Monday, February 19, 2024

YoooouWhoooo!

 


“YooooWhoooo!”

        I hear the call above me, like a great horned owl, but it can't be. I'm in the pool. Through the fog of my mask, I see Alice climbing down the ladder into my lane. Okay, this is fine. I can swim on one side; she can walk on the other.

            But it’s a crowded Sunday. I’m anxious about this development. Technically, Alice needs to be in the designated ‘walking’ lane instead of my designated ‘shallow lap’ lane. But since it’s crowded, I think how it’ll be okay to have one swimmer and one walker.

I was wrong!

            Here comes Bella. She’s the wife of The Creep. We call him that because of his vibe. It’s creepy. What can I say? There is something about him that is a little pervy, a little suspect. He’s never done anything to me, like The Perv, but still….he gives me the creeps!  But, I like her fine. She’s always friendly and she’s okay to swim with cuz she doesn’t splash a lot. But today? What is she doing climbing into the lane with Alice and me here already? How can we circle swim with Alice walking?

            It’s not going to work!

            “Hello, Carol,” she smiles at me calmly.

            “Hey, Bella.” I glance down the lane at Alice, chugging away in the center.

            “She says that she can walk down the middle between us,” Bella nods, still smiling.

            “Really?” I shake my head. How the hell is that going to work? There isn’t room for 3 people to move up and down a lane without crashing into each other. Esp if Bella is doing her wide breaststroke (okay, she doesn’t splash, but she does take up a lot of room)

            Why isn’t she swimming with her creepy husband?

            “We’ll figure it out,” Bella says serenely as she takes off down the lane.

            I just stand at the wall, shaking my head. This is NOT going to work. What the hell are these women thinking?

            Obviously, they don’t care about swimming!

            “CAROL!!!! CAROOOOLLLL!!”

            I hear someone hollering my name. I can’t see a damn thing because of my foggy mask, but the voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the deep pool.

            I climb out of the insane lane and head toward the sound of the shouting.

            Now I spy my friend, Liv, springy strawberry curls out of her cap. She’s finished swimming it looks like.


            “You done?” I ask, plopping into the water before she answers.

            “Yes, it’s all yours,” she nods knowingly. Somehow, she saw the disaster waiting to happen back where I was and hollered to the rescue!

            “Thank you SO much!” I gush, before diving under the water and heading toward the opposite wall. The lane free and clear for me. What a narrow escape!

            As I swim, I think about how stupid the two women were. Think about what I will say when I inevitably see them in the locker room. Do I call them idiots? Ask them what was going through their brains to think that the three of us could share the lane in that dynamic? Two swimmers and one walker?

            I swim a few hundred yards, then pause to take off my fins. Trade them in for the pull buoy. Notice how Bella has moved too. She is in the middle lane now with her Creep Husband. They are partaking of gross face kissing in the pool! Ugh! They always do this and it’s so yucky! But at least I’m not swimming with them.


            Later, when I am back in the locker room and, of course, it’s just Alice and Bella, I refrain from taking them to task.

            “Oh, darn!” Alice harrumphs! “I forgot my underwear!”

            We all chuckle.

            “But at least I have my bra! Can’t live without that!”

            “I don’t have to worry about a bra,” Bella observes as she pulls her gray sweatshirt over her head with a strange black image on it that looks like a spade with a devil tail on it. “I am so flat. I just use those pasties. I feel so free!” she proclaims.

            Alice lets out a guffaw! “You’re lucky! Mine would be hitting the floor by now if I didn’t wear a bra!”

            I can’t help but laugh at them. Who could be mad at these two women? They’re hilarious!

            I pull my big parka on over my layers of sweaters before heading out the door.

“You ladies have a great rest of your Sunday,” I call out.

            “You too, Carol!” they both answer.

            As I rush out of the facility into the windy winter afternoon, I can’t help but grin to myself. Yoooouwhoooo indeed!

             

Monday, February 05, 2024

She’s Chinese

 


 

“You’re just like my wife. Hafta get your laps in!”

Pineapple Swim Trunks Man, too tan white guy, middle aged, eyes that wander without focus, eases himself into the hot tub where I’m recovering from a rather invigorating swim in the unheated pool. A zebra dove calls in the background as the palm trees whisper overhead. Puffy white clouds drift lazily in front of the emerald crags of Kaneohe’s mountains. I was relaxing, beginning to warm my frozen hands, but now?

Not knowing his wife, I just nod, agree that getting my laps in is a priority. But his tone had been disparaging. Like getting in your laps is somehow a waste of time or something that is beneath him. I can’t gauge what the issue is with his wife…. yet…

“She’s at Costco now.”


I frown, shake my head. “That sounds awful!” I sink a little further into the hot water, watching as a redheaded cardinal swoops down and lights atop the fence. Costco would be the last place I’d wanna be at any time, let alone in Hawaii.


“Yeah, well, if you’re gonna do it, I guess today is as good a day as any. Like she needs more stuff! The other day we were cleaning out a pile of junk and I found a receipt from Radio Shack from 1972! And I said to her, ‘I don’t think we need this anymore.’ But she never throws anything away.  What do you expect? She’s Chinese.”

I’m still processing the receipt from 1972 and agreeing with him in my mind that it probably can be thrown away when he tosses in the line about her being Chinese and that’s why she’s a hoarder.

Later, as Ian and I are strolling down the lovely shore of Kahana Bay, the sand a smooth caramel color, the aqua water lapping at our feet in languid warm waves, Ian mentions this comment and I say how racist it was and how sorry I felt for this poor woman that’s married to this jerk.

I have never heard of this derogatory bias against the Chinese---that they are hoarders. But I live in the Bay Area and even if somebody thought this, they would never utter it aloud. Sometimes, I forget that the area I live in is sensitive and respectful of other cultures more so than other parts of the world, even Hawaii. Here in Kaneohe, even though the environment is paradise, the military culture had taken over. Nothing against the military---well, maybe I have a little bias against the military, but that’s a whole other blog. I do, however, think that there may be a lot of derogatory biases against other races in the military, particularly women, and women of color doubly so. Of course, I don’t have any proof that Racist Guy is in the military or is ex-military. It’s just a vibe. One of narrow-minded dismissiveness. Of swimming. Of women. Of other races than himself.


As Ian and I continue our stroll down the beach, we spy a little girl, busy in the sand, building something. As we walk past, she calls out to her mom: “Mommy! Look! I’m making pizza!”

Ian and I laugh, delighted by her imagination, but another part of me thinks how, of course she’s ‘cooking’ something. Preparing a meal for her family. It’s woman’s work starting at an early age.

Let’s just hope that when she grows up, she doesn’t marry someone like Racist Guy who belittles her to total strangers in the hot tub. That her industry is rewarded instead of ridiculed. That even though she comes from the white privileged class, she learns to accept and respect other races and cultures.

How will this happen?

One pizza at a time. One pizza at a time…

 

 


 

 

Tuesday, January 16, 2024

Mustang!

 


The line was a mass of static disgruntlement. Packed into the stuffy waiting room of the Dollar Rent-a-Car at Honolulu airport were at least a hundred travelers, their luggage stuffed, their phones in hand, their children running and jumping underneath the useless line markers, their faces full of resignation and frustration.

            “This can’t be right!” I exclaimed to Ian. “We’re going to be here all afternoon!” I’d had visions of landing at Honolulu airport at 12:05 pm, taking the rental car shuttle and then whisking away 20 minutes later to Kalama Beach where the warm embrace of the Hawaii’s sea awaited me.

            Talk about a fantasy!

            “I think we should try to call Dollar and find out if we’re in the right place,” I said to Ian.

            “I think this is right,” he said, squeezing into the stuffy too-lit room for a place in line.

            “But where are the cars? Shouldn’t there be a garage where the cars are?” I stared at the 2 beleaguered clerks at computers, blocked by the black mass of travelers. No way could I walk up and ask one of them.

            A couple behind us shook their heads, the man muttered, “She thinks were in the wrong place too.” He pointed to a pale, blue slacked older woman on the phone outside the waiting room. “She’s calling now.”

            “I think I should call, too,” I say to Ian, the claustrophobia hitting me hard suddenly. Between the too early wake up at 5 am and the long flight with only a strange sausage sandwich for a snack, I was starting to feel peckish.

            “I need to get out of here,” I said, staggering through the crowd and out into the bright Honolulu sunshine.

            “Hello, Dollar Rent a Car—How may I help today?” I’d waited for 10 minutes to talk to a person after finally finding the 800 number on the website.

            “Hello, yes, a person…. thanks…. I just wondered if you can tell me if I’m in the right place to pick up my rental car?”

            “Yes, Ma’am, of course. Where are you?”

            Here was a question. I knew I was at the Honolulu airport, but where exactly? I had no clue. I told her how we’d taken a shuttle. How it’d dropped us off at this structure. How the line for getting our car was enormous and non-moving.

            “Can you tell me if the structure is facing east?”

            I am so tired and cranky. I can’t tell what direction is east on the best of days when I’m able to orient myself. Now? No way.

            “No, I can’t. Can you just tell me if it’s normal to have 100 people in line to pick up a car?

            “Today is a holiday, Ma’am. There is a higher percentage of travelers.”

            I could tell that this phone call was going to get me nowhere. “Okay, thanks for your help.”

            “Thank you for choosing Dolar Rent a Car. Have a nice day.”



            I head back into the 9th circle of hell. “Did you get ahold of someone?” Ian asks.

            “Yes, but she was no help.”

            “I think we’re in the right place.”

            “Well, I guess we’ll find out in 2 hours.”

            The White man behind us, (oh the entitlement of the Patriarchy!) was now crinkling and uncrinkling a plastic snack bag of granola. Then chomping on it with his mouth open. Needless to say, he had no mask on. In fact, no one did except for me and Ian.

            I was near a nervous breakdown. With hours to go before we got our car.

            “MOM! I’m hungry!”

            “Okay, baby, me too. Can you find your daddy and see if he can buy us some snacks?”
            “I have to go to the bathroom too!”

            Mom rolled her eyes, pushed a lank curl out of her eyes. Earlier she’d been near a nervous breakdown too. In the shuttle. Asking if she could borrow a fellow traveler’s cell phone.  “We got separated from my husband. He has my phone and my wallet.”

            Evidently, the husband was still missing as the line inched forward.

            “Ian, I’m going to scream.”

            “Don’t scream.”

            I nod. Of course, I wasn’t going to scream, but I felt like it. It’s hard not to sometimes. But I try to avoid outbursts in public.

            A half hour goes by. We inch forward. An hour goes by. We’re still not at the counters.

The waiting is so boring. Do I tell instead of show? I’ll show a little: Woman behind me in line, her lank dark hair exposing a tender pink part, squats down and sighs deeply. On the verge. Three young Asian Women, huddled together in a triangle, draped with colorful beach towels, chattering for a moment, then dully silent. Two tall Black women, dressed in golden and ruby finery, animating their discussion with waves of silver pointed fingernails and spangly bracelets.

            The waiting continues. And continues. And continues. Will we ever move? Let alone speak to a clerk and get our car?

            But the line does move. Slowly oh so slowly until…. finally, after an hour and a half, we reach the clerk.

            “Wow, I never thought we’d be talking to you,” I exclaim.

            She doesn’t even crack a smile. “Name?”

            I give her the info. She types it into her computer. The rigamarole of renting takes no more than 5 minutes.

            Now what?

            “Go out and turn to the right, down the elevators to the garage to pick up your vehicle.”

            “Great!” I am so relieved. It’s now 2:30, but maybe there’s still time for a swim in the sea.

            As we step off the elevator to the vast empty garage a box of an office is in front of us. We give the young woman our info. “How long before we get a car?” Ian asks.

            “We’ll try to get one for you within an hour.”
            “An HOUR!” I can’t keep the horror out of my voice. “Do you know what we’ve been through upstairs?”

            She nods, shrugs. “Oh, yeah. Take a seat.”

            Resigned, we do. Rolling our bags over to the concrete bench. “At least we can sit down,” Ian says.

            I don’t answer. Sitting down is NOT what I want to do. I should have been in the ocean by now. Floating under the bright blue sky with puffy clouds floating overhead as the warm water embraces me with its Aloha warmth.


            I watch as the couple that had been in line behind us climbs into an oversized brown Jeep Cherokee. “Why did they get a car before us?” I ask Ian.

            “They must have ordered that car and it was available. We’ll just have to wait till our car that we ordered arrives.”

            “Minnie!!! MINNIE CHAN!!!!”  The Man in charge is striding around, waving a paper over his bald head, his wire-rimmed glasses sitting atop his bulbous nose.

            “Ian!” I whisper. “Doesn’t that guy who’s in charge look like that actor who was in that movie about the mean drum teacher?”
            Ian gives me a blank stare.

            “Do you know who I mean?”

            “I’m not sure.”


            “I can’t remember his name.” I have a phone. I have time. I google ‘mean drum teacher film’ and up pops “Whiplash” starring J.K. Simmons.

            “J.K. Simmons!” I announce, pleased to have accomplished something easily.

            “Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Ian nods.

            “Minnie Chan?” JK has found her. She’s 90 pounds in a pale green mini skirt, her frail bare legs ending in pink flip flops. “You can take this vehicle, but you’re responsible for it.”

            He points to an enormous SUV black monstrosity. Minnie nods, but I can sense her fear. Could she really drive such a vehicle?

            Yet, how long has Minnie been waiting? Hours.

            She takes it.

            JK yells for the next customer.

            A plump, exhausted woman motions at our bench. “May I?”

            Ian moves over, “Of course.”

            She plops down. “Wow. It’s a zoo here today.”

            “You can say that again,” I agree.

            “Where you from?” she asks.

            We tell her the SF Bay Area. Turns out she’s from Concord. We trade banalities about geography.

            “LAMBTON!!! IAN! LAMBTON!!!” JK bellows.

            “Here, here!” Ian rises, waving his arm.

            JK approaches. “Listen, I don’t have the economy car you ordered, but I tell you what I’m gonna do.”

            He points to a beautiful white convertible Mustang.

            “You want it?”

            We both break into big grins. “YES!!!” I cry.

            Concord Woman whoops. “Look at you! A Mustang convertible for Paradise!”

            And as we roll our bags over to the Mustang my grin grows wider and wider. My father immediately pops into my mind; he was such a Mustang man --he would have loved this car! 


          And a Mustang convertible!

            We plop our luggage in the trunk and climb into the car. Ian presses a button. The top floats up and down. And we’re off. Out of the reality of Dollar Rent a Car and into the fantasy of Hawaii!

            Alooohaaaa!

           


           

Saturday, October 28, 2023

The Perv and the Patriarchy

 

I.

He waves for me to approach from atop his throne of power. A burly, tank-like white man, middle-aged, scruffy beard. The Lifeguard.

            What could he want? I think as I put the kickboard back in its stack, still cold and shaky from my swim. I’d gotten the Covid booster the day before and its side effects were giving me the chills, making me tired. Plus, my arm hurt.

            I honestly just wanted to get in the hot shower. Not have any sort of conversation with the lifeguard. But maybe he just had some pool news to tell me. Maybe the pool was closing early next week and he wanted to inform me. Who knows?

            He leans toward me, his usually booming gruff voice softer, conspiratorial. “I can see through your swimsuit,” he says. “You might want to consider replacing it.”

            Shit. I am mortified. Embarrassed.

            “Oh, sorry,” I mumble, trying to cover up by wrapping my towel around my waist. But what part of me could he see? If it was my ass, then the towel would help, but if it’s my tits, then what could I do to keep him from seeing?

            To be suddenly so exposed by a MAN was beyond creepy.

            I hurry off the deck, into the sanctuary of the women’s locker room, full of the usual cackle and chatter. I turn on one of the showers, letting the hot water rinse off my shame. I don’t participate in the women’s banter, but hurriedly dress and head out to hang with the post swim crowd in the parking lot.

II.

They’re gathered there as usual, chatting about Ian’s not pursuing the cello as a child. I’d heard the story before, but was too distraught to take up the thread; instead I interrupted.

            “You guys won’t believe what just happened to me.”

            They stop talking, LS and her husband, who is busy on the phone, and Ian. “The lifeguard told me that he could see through my suit and I should consider replacing it.”

            “That’s awful,” LS murmurs.

            “I’d like to see that,” Ian quips.

            “Not helpful, honey,” I answer. “It was horrible. I was so embarrassed. Mortified. I couldn’t believe that he singled me out to tell me that! Coming from a man.”


            “Maybe, since he’s a former Pastor,” LS offers, “he is just trying to take care of his flock.”

            “I dunno,” I’m shaking a little. Is it the after effects from the vaccine or the incident I just went through? “Maybe. I guess…. but it seems so inappropriate for a male lifeguard to tell a woman that he can see through her suit, you know?”

            They nod. Not reacting much. Was I being too sensitive? Making too big a deal out of the incident? Maybe he was just trying to do me a favor.

            It didn’t feel like that.

            “I need to get home,” I tell Ian. “I’m not feeling very well.”

            “Yes, you said you were cold,” LS says, offering sympathy and understanding.

            “Sure, let’s get you home,” Ian says, grabbing my swim bag for me and heading for the car.

III

“I was thinking about your text,” DL says, “and that lifeguard is a total Perv. He had no business telling you that he could see through your suit. It was shaming, Cj, shaming.”

            “Yes! I was mortified.”

            “Of course, you were. That was his intention. He was using his position of power and authority as a member of the Patriarchy to make you small. Here we are in our bodies, and for years, we’ve been owning them, and then to have someone like HIM belittle you like that. Well, it’s shaming and outrageous.”
            “Yes, and agist, too, DL. I mean, there was another woman whose suit was thin, but she was young and cute. Did he tell her? NO! He singled out the old lady who has no sex anymore to make her feel small and shameful.”
            “Exactly! Sexist. Ageist. Not only would he not tell her, she’s young and sexual still. But if a DUDE had the same issue, would he tell them he could see all their stuff?”

I laughed. “No way!”

“…and the bit about his being a former pastor,” she continues.  “Well, that just adds to the Perv aspect of the situation.”

            “Yes! You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that. Why is it that the clergy has such license for perversion.”

            DL frowns, shakes her head. “They just do. They have the power. The establishment behind them. They know there are no consequences for their actions.”

            I think of how the vicars of Trollope are always ordering their women around. “Make me some tea dear. Have you posted the mail yet? When will supper be ready?”


            And the women, in their buttoned-up Victorian dresses, dutifully serving, submissive, quietly suffering the patriarchy’s unrelenting suffocation.  

            I wasn’t buttoned up in my see-through suit. The nerve of me to expose my body! The Patriarch was disgusted. I must be put in line.

            “Will you report this to the management?” DL asks.

            “No, I don’t think so,” I shake my head. “Even though part of me is very angry about this. I don’t feel comfortable going to the pool now with this Perv in charge. But, I’m not gonna let him stop me from swimming, you know?”

            “I understand,” DL shakes her head.

            “But if he says anything to me again, I’m gonna let him have it. And I’ll report him then. Let’s hope he doesn’t.”

            We both laugh. “Watch out for CJ!” DL declares.

            And he better, I think, he just better.

Thursday, October 05, 2023

The Three Carols

 


“Hello, Carol.”

I hear my name and answer to the other Carol that I know in the locker room. “Hello, Carol.”

But then, there’s another woman in our midst too---and, guess what? She answers too: “Hello.”

“Wait a minute,” Carol #2 says (I’m #1 of course), “is your name Carol, too?”

“Yes, it is,” Carol #3 says.

“WOW! I exclaim. “Three Carols all in the same place at the same time here in the locker room of Kennedy High Pool!”

“Is your name spelled with an e on the end?” Carol #3 inquires, “or are you a Real Carol, with no e.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the REAL Carol!” I grin, plopping my swim bag on the wide bench and rustling around for my shampoo and conditioner out of its depths.

“Yes, me too,” Carol #2 says.

“Me too,” Carol #3 says.

We all start grinning. “Are you Carol Ann?” Carol #2 asks me.

Our middle names will surely distinguish us. Not that we aren’t already quite different. Yes, we’re all women, we’re all white, we are probably of nearly the same generation. Though I think I’m a bit younger than the other two Carols—but I always think I’m younger than I am. I forget that I’m a senior citizen now until I look in the mirror. But these two women, while both women and white,  are physically very different. Carol #2 is a wide square load with a painful and slow gait caused by a fall. Carol #3 is delicate and slender, almost too slender. You can see her tail bone poking through at the bottom of her back when she bends over. And, me? I’m just a petite swimmer athlete, with a perky step and no bones showing. Well, maybe a few rib bones if I suck in my stomach.

But, I’m no Carol Ann, “Carol Leslie,” I answer, heading into the shower.

“Carol Lynn,” Carol #3 announces. “But two separate words!”  She laughs softly.

Oh, I know that one.

I often get called Carolyn, one word. Not sure why since it’s a longer name and doesn’t really sound like Carol by itself. In fact, there’s a fellow swimmer here who calls me Carolyn. I’ve thought about correcting her, but then, I shrug and think ‘Why bother’? I can be Carolyn for her.


        

Now as I turn on the hot water and dip my head under the tap, I think about names and Carols. How my mother told me I was named Carol because she was very pregnant at Christmas and there were Christmas Carols in the air. Plus, I think she thought it was a pretty name.

            And it is.

            Though I have taken on other names over the years. I was “Nora” at Avenue Books because there was another Carol. And I’m Cj to a few of my friends. My sisters call me Snart because we couldn’t say fart when we were kids so Fart and Snot became Snart.

            Now I’m part of the Pool Carol Club. And I like this. Though part of me is always a little surprised to meet another Carol.

            Aren’t I the only one?

            As I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, turn off the shower and head out into the locker room to contine the Carol talk, I find myself alone now.

            No more Carols in the locker room.

            Now I am the only one.

            And boy do I like that!



Thursday, August 10, 2023

The Talking Corridor

 

“...her name is Fiona Hill and her last book….”

“…. Mrs. Dalloway’s had….”

“…. read the….”

“…. if she tells me again….”

I’m swimming between two walking ladies at the Kennedy Pool. They are talking. I am catching only snippets of their conversation each time I pass between them on my way up and down the lane. I am here to swim. They are here to talk.

            It’s a different kind of workout. The Talking Workout.

            And in the shallow lanes, there is definitely more talking than swimming going on. Part of it, of course, is the fact that they are walking in the water vs. swimming in the water. Water walking just lends itself to talking, and if the walkers are ‘regulars,’ well, they have a rapport going already. Ripe for talking.

            Today I knew I was taking my chances getting in the shallow ‘lap’ lane. I knew that a walker would probably get in with me and this is fine, but naturally, I’d rather have the lane to myself. I don’t like to share. So today, when one of the ‘Talkers,’ Alice, got in the lane next to me, we exchanged smiles and she started in on her walking and I continued my swimming. But then Granny Glasses Woman got in on the other side of me and started walking and talking over me to Alice as I swam in between them.

            They completely ignored me. I wasn’t even there even though I swam between them every minute or so. The conversation continued over me and I couldn’t help but catch fragments of it as I swam past.

            “…..and you just have to watch out for them. They all have a mean streak. Men! I love ‘em but I stay away from them….”


            Alice frowns and shakes her head as this pronouncement floats over me. It strikes me as wrong. In my experience, I find that most men aren’t the ‘mean’ type. Women are. Maybe I got this from when I was a teenager and the ‘mean’ girls ostracized me from their ‘in-crowd’ when I told them we were moving out of Hacienda Heights to Irvine. For some reason, they took this as an affront to their community and wouldn’t speak to me for the remainder of my time there.

            It was MEAN!

And, in Soap Operas, sure the men are scheming and manipulative, but not ‘mean'.  Watch out for Victoria on the Young and the Restless. She’ll eat you alive if you try to commit any corporate espionage on Newman Enterprises! “Tucker, you may think you have leverage over me, but my people have discovered several emails that will be quite detrimental to your continued business ventures. “Are you threatening me, Victoria.” Victoria smiles smugly. “Of course not. I just think you better be on your guard. I don’t just growl. I bite!”


            I turn at the wall and continue back down the lane, words floating over me:

            “….my Volvo needed an oil change and….”

            “….my car is smaller so….”

            “…. the mechanic told me…. if I want to be good to my car…”

The Talking Ladies continue their discussions over me, going from books, to men to cars. I wonder if I should stop my lap swimming and ask who their mechanic is. Sounds like someone that I’d like. Though the guys at J&E on 23rd Street are very nice and I really don’t need a new mechanic. Plus, I hate car stuff.

            It's 11:00 a.m. and the pool is closing. The lifeguard gets off his throne and paces slowly up the cement center between the deep side of the pool and the shallow. He’s young and shy. Doesn’t blow the whistle or yell for us to get out, but his movement is effective. Everyone gets out.

            Even the Talking Ladies.

            I wait to get out at the ladder, but Granny Glasses is blocking my way out. 

            “I am going to try this Sushi place on….” Alice is yelling over me.

            “…. since Covid I ….”

            Instead of trying to manuever past Granny Glasses to get out at the ladder, I decide to just heave myself out onto the deck. 

           Sitting on the wet cement deck for a moment, I can't help but grin. "....if you wanna come to lunch with me, I...."

          Of course, she's not talking to me. But that's okay. I can listen.

          

            

           

 

Wednesday, August 02, 2023

Distraction and Delusion

 

“Hope you have a good lunch now!” I call out to the janitor who has just finished cleaning the locker rooms of the Kennedy High Pool.

            “I don’t eat lunch,” he asserts. “Don’t drink water. Just eat salad and drink watermelon juice.”

            I think how it’s crazy not to drink any water. Haven’t we always learned that drinking 8 glasses of water a day is the first step to good health?

            “I love those two things,” LS nods at him, calls out softly, "salads and watermelon."

            Ignoring her, he barrels on: “Most people, they think they have to eat 3 meals a day but you don’t. You have breakfast, right? That means break the fast! You’ve already gone 8 hours without eating, just add on another 4 hours and then another 4 hours. Then you fasting.”

            I think how I can’t go more than 2 hours without eating, but don’t divulge my weakness to him.

            “And, the other thing is people eat pork and they eat beef. We not supposed to be eating those things. Those things are poison.”

            “Yes,” LS and I both say. I can agree with this, remembering how my mother was telling me  how she had started a series of paintings about Kelp. How growing and farming and eating kelp is so much better for the planet than beef. If only people would stop eating cows the world would be so much better off.

            “And another thing you can do,” he continues, inching closer to us, his dark eyes wide and intense behind smudgy round wire rimmed glasses, “eat turmeric and magnesium.”

            “I’ve heard that magnesium is very good for you,” I offer.



            “And stay out of the chlorine pool. That water is poison. Go to the ocean. Stand in the water. You can feel the electricity. We are electric beings. You have a choice. We are all born millionaires. Just look at your social security card. Right below your signature, take a close look. There are numbers there. They give you your million dollars. Just look. And no offense ladies, but our world is full of distraction and delusion.”

            I wonder where the hell he is going with this? I mean how was he going to offend us with this next segment of the diatribe?

            “Men and women. Distraction and delusion. Republicans and Democrats. Distraction and delusion. Right lung left lung. Distraction and delusion.”

            We both nod. I glance over at LS, but she’s got her big dark glasses on so I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s probably a good thing I can’t make eye contact with her; I might lose it and start laughing. Which probably would be a distraction.

            Or a delusion.

           “And don’t eat any red dye no 5, 6 7 or 12,” he continues, heated now.  “It’s poison. And the Walmarts? They’re all being closed up. America is a corporation. The Corporation is closing all the Walmarts. They aren’t going to be there anymore.  And you know what’s going to happen in 2026?”

            “No,” I can’t wait to hear this. But as he inches closer to us, I start to feel a little uneasy. I don’t think he’s dangerous, but he obviously is crazy. This might be what happens when you spend your days having to work cleaning up other people’s messes in various Richmond City facilities.

            “I’ll tell you, in 2026 there is going to a thing called COVID and it’s going to kill over 2 million people most of them children.”

            He pauses for a moment. I think this is getting too weird and start to pick my swim stuff up off the cement, placing my mask in its case, tossing my cap into my bag. I’m getting out of here is what I’m trying to say with my actions. Yet will he pick up on this?

            He seems to, now backing up a little and reaching for his keys to open the door of his white Richmond City of Pride and Purpose work van.


            LS sings out sweetly, “Thanks again for your work.”

            He nods, getting into his van, then pulls out. Drives away.

            I exhale. Relieved he’s gone. Then, look at LS and grin.

            “That’s gonna take a while to process,” she says.

            “My blog is written for today!” I exclaim. “It’s the only way I can process it all.”

            “I wonder where he gets his information,” she muses.

            “Who knows. It’s not the Guardian!”

            We both laugh. She gets on her bike, and starts to cruise off. I wave goodbye as I climb into the Fiat, thinking about how hungry I am. The hunger is definitely a distraction. 

    But a delusion? 


    Nah, it's real,  I think,  as I close the car door, put the key in the ignition and back out of the parking lot, turn onto 41st and head back to The Mansion for some Cheetos, M&Ms, Hagen Daz Ice Cream and water. Lots and lots of water!


YoooouWhoooo!

  “YooooWhoooo!”          I hear the call above me, like a great horned owl, but it can't be. I'm in the pool.  Through the fog ...