwing in some hotdogs this time, just to spruce it up.
After a few minutes the Cacciatore started to steam. My roommate looked at me and asked if it was any good. My response was “how am I suppose to now, I haven’t tried it?” He looked at me in a “what the hell is wrong with you” way and said. “well then, taste it, let me know how it is.” I responded “I’m not going to taste it. I don’t even know what this is. You taste it.” He looked at me and said “I’m not going to taste it. You brought it home, you taste it.” This argument went back and forth a few more times. Finally, he looked at me, called me a name, insulted my manhood and grabbed a fork. He dipped the fork into the sauce and took a taste. He looked at the pan, put the fork down on the stove and left the room without uttering a word.
I’m standing at the stove looking at this bubbling pile of I don’t know what. I said “well how is it?” By this time, my roommate was standing in the living room. He just looked and me. He had a very quizzical look on his face. His brow was furrowed. He looked like he was concentrating really hard. He seemed very serious all of a sudden. After a short pause he looked at me and uttered but two words. He simply said “marry her.”
That was it, his only comment. I grabbed a fork and tasted this concoction. DAMN, it was good. The Kraft Macaroni and Cheese went in the trash. We made up some pasta and feasted this night.
Soon I was noticing the never ending dessert train had stopped. No more pies, no more cakes, no more cookies. And I noticed another funny thing. To this day I don’t know how it happened but by the end of the summer there was just one girl.
This was over 30 years ago. On our next anniversary we will be married 27 years. And it all started over two containers of Chicken Cacciatore. I’ve always wondered how different things would be had she brought me a pie.
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