Me Vs. Nature: Part II - Natural Enemy.

MONDAY - 2:21AM: I sit, unable to sleep. Sleep was taken from me tonight by the incursion of an old enemy. Hopefully, by the time you're reading this I'll finally be able to go to bed. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning.

Mrs. C and I had settled down for bed. The lights were off, the room was cozy, everything was right. Sleep didn't come as quickly as it normally would, but eventually I began to feel consciousness slowly slip away. Like an old movie reel slowly whirring into operation, the random images that would be my dreams began to flicker in my mind. Sleep was coming, and I gladly welcomed it.

...

But this was not to last. From the part of my mind that was still semi-conscious, I could sense a disturbance. This was further emphasized when heard my wife next to me growl in frustration. It was then I came to just enough to hear what it was. Something had gotten all the dogs on the street riled up and they were all barking their heads off. Not the first time. I decided to ignore it and apparently so did Mrs. C.

Soon the lights in my brain began to flicker again as images began to fill my subconscious. I wasn't fully asleep when I felt it. A prickly feeling move across the back of my hand. In the dark my eyes opened as I flung my hand upward. That's right! A COCKROACH had just run across my hand!

*Shudder*.

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I knew what it was instantly. At that moment, all it took was one fluid motion for me to be up, out of bed and flicking on the light switch. At this point I should point out that I'm not one to go into a panic when I see one of these things, but I will not - under any circumstances - tolerating them actually touching me. All this stems from something that happened a long time ago. An event that has been indelibly etched into my brain and may forever haunt me...

You see (*lays down on couch, clasps hands on chest and looks up at ceiling*) it all began when I was about 5 years old. I remember it well. I was getting ready for bed and putting my PJs. I had just buttoned up my shirt when I felt this strange prickling sensation on my stomach. Curious, I undid the buttons to see what was the cause of this sensation and there, running up my little chest, you can guess... Our gazes met, I shrieked, it flew away. I've been scarred since. It was a brief encounter but, since then, I've made it my mission to kill any of these creatures once they dared to venture into my personal space.

You understand.

Anyway, during this most recent encounter, my movements woke Mrs. C just enough to ask me what had happened. I told her what was going on and she, not being overly concerned, pulled her covers again.

I know, right? You'd think she'd at least be worried, especially since the hand the bug crawled over was the one that was thrown over her shoulder, which meant it was only inches from her face. Nothing! She wanted to sleep and nothing was going to stop her. Or at least she tried to. When she realized I wasn't taking the light off until I found the bug, she decided to use the opportunity to go to the bathroom.

It didn't take me long to find it. I've discovered over the years that cockroaches aren't very good at hiding when they're spooked and usually scamper around the place like crazy. This time was no exception. I grabbed a slipper and brought its existence to a quick end. By the time Mrs. C came back into the room I was already back in bed, satisfied that I had made the world a safer place. My wife, however, just gave me this kinda look and nodded before she flipped the light off again.

Honestly, she should have been thanking me. No appreciation whatsoever!

We settle in again. Several minutes passed as we lay in the dark. Satisfied that the ordeal was over I tried not to let the earlier excitement get to me and waited for sleep to come. Then... I heard a familiar fluttering.

Me: Son of a bitch!

Mrs. C: What?

Me: Another one just flew right above my head!

Mrs. C: GROAN!!!

Needless to say, the light was again. Only, this time Mrs C didn't bother to get up. She decided she was going to leave me to face my demons alone. This new invader was smarter than the last one and stayed hidden. After a few minutes I decided to call it quits and go back to bed. But it was no good. Did you know that if it's quiet enough, you can head them scurrying about? Well if you didn't, yes, you most certainly can. It was decided. I wasn't getting to sleep this night.

The cause? My best guess is that, for the first time in days, it rained yesterday. And this wasn't just any sprinkle either. The rains came early in the morning, poured for a long time and never really stopped until evening. Even when it lightened up, it continued all day. This, I suspect drove them from the vacant overgrown lot next door, seeking drier ground. Our open window was just the invitation they needed.

As for me, I got up, grabbed the can of bug spray and went into the living room where I surfed the web until sunrise. I couldn't spray the room since Mrs. C is still peacefully asleep in there so here I am. The bug spray is in case they decide to follow me outside too.

I'll sleep when the sun comes up. I'll be safe then.

The Voices In My Head.

We all hear it. The voice that tell us we can be more, do more, be better, go further, push harder... That is the voice that drives us to go beyond our limitations and sometimes we can achieve greatness because it pushes when we think we don't have it in us to take that next step. Let's call that voice "Drive".

But then there is that voice that tells us the opposite. The voice of "Doubt". Doubt tries to convince us we can't go on. That whatever it is we're working towards isn't worth the effort. We'll hear it say, "Who are you fooling? You know you can't do this. Stop making a fool of yourself! Who are you trying to impress anyway?" He's an asshole.

Doubt is just as strong, sometimes even stronger than the Drive. Sometimes, all it takes is that that one split-second for it to whisper to you and all the strength and motivation you thought you had  when you first started seems to just vanish. Then everything falls apart. Unless Drive can come back and convince you to pick yourself back up again.

These two voices are forever warring inside my head. No matter what I'm doing, they're there. One example is when I'm at the gym. I'd be lifting weights when, all of a sudden...

Doubt: You can't make those last five. You know you can't! Look! You're doing it wrong. I'm sure you are. Hah! Three more? You aren't going to make it. Look how your are is shaking... Dude! Wait! I thing you pulled something!

Meanwhile, Drive is there too, screaming in the other ear.

Drive: C'mon! You can do it! You know you can! Just this last five, Vinny... now four... now three..!

They're both really annoying, to be honest, and sometimes I wish they'd just take it outside and settle things once and for all.

Then again, maybe not...

Nowadays, as I continue to deal with the harsh reality of once again being unemployed, I'm faced with not only the worry of mounting bills and the feeling of diminished self-worth, but their constant bickering as well.

Doubt will ask me why I'm still wasting my time with journalism after The Paper fired me, or tell me I'm a burden for not being able contributing to the finances. 

"Just sit there! Watch TV. Surf the web. What's the point of sending out all those applications? All you'll are more crickets!" Doubt will say. (He contradicts himself, I know. But, like I said, he's an asshole.)

At this point, the other guy, Drive, will then rebut with a, "Ignore him! You won't be a burden once you get out there and start working again. And you will start working again. Just keep trying." (It's even worse when he brings out his cheer squad to back him up.)

And those are just a few examples...

Still, as annoying as the voice of Doubt is, I can't totally ignore it. Left on its own, Drive can be pretty much an asshole too. He can push you to taking chances you shouldn't and going so far you end up going over the  proverbial (maybe even literal) edge. It might look good on one of those motivational quotes to say "throw caution to the wind", but that voice of Doubt can, on occasion, be a voice of reason that keeps you from crossing lines you know you shouldn't. The hard part is knowing just when he's right.

Paranoid Activity.

10:00AM

Editor A: Vinny, Curly called in sick. Want to cover court proceedings?

Me: I don't mind, but someone was supposed to go with me & show me around. Plus, I have an assignment for 11.

Editor A: Oh. We'll see what Editor C can do.

Editor C: Curly called from home already and found out there was nothing important going on in court today.

Editor A: Oh... Well go anyway, Vinny. Just walk and get the layout. You know! Talk to people 'n stuff. You can leave when you have to go to your 11 o'clock.

Me: Um... Ooookay...

While most people would have used this opportunity to go pay a bill or take care of some other errand, I am plagued by...

- Secret Paranoid Suspicion# 23: My employers, past and present, have me under surveillance. They track my every move. -

So, as a result, I spent the 45 minutes that followed that conversation wandering the halls of the courthouse like an idiot.

Since my phone is probably bugged as well, they're probably reading this post I'm typing up on it too.

All of this is normal. Right?

It's The Little Things

I was in the supermarket the other evening. I was in a particularly bad mood too. I won't bother to go into specifics but let's just say my mood was the end result of minor crappy events that I just let get to me.

I decided to pass by the bakery section to see what they could offer in the way of comfort food.

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As I checked the display case, I began to notice the woman next to me who was already there choosing from the pastries on display.

There wasn't anything particularly special about her. She looked in her late 40's to early 50's, her clothes were simple: a cream coloured skirt and matching flowery blouse. Her hair was short and brown she had on a pair of thin-framed glasses.

Nothing special about her at all.

"I'll take two currant rolls," she said

The clerk behind the counter grabbed a pair of tongs and reached into the case.

"Wait, I'll take the one on top and that one in the front row in the middle... please."

"Oh boy!" I thought, "One of those. The kind who just had to pick out the specific piece of whatever it was they wanted. I know it was just my bad mood talking but at that particular moment, nothing could irritate me more. Excuse me while I fight back an eye-roll."

"Oh!" she continued, "I'll have a piece of cake too. The one closest to me. Second from the left."

She pointed out the piece she wanted. The clerk behind the counter fished it out for her while I resisted the urge to let out an exasperated sigh.

Then the strangest thing happened. As the clerk bagged her goodies up, the woman who I had now dubbed "Pastry Lady" smiled, clapped her hands excitedly in front of her face and bobbed up and down. Then, as though she just noticed I was standing there, she turned to me. And her smiled broadened as she continued her bobbing and clapping. She wasn't embarrassed. She wasn't phased in the least.

And I smiled back.

Not in a patronizing, "Yay for you, crazy cake-lady!" kind of way. No... For that one brief moment, that woman's... glee infected me. Whatever stresses she faced in life, whatever cares she had, for that one instant took a back seat and she was able to truly appreciate this one small victory as if nothing else mattered. And neither did mine. Not anymore.

Then I remembered a quote by Emerson that one of my good friends on the blogosphere, Kelly, used in a post she did recently:


- “For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness.”

Seems so simple, but it's true. I thought about all the little things I'd let pile up into one big ball of glum inside me and realized that they were just that. Little things. Each, by themselves, nothing. I gave them the power that they had over me.

After her pastries were bagged up, Pastry Lady turned back to the clerk, took the bags, smiled some more and thanked her as she left. I left too. I didn't bother to buy anything. Strangely, I didn't feel the need for "comfort food" anymore.

This stranger I encountered reminded me that as much as little things can bring us down, they can also serve to brighten our day as well.


People surprise me sometimes.

Where My Mind Wanders To When I Find Strange Things In My Pocket.

Me: Hi!

Clerk: Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?

Me: Hi. I'd like to see No. 111.

Clerk: Excuse me?

Me: No. 111. I bought this shirt here a few days ago and I found this tag in the pocket. It says I should return this shirt to No. 111 if there's a fault or a defect.

Clerk: Oh. Is there a problem?

Me: Are you No. 111?

Clerk: No, I'm Cindy. But if you explained the problem, maybe I could help.

Me: Well... Okay... But it really says I should talk to No. 111...

Cindy: So, what seems to be the problem?

Me: It has this weird smell.

Cindy: It does? (*smells shirt*) Oh! Oh my! I'm so sorry, sir! I don't  know how this could have happened. If you have your receipt, I can exchange it for you.

Me: No worries. Here.

Cindy: If you don't mind me asking, didn't you notice the odour when you bought it?

Me: It didn't smell like that when I bought it.

Cindy: It didn't?

Me: No. It smelled like that when I got home. From work.

Cindy: Ummm... So you wore it?

Me: Yeah. To work! I work now. Awesome, right?! I can't stop talking about it.

Cindy: Well... congratulations.

Me: Thank you. Anyway, when I got home, I took it off and a few hours later, there was that smell.

Cindy: Oh. I have to ask. Did you sweat?

Me: Did I!?! I sweat all the time. I think I have hyperactive sweat glands. That's how much I sweat.

Cindy: Then maybe it's possible that the scent came from your sweating then?

Me: Uh-uh! No way! I thought you'd try to say something like that so I brought this.

Cindy: That's-

Me: My deodorant.

Cindy: I'm confused...

Me: Hello! De.o.do.rant! As in it takes the odour away. No way it could have been me.

Cindy: It doesn't-

Me: And what about the fact that the shirt was wet when I got home. It was hot yesterday. Not a drop of rain.

Cindy: Well... the sweating...

Me: Ah-HA! Look again. See?  It's also an antiperspirant. It blocks perspiring. Nice try, Cindy.

Cindy: Sir, I... You said you did sweat-

Me: You know what? Lemme talk to No. 111. I bet he or she could sort this out.

Cindy: Sir, these shirts are made in England. Whoever 111 is, they're all the way over there. I don't know the inspectors.

Me: Trying to stall me, huh? What's your number? I need to report this.

Cindy: I don't have a number, sir. Besides, there isn't anything we can really do for you.

Me: Well, that's not a very helpful attitude. It's no wonder you don't haven't been given a number yet. Is it, Cindy?

Social Interaction - Going Unnoticed.

I’ll admit that I’m not a social person. I know that and I don’t have a problem with it. I’ve never liked one-on-one conversations except with people I am very close to. I always feel awkward and tend to feel responsible for keeping the conversation going. At which point I end up fumbling for things to say. The end result is an awkward train wreck of a dialogue that onlookers want to shield their eyes and ears from but feel compelled to witness the horror as it unfolds.

Me: So… how ya been?

Innocent victim of conversation with me: Great. My wife and I are expecting. You?

(Note the clearly and conveniently provided segue. Taking this avenue would often lead to a stimulating and healthy conversation. However, I often will miss turn-offs such as these and continue careening wildly into conversational oblivion.)

Me: Good… I’m good… Crazy heat we’ve been having these days, huh?

Victim: Yeah, crazy.

Me: Yeah… So… How’s work going?

Believe me, it’s that painful. Situations like these are probably the only reason why I, as much as I dislike them, find crowds useful. It’s very easy to get lost in one. While in a one-on-one conversation you have no choice but to participate, when you’re in a group you can easily step back and let the ones who like the sound of their own voices do their thing while you just nod or grunt in affirmation at the appropriate juncture. In most cases I prefer to just blend in to the background.

Don’t mind me. I’m just sitting here being part of the scenery. Just another innocuous prop here to make the scene more lifelike. Please carry on.

This is something I’ll have to work on when I become a journalist. As a reporter, you’re supposed to be a talker and, especially, a listener. You’re supposed to ask questions and dig deeper and often be the one to initiate a conversation with complete strangers. I guess it’s about time I learned to be something other than scenery.

This is something I have to change, but it won’t be easy. Over the years I’ve developed a very effective chameleon-like ability that allows me to do just that. If I did it just right, the most people would say about me is, “Vinny? He’s quiet and keeps to himself most of the time, but he seems like a nice guy.”

(Interesting side note: if you say that in the past tense, it would basically be the same thing people would say about someone they just found out was a serial killer or who went postal and gunned down his coworkers. I, however, don’t plan on going postal… I think.)

Recently, though, I’ve been beginning to get the impression that people have been misinterpreting my standoffish demeanor. Instead of seeing me as just quiet, they think I’m actually being unfriendly.

Can you believe that? Me! Unfriendly?! Of all the..! This is exactly why I don’t like most of those sons of bitches and when I do if I were to finally snap they’d be the first ones I’d…

Ahem! Sorry.

Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been noticing people’s behavior towards me seem to suggest that they think I’m not a friendly person. When did I start giving off this “unfriendly” vibe? Oh sure, I can be *cough* a teeny bit *cough* passive aggressive when I’m ready, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m unfriendly.

Those assholes!

Br'er Rabbit - A Meeting In The Forest.

Deep in the forest, on a dark, moonless night, three shadowy figures sit in an abandoned old shack. Their silhouettes are faintly illuminated by the lone candle set in the middle of the table around which they sat.

Br'er Fox: The rabbit has to be stopped!!!

He slamed his fist on the old table. The candle wobbled violently. Sis Cow leapt from her chair and caught the candlestick, steadying it with her hooves.

Br're Bear: Calm down, Br'er Fox. That's what we're here to discuss.

Sis Cow: Yeah. Don't get so worked up. (Sis Cow lowered her voice to a whisper) He might find out what we're doing.

She looked out the window to her right. There were small shards of glass lodged in some of the corners. The house was very old, dank and musty. Whoever lived here abandoned it long ago. It was set deep in the heart of the forest, far from where anyone else lived. Away from long, listening ears. Perfect for their little meeting. Still, she felt uneasy. As she stared into the cold, black forest, she hated being out so late at night, so far away from her husband. Ever since that night...

Br'er Fox: I'm not afraid of that damn rabbit! Just give me five minutes in a locked room with him, where he can't bolt or hide and you'll see. I'll put an end to him, once and for all.

Br'er Bear: You mean like all those times in the past when you could have "put an end to him".

Br'er: Fox: Don't you sass me, Br'er Bear! You think 'cause you're big I'm supposed to be scared of you. You think I can't take ya?! The rabbit's outsmarted you too. Not that that'd be too hard.

Br'er Bear: Yeah. So what? He's tricked all of us. And quit with the "stupid" cracks or I'll break you in two.

Br'er Fox grips his walking stick, showing he doesn't intend to back down from Br'er Bear's threats. They lean into each other over the table, sizing each other up, eyes locked.

Sis Cow: Boys!!! Stop it! You'll clue the rabbit in for sure with all this noise. Sit down. We're not here to fight each other, remember?

Reluctantly, they sit back into their chairs.

Sis Cow: You said we have to stop him, Br'er Fox. You're right. But how? He's gotten the better of us every time.

Br'er Bear: It's that damned briar patch he lives in. We can't get to him as long as he's in there.

Br'er Fox: We could burn it. Set the whole damn thing on fire. That'll take care of the rabbit once and for all.

Sis Cow: No! His wife and kids live in there too...

Br'er Fox: Burn the lot of 'em alive, I say. They're all trouble. Are you forgetting that it was all of them that milked you dry and how they left you out alone in that field all night with your horns stuck in that tree, Sis Cow?

Sis Cow gasped and covered her face with her hooves as the memories of that night came flooding back. She began to sob.

Sis Cow: I feel so violated. If my husband only found out what they did...

She sobbed some more.

Br'er Bear: Now look what you did, Br'er Fox! That wasn't called for.

Br'er Fox showed no remorse. He simply scowled and leaned back in his chair. Br'er Bear gently patted Sis Cow on the back with his paw to console her.

Br'er Bear: Look Sis Cow is right. We ain't here to fight each other. Let's just focus on the rabbit. Are you sure we have to kill him. I mean, I know he's a pest but...

Br'er Fox: You're too soft. Both of you. Neither of you got what it takes to do what needs to be done. What you're saying now, Br'er Bear, isn't a surprise to me. The rabbit's done the least harm to you. How do we even know you're committed to this?

Br'er Bear: He tricked me into hanging upside down in your trap so he could get away! He made me look real stupid.

Br'er Fox: I'd think you'd be used to that by now.

Br'er Bear: I told you! Enough with the wisecracks about me being stupid! 

Sis Cow had begun to regain her composure. She could see that the situation was getting intense again. She knew that if Br'er Fox kept at it. Br'er Bear would most certainly rip him to shreds. She decided to take Br'er Fox's attention off of goading Br'er Bear.

Sis Cow: You act like you're so smart, Br'er Fox! At least I wouldn't have thrown Br'er Rabbit away... into the briar patch... where he lives, if I caught him. "Oh, please! PLEASE! Anything but the briar patch!" Ha! You're sooo smart, alright! Neither I nor Br'er Bear would've fallen for that at least. I can tell you that much.

Br'er Fox growled at Sis Cow's sarcastic tone. It took all of the will he could sum up not to leap over the table and take a bite out of her throat. Br'er Bear snickered. Sis Cow hadn't intended on her words to come across so venomous but she was still upset at Br'er Fox for the way he had conjured-up those memories just now.

Br'er Fox: Well at least I've been tryin'! More than I could say for any of you.

Sis Cow: And while we're at it. A "tar baby"? I mean, c'mon, Br'er Fox! Racist, much?

Br'er Fox: Don't look at me like that! It's the rabbit's tastes, not mine. We all know about his... habits.

Sis Cow: Yeah. I remember the video you showed us that you recorded on your cell. The way he wailed on that tar baby... (She shuddered at the thought) Scary. I feel a little sorry for his wife. He almost never let's her leave the briar patch. When she does come out, she's always so quiet and she looks so scared... so sad.

Br'er Fox: All the more reason we have to put an end to that blasted rabbit. He's a menace, a bully. He walks around likes he owns the place. We'll never live in peace until he's gone. So, are we agreed on what has to be done? We work together to stop him for good, right?

They all nodded in agreement. Now it was only a matter of coming up with a plan that would snag the infamous Br'er Rabbit and finally put his trouble-making to an end.

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This little ride on the Character Assassination Carousel was brought to you by Ninja Mom. An awesome writer, a mother and so much more, she does it all with mad ninja skilz. Every month a blogger is invited to tear a well deserving piece of kids' literature a new one. Check out the previous participant, Alicia from Naps Happen. Stay tuned to find out who takes part next.

Sometimes It's Nice To Know You're Not The Only One.

As I have mentioned in the past, I use to be in banking. I also mentioned that, due to the poor handling on my part of some situations during that time, I was forced to leave it. It's okay, though. I'm over it.

As I've also mentioned, my wife works for a bank as well. She was lucky. She did data entry there and never had to see a single customer. There was a down side, though. She worked on evenings and our, then, routine was me leaving for work with her fast asleep and her coming home from work after I was already in bed. I used to joke that we were only married on weekends because that was when we actually spent any kind of time together. After multiple transfer requests, they got tired of her... persistence and now she's a teller, working the day-shift in a regular branch.

Because of my experience on the customer service side of things, I try help Mrs. C learn from the mistakes that I made. I warn her from time-to-time about the various perils and, especially, the crazies she'd inevitably meet.

For example, there was the time I had to decline someone's loan because his demands were impossible to meet and he wouldn't listen to reason. There was just no way to approve it.  He, however, said I declined his loan because I was racist. He neglected to take into consideration that we were both of the same race when he made the charge though.

Another time, there was this guy who would apparently come in every few months to complain about discrepancies on his credit card statements. Even though I was in loans, the person dealing with him decided to shovel him off on the next available person and basically conned me into seeing him. By the time I realized he wasn't applying for a new credit card, it was too late.

It was during this meeting that the customer confided in me that the bank was conspiring to hide the truth about his credit card info and that he finally had proof. That proof being his "real" credit card statement versus a "phony" copy the he was provided with.

Customer: You can see it right here! The bank's logo on my copy I got in the mail is red. This other copy they gave me has a black logo.

Me: Okaaaay... What else?

Customer: What do you mean? Mine is obviously the official thing because it's in color. The one they printed and gave me isn't so it has to be made-up.
Me: But the information on both is exactly the same.
Customer: *blink*

Me: Who gave it to you?

Customer: Them. Over by that counter just now.

He was pointing at the CSR counter across the floor. They only have a black and white printer there.

But, this past Wednesday morning was Mrs. C's turn. Like so many of my customers, her encounter had her a state of bewilderment that lasted for about half a day.

Customer 2: I'd like to make a withdrawal.

Mrs. C: Sure. One second... I'm sorry. You don't seem to have any money in your account.

Customer 2: But my disability comes in at the end of every month.

Mrs. C: Wait, please. Let me check the history. Oh yes. It did come in at that time. But it looks like you withdrew it already.

Customer 2: I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about this months payment. It should be there. It comes in at the end of every month, you know.

Mrs. C: Um... sir. It's only the the 17th.

Customer: *blink*

Mrs. C: It isn't the end of the month yet.

Customer: But... the full moon already passed...

Mrs. C: Okaaaay... (places hand close to panic button).

Luckily, her customer left soon after that without incident. I assume to consult with the moon again and make sure their schedules sync-up.

Knowing the crazies exist and actually encountering them are two different things and you almost never know what's going to happen next. Almost makes me nostalgic, to be honest.

Not really.

It's My Party & I'll Be Creeped Out If I Want To.

I'm off to jury service in a minute but before I go I'm tackling the Studio 30 Plus weekly prompt today. This week is based on: "Your Earliest Memory Of Your Own Birthday Party". I'll tell you my tale. But you got to swear you'll never tell anyone about this...


EVER!

Birthday parties were never a huge deal in our family when I was growing up. In fact, the only one I can ever remember having was back when I attended kindergarten. This kindergarten that was on the grounds of a catholic church and run by nuns. Yeah. Good times!


Actually, to be honest, they were. It was there, in fact, that the party was thrown. The nuns apparently loved parties for the children since, of my few memories from attending that school, most of them involved some type of party of function.


That day there were two other kids, Tia and Ronald who stood on either side. They celebrated their birthdays that week as well so the nuns decided to lump them all up into one event. But that day was actually birthday. "My day! It was more special than theirs" as a child's mind would reason. But still we had to share so whatever. Only the only birthday party I've ever had. You know, whatever.


Anyway, I remember when it was my turn. They had already dealt with Ronald and Tia all now of the children sing the Happy Birthday song for me. I've never liked being the center of attention. Normally it would have been because I was in trouble for something. But not that day. For once, I was the star of the show and I loved it. I looked at the cake. I looked at the other kids. I felt appreciated. Soon the song ends.


Nun: Blow out the candles, Vinny.


And Ronald blows the candles out.


Me: Heeeeeyyy!!!
Nun: No, Ronald. It's Vinny's turn. you already blew out your candles.


She lights the candles again. To recreate the mood she asks the other children to sing me the song again. They're only too happy to oblige. Somehow singing loud and off-key is just endless fun for a young child. Soon they bring it home. And as the song ends...


Ronald blows the candles out. AGAIN!


Son of a bitch!


Nun: Ronald! That's enough. You had your turn!


Her voice was so stern that I was sure Ronald almost wet himself. One last time she lit the candles. She doesn't bother making the other kids sing this time however.


Nun: Okay, Vin- RONALD!!!


Yup, you guessed it! Old Ronnie-boy just couldn't help himself and, once again, blew out every last candle. 


Nun: Never mind. Vinny, Tia... Ronald... (she glared at him) cut the cake.
Other nun (holding the camera): Okay, Tia, give Vinny a kiss for the picture.


She did. A quick peck just long enough for the photo to be taken. But as she did it I noticed something odd. The kiss was in stereo. Either she was a really good kisser or...


RONALD!!!

Just my luck the nun happened to snap the photo with both Tia and... Ronald both giving me a kiss on either cheek. Thinking back he looked way too into it. Momma C still has that photo. I don't know in what incriminating way she intends to still use it, but whatever her plan is, it can't be good.

I've also got another article on Sprocket Ink this morning at 10AM. I won't be home by that time so I won't be able to link it directly until later.


[UPDATE] The above link now goes directly to my Sprocket Ink post.

Left On Your Own.

No matter who you are today, there will eventually come a point, be it through age or illness or something else, when you have to depend on others. There are times when those seeming to show us kindness are only using us to their own gain. What I feel is even worse is when the ones we expect to be there for us (friends and family) are the ones we can least depend on and a total stranger shows us more kindness than they do. This realization was brought home to Mrs. C and myself during the following encounter:

Note: (I decided to leave the dialogue in local dialect this time. It shouldn't be difficult to follow, though).

It's Friday afternoon. The end of Mrs. C's first week of working day shift. She calls me and tells me she had just finished doing a few errands and was about to head home. I, myself, had just left work (back when I was working, that is) when she called so we arrange to meet downtown and travel home together. She says she'll wait for me in a fast food restaurant that was close to the bus station.

It doesn't take long for me to get there. We greet each other and I help her with some of her load. She gets up and we head to the door. I was tired. This week was extremely stressful and I had a million and one things racing through my mind. I was looking forward to getting home. I didn't, at first notice when my wife stopped.

She was talking to a little old lady – possibly in her eighties – who had called out to her. She was sitting at one of the restaurant tables and I saw that she had her hand out. At first I thought she was begging for change, but then I heard my wife ask her if she wanted her to help her up and took her hand. I moved in closer and, without hesitation the elderly woman reached her other hand toward me. We helped her up out of the chair. She was small and frail and her back was bent from what was obviously osteoporosis. She had a wooden cane in her right hand. Her dress was simple and her gray was short and pinned back.

She'll be called Ms. Gray from here on in.

Ms. Gray asked us to help her to the door. As we were doing so, a man in about his late thirties, offered to assist and, together the three of us guided her to the door. As we reached it I couldn't help but get a little pissed off at the guy who insisted on barging in from off the street and pushing past us. He was tall, heavy-built and looked in his fifties. It seemed apparent that he was in such an urgent need for his fried chicken fix that he couldn't wait for us to get past.

When we were outside. Mrs. C asked her in which direction she was going and she pointed east. The guy who had joined us said he was going that way and he wouldn't mind helping her. Ms. Gray looked at him and then at us. Maybe it was because she she had asked for our assistance in the restaurant and not his. Maybe the years had made her cautious. But, whatever her reason, she reached for my hand again. I took it and Mrs. C held her other arm which held the cane. The other guy, sensing he wasn't needed, continued on his way.

Her destination the cathedral two blocks away. There she would get a ride home from someone who was attending afternoon mass.

Mrs. C: How far are you going? 

Ms. Gray: Mt. Hope.

This was a little past our destination and Mrs. C pointed out that we were headed to the bus station and we could see her home. However, she was insistent on going to the cathedral.

As we walked slowly along the cracked and uneven sidewalks, I could see that her ankles were severely swollen. Whenever we came to a dip in the sidewalk or any of the curbs, she had to stop and sum up her strength to negotiate it.

“You get ah good escort this time!” a street vendor called out to her as we passed by.

This confirmed what I had already guessed. This wasn't the first time she had been in this situation. Ms. Gray stopped to greet a friend, another street vendor.

Vendor Friend: “You need to get somebody to drop you to town, girl.”

Ms. Gray: “Yeah, but who go do it?”

Their exchange lasted a few more seconds and then she tugged my hand indicating she wished to continue onward. I also couldn't help but notice that, as we walked, no one, except for a small child, made even the slightest attempt to give way. Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking that the crowd part for us, or anything. It would be nice, though, if one or two of them would attempt to give us some room. The way people brushed past us, seemingly so caught up in their own lives, I thought they would start climbing over us if we slowed them down too much.

Mrs. C talked with her some more. We learned that she regularly came into city to do errands and get her regular check-up at the general hospital.

Me: You don't have anybody who could bring you to town?

Ms. Gray: My grandson does live with me but is like he don't live there. He hardly ever there and don't want nothing to do with me.

Mrs C: And nobody else could help?

Ms. Gray: I had a nephew who used to live with us. I put him out after he did steal my whole pension after I cash the cheque. And I raise him from since he was two.

Me: How old is he now?

Ms. Gray: Twenty-one.

My wife shook her head in disappointment. I decided not to ask about the boy's parents or anything else after that. I didn't want to seem like I was prying.

We were getting close to the cathedral. We crossed the street where we met some more of her acquaintances. Elderly women, themselves, they talked about their aches and pains. One of the women rifled through her bag and eventually found the name of a good over the counter painkiller that she guaranteed would help. She handed it to Mrs. C to give to Ms. Gray.

We continued and, almost to the cathedral, we met one more acquaintance. She watched Mrs. C and I sternly, “Remember that young girl who help you the other day and take the $3,000.00 from your bag?” She said to Ms. Gray and watched us again.

“And they still ain't catch she yet.” Ms. Gray lamented.

There wasn't much conversation here and we continued. Finally we reached the cathedral courtyard's front gate. As we walked through the courtyard she pointed to a gray sedan.

Ms. Gray: The driver of that car used to drop me home. I used to give him a $20. or whatever I had on me. His mother start complaining and make him stop.”

Mrs. C: Why?

Ms. Gray only shrugged in response.

Afternoon mass had just finished and people were starting to leave. Ms. Gray became worried that she would miss her ride and wanted to stand in the courtyard. We, on the other hand, were worried about the strain this would put on her legs and convinced her to keep going. The priest stood by the door waiting to greet those who exited. We called him and he immediately recognized Ms. Gray. He assured her – and us – that she'd be taken of and asked us to take her to one of the nearby pews, which we did. At first she wanted to kneel so she could pray but the pain in her legs was too much so we helped her sit up. When she was settled in, we said our goodbyes and left.

As we were leaving, my wife realized she still had the paper with the name of the painkiller in her hand. I ran back and gave it to her. On leaving the priest thanked me for helping her. I met Mrs. C outside the cathedral and we continued on our way. The whole thing made us both think about what we could do to not be so totally abandoned by our loved ones when we eventually grew old ourselves.

The Day It All Changed

THEN:

Before this job, before banking, I was employed as a customs clerk and worked in a company’s shipping department. On that day I was on Queen’s Wharf, the main shipping port in north Trinidad. I was the main administrative building. I had just paid some storage rent for the cargo the company I worked for and was killing some time while one of my coworkers was coming to meet me. The TV was on and it was some boring local talk show that I wasn’t paying too much attention to. I was too focused on getting a new high score on Snake on my old Nokia 5160.

Soon I noticed a commotion going on around me. I looked up. Everyone was gathering in front of the television that was fixed to the wall. I looked at the screen to see what was going on. On it, a building was on fire. It took me only a few seconds to recognize that it was one of the World Trade Centre towers. I heard the reporter saying something about a horrible accident with a plane.

He had hardly finished saying it before the second plane came flying into the other tower.

“It good for dem!” another customs clerk shouted when realized that this was no accident, “Dem blasted Americans always interfering in other people business.”

I wanted to hit him. I don’t care what your opinion is, this isn’t the kind of thing you said was “good” for anyone.

“Aye, boy!” another clerk shouted back at him, “You can’t say dat! It have Trini’s there too you know.”

“Well then dey deserve what happen to dem!” said the first clerk, “Why dey leave sweet T&T to go up there? Ent dey look for what dey get?”

I left. I couldn’t stand listening to that conversation any longer. What was happening? Everything was normal up till that moment. In my mind, I knew everything was going to change. The world wasn’t perfect but at least, right up until I saw the news, I could fool myself into believing the world was a safe place. It had happened so far away, but I knew everything had turned upside down by this event. The game had changed and nothing was ever going to be the same. I hated whoever was responsible. My sense of safety and security was gone.

NOW:

Today I, along with millions of others, heard the news that the man responsible for those attacks almost ten years ago was killed in an assault on one of his compounds. Just like that, he was no more. I don’t celebrate his dying but I’m not going to mourn his death either. Of course, it isn’t over. My naive sense of safety was long since diminished since those days. At the very least, there’s one less instigator of fear and hatred in the world.

That will have to do.

Sometimes Life Forces You To Slow Down

THURSDAY

6:30AM – (A young couple gets ready for work)

Her: Oh, I just remembered hearing about the water being shut off in the area for about 24 hours.

Him: When?

Her: I can’t remember hearing when.

Him: Hmph! That's helpful. Anyway, they don’t normally make those announcements more than a day in advance.

Her: Do we have enough filled up in case?

Him: No. We need to fill up.

Her: We can’t do that now. We’ll be late for work.

Him: I know! (Rolling his eyes) Anyway, the landlord has two huge water tanks in back. We should be okay. We probably won’t even have to use our reserves.

Her: Okay.

********

Just after 1:00PM – He is tired. He has been burning the candle at both ends these days and now he realizes he can’t even see straight. As he chugs his fourth cup of coffee he tries not to sound like a babbling idiot when he explains procedures to the trainee in his department.

4:30PM – He manages to survive and heads home. He shuffles up the stairs to his apartment and enters.

Something is off. He can’t place his finger on it but he’s too tired to care. He proceeds towards the bathroom, relieves himself and flushes. This is when he realizes that the tank isn’t refilling. His eyes widen. He heads back down the hall and sticks his head back into the living room. He now knows what it was that he sensed earlier.

It was the silence. What was missing was the familiar thump, thump, thump of the leaky kitchen faucet he'd been getting around to fixing one day.

"Shit!" 

FRIDAY

10:00AM – Mrs. C is at work. We decided the night before that she would use what was left of our water so that she could not miss any of her training for her transfer to day-shift. I sit at my netbook (the one that’s now down for repairs) writing this post. I keep the electric fan close, on high and directly pointed at me because, after not having bathed since yesterday morning, unnecessary sweating must be avoided. It seems that we were already running on the tank reserves even before our conversation yesterday morning and the 24 hours the water company said it would take was actually more of a suggestion. If nothing else, the forced day off from work was much needed.