Four Imaginary Walls

Humans are strange, strange animals.  People in close proximity with each other, say, in a waiting room or elevator, seem to practice the utmost decorum and inoffensive behavior possible.  For instance, it is an unspoken rule that you must always leave an empty chair between yourself and others.  Always stand a respectful, moderate distance behind others at the reception desk.  Step back to allow the elderly to get where they need to go first.  If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that nearly everyone follows these guidelines out in public (except New Jersey divas, but that’s a different post).

Elevators require even more militant self-control.  Never, ever make eye contact for any reason.  If you do happen to be caught looking at someone, immediately dart your gaze to the digital readout above the doors showing the floor number.  I do not know who decided that looking at another person in an elevator is akin to having your fly unzipped – I just know that it is an action acceptable only from small children, those with diminished capabilities and nice little old ladies.

The Golden Rule of elevator etiquette however, is the control of bodily functions.  To belch, pass gas, clip your toenails, clean your ears or pick your nose is a crime punishable by death in many countries.  Don’t be shocked…possession of boogers alone will get you twenty-five years hard labor in North Korea.  Watch “The Colbert Report”.  It’s where I get all my news and political information.  But I digress.   How many times have you gotten on an elevator and the lone man on it suddenly stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at the ceiling like “Sports Center” is up there or something?  Never, ever shake hands with such a man.

This brings me to my point.  I know, you’re thinking, “Fourth paragraph in…finally!” Why is it that when you put a windshield, metal doors, and some windows between people on the road that they completely lose their mind and all the

aforementioned good manners? 

Always stand a respectful, moderate distance behind others.

I can usually smell other drivers’ coffee they’re so close.  I have never understood the need to wait bumper to bumper at a traffic light…we’re all going to get to the next light at approximately the same time, no matter how fast you peel out.  If you want to see this stacking phenomenon in action, visit a preschool class and watch them line up.  They are usually packed so tight on top of each other that the line leader has to get extra stickers for combat duty.  I feel like a broken record sometimes…”Slow down.  The playground isn’t closing.  We will all get there at the same time.  Back up and let the line leader regain blood flow to her extremities, please…” (I actually talk to them like that.  They usually giggle a bit and resume crushing the line leader).

Wait a minute.  Maybe there could be a sign at intersections…”Slow down.  Back up. Taco Bell isn’t closing.  We will all screech to a stop at the next light in approximately 45 seconds.  You are causing the retirees in the Grand Marquis to strap on their oxygen tanks…”

Step back to allow the elderly to get where they need to go first. 

Well, there is a valid argument with this one.  There are approximately 950,000,000,001

senior citizens in Central Florida.  If we let them all go first, the nineteen of us left that are under fifty would be trapped in our driveways.  As long as we can avoid the 30 mile per hour traffic rush during the early bird special at Golden Corral we might make it.

Never, ever make eye contact for any reason.

HA!  Put up four imaginary walls around someone and they turn into Forrest Gump gawking in a store window.  I cannot tell you how many times I’ve glanced over at another car at a traffic light and caught them staring at me, slack-jawed.  I’ve actually checked the mirror once or twice to make sure my nose was still on straight.  I mean, unless you’re next to the Elephant Man at an intersection, what in green gravy could possibly cause you to stare at them like something is spurting out their ears?  Is it just me?  I know I’m not a raving beauty that garners random adoring gazes – the only adoring gazes I get are when I show up somewhere with dessert.  Sometimes I just want to roll down my window and yell, “WHAT????”

I can’t, though.  With my luck, Jared of the Big, Unfiltered Mouth will think it’s hysterical and do it to an unmarked patrol car, carrying an equally unmarked patrol officer.

To belch, pass gas, clip your toenails, clean your ears or pick your nose…

OK folks, these are what floor me.  Granted, we can’t see you belch or fart, and if you can clip your toenails while driving…well, we won’t go there.  But come on….we can see you picking your nose!!  Really!  Would you stand in a room full of giant windows and mirrors with people passing you on either side, trying to find your brain through your nostril??  No?  Then why do you think the four doors of your Corolla form some sort of imaginary force field that no one can penetrate or see through? 

            What is it about those steel sidebars that so drastically changes our behavior and demeanor?  Would you flip Granny the bird if she picked up the copy of “Field and Stream” you had your eye on in the waiting room?  Well of course not…but it’s perfectly OK to scream at her and utilize sign language (not the kind for deaf people) when she isn’t moving those Hush Puppies fast enough across the street. 

Most people just seem to view their cars as an extension of their bodies.  If that’s so…then back up!!!!

From my favorite humorist...

Have you any idea how many children it takes to turn off one light in the kitchen? Three. It takes one to say, " What light?", and two more to say "I didn't turn it on."
— Erma Bombeck

Bad, Bad Equation

Toddler + 20 oz Mountain Dew + hospital waiting room =


a. an idiot grandfather with a vendetta against his daughter


b. 15 minutes of chasing a sugar and caffeine crazed toddler through a hospital floor full of ancient people who thought he was a rabid dwarf on the loose - "Get it out before it bites me!!"(direct quote) from a lady old enough to have cut Methuselah's hair


c. Complete and utter chaos


d.  All of the above plus some

Daddy Saves The Day!

Jared lost his second tooth last night right before bed.  Being the good mommy that I am, I went to my own bed and passed out as Daddy skyped with his brother.  I got up this morning and went to work, completely forgetting about the tooth under Jared's pillow.  Not long after getting to work I had that sudden moment of PANIC!!! and called home to see how bad the emotional damage was and how much therapy Jared would need as an adult. 

Guess who answered the phone..."Mommy!!  Guess what!!  My tooth was still under my pillow this morning."

Crap.

"But Daddy said to look in his wallet and guess what!!  The tooth fairy left $3 in Daddy's wallet for me!!"

I began to breathe again. 

"Really?  Why do you think she did that?" I asked.

"Daddy says it's because there were too many toys on the floor and she couldn't get to my bed."

I am truly amazed that Yakko (my nickname for him - if you've ever talked to him you'll know why) was able to think so fast on his feet.  Good thing there wasn't a $100 bill in that wallet.

It Ain't Easy Bein' Mom

            You never know the rigors of what someone else does until you have to do it in their place.  This goes quadruple for anyone who has to temporarily fill in for their mother or wife. 

            I gained a better understanding of this concept when my mom was hospitalized for two weeks last Christmas.  As our mother’s mobility and vision have steadily declined over the years, my sister Charlotte and I have gradually taken over the more physical and difficult December tasks.  I quickly realized, however, that we were only lowly stagehands in the great Holiday Spectacular, waiting for instructions from Director Mom.  With the Great Multi-Tasker suddenly in Cardiac Intensive Care after a heart attack, Charlotte and I were left staring at each other, mouths agape.  Gifts weren’t bought.  Unbought gifts generally means they aren’t wrapped, either (crap!).  Some food had been purchased, but I had never, ever made a holiday dinner on my own without the benefit of my mother’s bossing – err, supervision, and Charlotte’s greatest culinary achievement is fish sticks.

           

Add on to all of this the stress of running both of our family businesses, closing out the fiscal year, and making sure my own small children had a memorable holiday without Grandma.  I’m still not sure how my sister and I made it to January with our sanities intact.  We cried (rare for us), screamed (not rare for us), made lists, took shifts at the hospital and the office, kept an eye on our aging father, and had marathon gift-wrapping sessions.  Charlotte shopped for gifts for dozens of people until the wee hours of morning, while I ran financial reports and culled the traditionally huge holiday menu down to what I could manage without calling in Rachael Ray.

            We took pictures over the course of her hospitalization of the refrigerator full of food, the counters full of home baked treats, and the growing pile of gifts (wrapped with bows and EVERYTHING!) under the tree.  One of us (I don’t remember who now) even managed to bake up enough homemade cookies to make a whole floor full of nurses happy.  Mom obsessed over what she thought was a ruined Christmas and seemed amazed that we had given up sleeping to assure holiday merriment instead of turning off our cell phones and dashing off to Cozumel.  We insisted on postponing Christmas for the adults until she came home, and she insisted that we have Christmas dinner on the 25^th as we normally do.  As I fed her contraband ham, mashed potatoes, and date pudding I’d smuggled into the cardiac unit, she finally seemed to accept that Charlotte and I had not allowed the holiday to turn into How the Heart Attacked Christmas.

No matter how much I may think my sister and I do for our mom, she’s still the director, and we’re just stagehands.  I’ve now discovered that I am perfectly capable of making a tasty and enjoyable holiday meal, but I still want the presence of a bossy, crotchety old grump at the kitchen table, scrutinizing each of the nine varieties of gravy and squawking over the differences in the way we cook green beans.  I’m sure Charlotte won’t mind chasing behind said grump in the motorized scooter this December, dragging her purchases through the mall until security kicks them out at closing time.  It’s got to be way better than the “Where are you?  What did you buy?” calls every 3.5 nanoseconds.  The heart problems in no way affected her speed in dialing a phone, let me tell you.

It ain’t easy bein’ Mom.  I’ve also come to the conclusion that it might even be just a little harder bein’ Mom and trusting others enough to be you for awhile.

Why does my mother think that if she eats a fattening food in a lot of little tiny pieces instead of one big hunk that she's somehow eating less?

Jared Says...

     I became aggravated with Jared's whining today and whispered in his ear, "Put your big girl panties on and deal with it!"  He looked at me for a long while and finally said, "You of all people should know that I'm not a girl."