Monday, April 26, 2010

Once, with another woman . . .

My wedding day
January 8, 1977
Brea, California
. . . my husband cheated on me after only six months of marriage. She wasn't just any "other" woman -- she was the girl he had been dating before he started dating me, the short, squatty, big-butted, long-waisted, flat-chested, garishly poodle-permed hairdoed to match his garrish poodle-permed hairdo girl who once feigned rape to garner his sympathy once he dumped her and started dating me, the other woman.
Debbie D-----s, who had taught him all she knew (pathetically little) about fucking, as had befallen upon her the honor of being only the second person he had ever fucked, save the 35-year-old police dispatcher divorcee who threw herself at him, a 21-year-old police cadet and virgin, for naught -- he couldn't get it up.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

You hear music in the background.

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery
Westchester County, New York

I am at Harvest Christian Fellowship in Riverside, California. Pastor Greg Laurie is at the podium, inviting the unsaved and the backslidden to leave the comfort and anonymity of the pew and “come forward” to receive Christ's invitation to salvation. The praise band is leading 3,000 voices in the invitational hymn, "He Knows My Name". 
With each round, the tension mounts, random shouts of "Thank you, Jesus," punctuate the fervency of the hymn, as sinner after sinner negotiates a pew filled with congregants to ascend the wide, carpeted aisles leading to the pulpit.
I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

I’m in my pew with my then boyfriend, Mike, and his neighbors, whom we have invited to join us at church. I’m remembering April 10, 1974. It was a Sunday night service at Pomona First Baptist Church.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

You're in a grocery store.

I'd never heard of "A&P" until I moved to New York from Southern California in 2005. There's an A&P a couple of blocks from where I live. I'll never forget the shocks I had the first few times I shopped there.

The supermarkets in California have wide aisles, so three people can pass through at one time without bumping into each other. Not so at the A&P -- in fact, it's as treacherous and difficult to navigate the aisles of the A&P as it is to fight traffic on the westbound 287 as it approaches the Tappan Zee Bridge; the "drivers" are aggressive and rude.

In California, if there are more than two people in the checkout line, the manager calls for another checker; if it's really busy, the manager him/herself will open up a check stand and keep it open until the lines have gone down. Not so at the A & P. A customer can stand in line interminably, and no one gives a hoot, least of all the manager who struts around like a puffed up peacock perusing the lines while simultaneously ignoring them.

Finally, is how rude the A&P employees can be! One time I went to the A&P to purchase popcorn. I do not buy microwave popcorn; I buy Jolly Time and pop from scratch. I went to the popcorn section. No Jolly Time!! I searched and searched. Nothing!! I put on my glasses, and searched some more. Still nothing!!

When I couldn't find the bags of Jolly Time, I went to the customer service counter and asked for help. After ignoring me for several minutes, the customer service employee acknowledged me. When I asked for Jolly Time popcorn, she grunted unintelligibly and pointed me towards the same aisle from where I had come. I went back and looked everywhere – for a second time. No Jolly Time popcorn. 

Now I was frustrated.

I returned to the customer service clerk, apologized and indicated I needed help. She glared at me. Without saying a word she came out from behind the counter and stomped off in front of me. I took that to mean I should follow her.

She led me to the same "popcorn" aisle, but instead of going to the end of the aisle where the microwave popcorn was on the right side, she stopped midway, in the middle of the "chips" section on her left, reached up to the top shelf and pulled down the bag of Jolly Time I had been searching for.

My mind was boggled. I asked, "What is the Jolly Time doing here in the middle of the chips?"

Her curt reply, "There's no room with the other popcorn products" (her intonation "you stupid pain in the a**”), and she stomped off leaving me so stupefied it was several minutes before I was able to regain my composure.

That incident occurred about four years ago. To this day, the Jolly Time popcorn is still in the middle of the chips aisle, on the top shelf, between the Lays Potato Chips and the Restaurant Style Tortilla Chips -- but at least I know where to find my popcorn!

And yes – yes – yes -- I know, Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore!