A bargain?

A lesson in frugality...

A saw this huge sweet potato pie in the grocery for 99¢, and couldn't resist. I don't usually purchase pies, but I thought "What the heck?"

It felt very cold so, I assumed that it had been frozen. When I got home, I put it in the oven at 175° to warm it, and dry out any excess moisture. It had too much nutmeg for my tastes, but was generally pretty good; the flavor, consistency, and crust were acceptable.

Around, 1:30a.m. I woke up bloated and nauseated. A little voice whispered, "You bought a 10 inch pie for 99¢." I will spare you the details of my six trips to the baffroom (sic).

Black humor

I went to sleep and woke up with a heavy heart. Twice yesterday I was accused of being mean spirited, of making fun of others. I truly love people, and wish even the bad ones well. I just believe that I am imperfect, as is everyone, and that this can he humorous. Humor is how I cope with the ugliness of the world. We have become so fragile, so delicate, that we cannot laugh at ourselves... I still can.

I find the world to be histerically funny! I like to laugh, and find humor in most situations, I always have. I even remember my grandmother's funeral when I was in the eleventh grade. Grandma's sister was there, I secretly called her "The Professional Mourner," because she was exceptionally dramatic, and on que for great wails, nashing of teeth and such.

At the end of the service, the coffin lid was raised, and we filed past giving our final goodbyes. I was seated again as my great aunt approached the casket. "Oh, dear sister, I will so miss you," she wailed/weeped. She leaned over to kiss her deceased sister, and as she attempted to stand tall again, the button of her blazer became caught on the handle of the coffin. Overcome with grief and drama, my great adult tried to step back, and to the side, not realizing that she was now attached to the death box. The coffin sat on a castered riser which started to roll to my left. My great aunt and grandma were rolling towards the stairs to the far left of the pulpit.

My eyes widened as I anticipated an undignified cartoon-ish ending for both women. Suddenly, it seemed as if the entire congregation noticed the rolling casket with a stooped over great aunt attached. Some bounded to the top of the stairs to stop potential disaster, while others attempted to unhitch my aunt and some how lock the wheels of the riser from rolling. The room finally sighed relief, and my aunt was free to faint. I covered my face rocking and shaking. I had always been a sensitive boy, so people thought that the situation was too much for me. A woman's gloved hand rubbed and patted my shoulder to console me as I laughed silently to myself. That was the funniest thing to date that I had ever seen. I have apparently always been a mess.

Le Visite Chez le Dentiste

What a friggin day! Around lunch time I went over, and emptied my Post Office box. I grabbed a yogurt, and sat upstairs in the little university mall. I opened the second letter, which was from my dental insurance carrier.

The back story: Last month I had two fillings replaced because I hadn't learned that no good can come of clearance aisle almonds.

The insurance letter was to notify me that they rejected payment of one of the fillings. They apparently have notified the dentist. I've heard nothing from the dentist, and don't plan to ask. The carrier's reasoning was that it doesn't allow more than one filling in a 24 month period. "This has got to be in error," I thought!

It was at this point as I took another scoop of my peach yogurt that I felt something sharp in my mouth. The cap from a front tooth was gone. I spat the yogurt into napkins, and there it was.

I called the dental factor as I like to call it, and was told I could have an appointment in three months. I hung up and went there. I was met with the most incompetent office manager ever. She has had computer issues registering me three times before. Anywho, I learned that my dentist left for India or some such, never to return. "Can someone else see me," I begged. The doctor taking the old doc's patients is leaving for the day, I was told. (At 3 in the afternoon) I wasn't bleeding or in pain, therefore, my vanity was only considered an emergency by moi. I then dug deep and summoned "Angry-Black-Man-Les." I am not proud, but it took five minutes to be seen.

A knowledgeable petite woman with a great manner explained why what happened happened. This has happened four times over the years, and after her explanation, I was surprised that it hasn't happened more often. I immediately trusted her judgment and recommendation. She even assured me that it was barely noticeable, as long I don't offer huge smiles. I have and appointment in three weeks to have done what should have been done 20 years ago. Don't expect a toothy grin until November.

As I walked away from the place, I thought "Well, it could be worse. I could be without dental insurance." ...or, maybe I am just getting ahead of myself?

Microaggression and Retail or Can a Brotha Just Get a Suit?

This is an example of a microaggression:
A personable handsome young friend who has just started out in the corporate world went to that huge department store (in the large fall fruit city); you know the one, they have a sparkly red sign almost demanding that we "Believe" during the holidays.

He was prepared to purchase at least one professional outfit; suit, shirt, tie, shoes, and even socks. He wears as I do, (and a very large segment of the male population wears), a 42R. He selected a suit he liked, and texted me for my sartorial counsel. I liked it, I explained why, and we discussed shirts and ties. He asked store personnel for assistance finding his size, and was told by a snippy sales associate that they were out of his size. "What about a 40R? I sometimes can make that work?" No 40R's either... He is told that he cannot be accommodated. My young friend is new to suit shopping, retail laziness, and microaggression.

He texted me the problem. I asked how two of the three most popular sizes in men's suits could be out of stock? Why didn't the sales associate try another store, or guide the young man to another choice? My young friend didn't want to be bothersome or make any kind of scene so, he decided to check back in a couple days on Friday.

After work he stopped back at the department store, and found his size, 42R by himself immediately. He asked for a dressing room, and was pointed the way. While trying the suit he discovered that the pants were 30W and not 33W.  He works out daily, has six-pack abs, but prefers a 33" waist, slim fit for comfort. He asked the sales associate for larger pants. He obviously sensed something was screwy here, and has called me leaving his phone on Speaker.

I heard a woman's voice telling him that he could only purchase the suit as is. She stated that she could not switch pants out for a larger size. I know this to be complete bull. In addition, while 42R is maybe the most popular jacket size, I would guess that the percentage of adult males with a chest that big and a waist that small is <1%. In fact, I have complained numerous times over the years about the 36W or 38W pants that come with 42R suits, and have to be altered to remove three or four inches. Sometimes the back pockets almost join. To accommodate men, the majority of labels allow switching. How is the lad supposed to purchase suit pants two sizes too small?

I was really annoyed at this point, and advise that he leave the store and never return. We ended the call. I text him a couple minutes later:

Seriously, I wouldn't go back there. They should be trying to sell you a suit. You shouldn't be begging to buy one!

Although black, my young friend believes that microaggressions are a constraint of money and status, and a text message is hardly the best venue to wake someone. I have thought for some time that the big city would wake him because it doesn't sleep.

The Doors to Hell

Last night, I awoke from a nightmare around 2:15 a.m.. I was so startled and disturbed from the experience that I was awakened several more times before I finally rose.

I don't remember dreams very often, and haven't had a nightmare that I recall since childhood. This was a significant event.

There were three players in my dream; my late father who died in 1989, the Devil, and yours truly. The dream began with a lengthy job interview. My dad was smartly dressed as usual, and the age he was at his death, two years younger than I am at this writing. I was also sharp, and answered what seemed like dozens of typical interview questions. There were even questions pertaining to the processes and results of other interviews that I have had over the years. Dad asked why I didn't get this or that job? He sat and listened, although his facial expression never changed. He looked kind and nonjudgmental. Finally, the interview was over, but still no idea how I was being taken, he did not offer any verbal communication at the end. However, I was invited to go for a ride.

Dad held the door as I entered a pristine condition, 1999 Cadillac DeVille. It was gold with a rag top. It was so clean, and smelled new. I sat calmly, patiently trusting the situation. We drove what seemed like a relatively short distance. We arrived at a very large grey warehouse looking building. Dad drove the car inside, and the giant garage door closed behind us. We got out of the Caddy.

A short 60-ish grizzly looking man walked towards us. At this point he made me feel uncomfortable, and I stood closer to my dad with my left arm just above his waste. He still said nothing bearing that interviewer's poker face. The short man walked over to very large doors about 8ft square. The doors were level with the floor.

The short man opened one door, and then the other. Giant flames licked towards the ceiling from the opening. I somehow suddenly knew that the doors were opened to hell. I looked at dad, who nodded slightly confirming my assumptions. I looked again at the raging flame, at dad's face, and back at the flame. I buried my face in my dad's chest as we knew it was time, and that the short man was the Devil. He gently pulled me from my dad, as I awoke dripping in sweat and tears.