Props

As I walked along yesterday, a guy stopped me. He was carrying a two year old. I noticed immediately that the two year old was very cute. She was very well groomed but, had an odd look about her as if she were confused. The man carrying her was about 5” 8’ and maybe 125 pounds. He was a grimy as the child was pristine. He walked right in front of me such that I had to stop or stumble into him. He said, “Sir, I really need 60 cents. Just 60 cents to catch the bus… She is getting’ heavy and I don’t want to get caught in the rain again. (There had been a couple spotty flash showers yesterday that lasted no more than five minutes each.)

Before I could respond with my usual, “sorry,” the man adjusted his body so I could not see his face but instead a full view of the adorable confused looking child. I reached into my pocket without thinking and gave him all of the change there. I believe that it was about $1.50 or so. He thanked me without showing his face and moved onward. Still carrying the child he walked onto a small grocery store’s parking lot. I stopped and watched as he approached three other people getting out of their cars with the same tired “sixty cent” line. I’ve been duped as they say in the movies. The man had apparently borrowed the child from perhaps a relative as a prop. They were too different in their presentations to be related. “Granma, let me take little Mary for a walk…

I shared the story with a friend when I got home who thought me surprisingly gullible. He thought that I should have seen that one coming. I did not see it coming because I guess I am not as cynical as the world might believe of me, even though the same thing did happen to me about ten years ago in Rochester. What can I say? Small children and puppies still make me gush. Besides, I have always thought that we must do the right thing. If the right thing is not received well, then that is on the soul of the receiver, if he/she has one. We live in a society and it is our responsibility to recognize that we are not alone but, at the same time we do have to protect ourselves which is why I did not take my wallet out.

Made My Day To Help

As I walked along this morning I noticed a nine or ten year old (I’m assuming) carrying his backpack on his way to school no doubt. He was on the other side of the street. He looked so happy. It was great to see and took me back a few decades. Suddenly, the boy stopped dead in his tracks… he took a step cautiously forward and then retreated. He carefully looked ahead to his right. Just a few houses ahead a woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips stood on a porch with a huge black dog on a leash at the bottom of the steps. The dog had eyed the kid and was straining on the leash. Now smoking and on the phone, the woman took no notice. The kid looked a bit frightened and confused as he stood on the other side of the six lane street. He looked straight ahead across the street and then back at the dog again. He looked as if he could not cross the street and was too afraid to go forward. What to do? What to do?

I waited for the traffic to dissipate and then made my way across the street. I asked the woman if she could hold her dog back while the kid passed. I might as well have asked her for a kidney. “What? Why?” I pointed to the kid and told her that the boy needed to pass and was a bit afraid of the dog. “Oh,” she said, as if it were the weirdest request ever asked of her. I beckoned to the boy and told him that it was safe to pass. As he passed I noticed that he was light complexion black with light grey eyes. His eyes seemed to dance as he smiled broadly and said, “thank you, sir. I hope you have a great day.” I told him to have a good day at school.

People, there are people in this world other than ourselves!

[Insert weiner innuendo here]

I can only speak for myself when I say, I fully expect that on some level or another most if not all public officials will eventually reveal themselves as wieners. They are human, you know? They are subject to human frailties, yada, yada, yada. We are not children; we know what kind of an ego is necessary for public office. We also know that the road to public office is fraught with moral and ethical temptations. In other words, it is ridiculous to assume that politicians need only perform one more miracle to be beatified. Why do we expect that all politicians assume their offices only after signing some sort of moral/ethical/purity oath that covers their past, present and futures? Just like the rest of us, they have libidos and unresolved issues that might cause Dr. Freud to delight in or even wince. They are humans and humans make moral/ethical mistakes even when we say we will not. We trip and fall. We do stupid things that are well beneath us.

That is my point here. Humans make stupid mistakes. The answer is not to forever shun them. The answer is not to toss the political baby out with the bath water. The answer is not to ignore all the good a person has done or might do because they did something stupid. We need to forgive when a person is genuinely sorry and move on. A stupid mistake should not destroy a life unless that stupid mistake has destroyed life(s).
I watched Anthony Weiner’s news conference yesterday. As I watched three things came immediately to mind: 1. He’s in pretty good shape for a congressman. 2. He’s a liar and appeared genuinely contrite. and 3. The best that I could tell he did nothing illegal and did not abuse his current position. Mostly because of numbers two and three, I say let’s move on! Weiner finds a good therapist (perhaps one without social media accounts) and moves on to repair his marriage and constituent relationships... He is allowed to continue to serve the good trusting and satisfied people of his district and the media moves on to find another life to attempt to destroy with its moralist gauntlet.

...and about the media. Was this something that the public had a great need or right to know or just that d-bag blogger Breitbart’s atonement for his own past? It all certainly makes a fine distraction to real issues and makes a few more headlines but, was it important to “pit-bull” the story? No. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad that it came to light if for no other reason that it forces a troubled man to face his demons and get help. However, I can always do without the self-righteousness the media provides and encourages. Last night, I watched with horror, former NY governor and whoremonger, Eliot Spitzer monitor a panel discussion on CNN with the result being head-shaking because it was the panels conclusion that the people of Weiner’s district care more about the point in fact that as a congressman he has fought hard for them; than about his recent mistakes. Spitzer also appeared visibly sour grapes in that he was not afforded the same pass. Eliot, they were entirely different situations and I believe that you know that. It was also disturbing that Spitzer positioned himself as some sort of men-behaving-badly punishment authority. This was as absurd to watch as to ponder.

This morning I watched three different national news sources trying to fire up the same indignation over Weiner. They even suggested that the people of New York were somehow “stupid” for taking the high road. They cited Charlie Rangel’s reelection after his senate censure or public flogging or whatever it was. They all believed Weiner should be removed or resign from Congress. What I believe is that this is about media power. Media has always loved the power it holds to make or break public figures. Hell, media has all but boasted of how it has the power to make and destroy presidents. I fear that at the root of this morning’s analysis was nothing more than disappointment on the part of media in that their egos were a bit bruised in not being able to completely flex their muscles and destroy another career. Unfortunately, I fear we will have to endure a few more days of judgment disguised as commentary; that is unless some other imperfect human has something new to show.

MY DAMN KEYS!

“I want my damn key. You think this is FUNNY? I’ll come over there and slap yo face, you asshole. Oh, I guess you on to da next bitch so, I don’t matter? I don’t care nothin’ ‘bout her. I just want my key. WTF do you mean, get the landlord to get me in? Why should I pay him when you got my keys? We broke up so, you shouldn’t even be havin’ my keys. Never mind, I lost my set… you need to give me my keys back!

He hung up on me, the bastard. Can you believe he hung up on me?”

(She dials again)

“I’m on the bus asshole and you laughin’ like somethins funny. What, I want? I want to come where you are and get my damn keys. Where you at? You at that bitches house? I’ll call her what I want. I’m near Brighton now. Should I get off and walk over so you can give me my keys? No, I am not goin’ pay to have the landlord let me in. LISTEN, my wallet, insurance cards and all my personal stuff is in there, I need my keys. Yes, it is your problem because we ain’t together no more and you should give me my keys back. HE FUCKIN” hung up!

Ooooh, somethin’ bad gonna happen. Somethin’ bad gonna happen!”

(She redials)

“I need my keys! Where can I come? I am almost to my street. What am I supposed to do, just stand outside all night or break in to my own place? Look, all my stuff is in there and I need to get into my house. Not your problem, not your problem! Who gave you the money for that car? Who brought you clothes and gave you a place to stay? Now, you on to the next bitch and I don’t even matter. I just need you to give me my keys back.”

She starts to weep uncontrollably and the passenger next to her tries to console her. She pled with her to calm down. The upset woman starts to hyperventilate but, the helpful passenger intervenes telling her to “breathe baby.” She manages to calm herself and the intervening passenger tells her that she lives nearby and invites her over. She tells her that she will give her something cool to drink and then help her figure out what she should do. The upset woman’s wailing is now a childish whimper. After a few moments…

(She redials)

“He hung up!”

(She redials)

“Now don’t hang up,” she states calmly. “I just want to meet up with you to get my keys. But, it is your problem because you shouldn’t have a copy of my keys at this point. Why are you doing me like this? LOOK, I’M TIRED OF MESSING AROUND WITH YOU! I WANT MY DAMN KEYS. Oh you gonna slap me cause I raised my voice to you? I’ll slap you back too.” He hangs up on her once again. She is now out of her seat screaming at the entire bus but at no one in particular. She is frustrated. Her intellect and emotions are no match for her cruel ex-boyfriend. She is so hysterical that she is gagging in between wailing and shouting incoherently. The intervening passenger woman rises and gets her seated and tries her best to calm her.

This went on for three miles. I sat directly in front of the screaming woman. I was petrified. All sorts of thoughts went through my head as a direct result of watching too much action TV. I’ve seen too many innocent victims bite it in the movies and on TV to fully understand that I could easily be one. I was seriously frightened. I couldn’t take it anymore. Then I got up and walked to the front of the bus. I told the driver that while I was one and one half miles from home and even though it was 92 degrees out, I would rather walk. He apologized twice.

As I walked along the boiling heat and humidity seemed refreshing.

A Word...

I listened intently for an accent or discernable speech defect or impediment. He had none. Given my already blackened heart, it was necessary to answer those questions in the negative in order to tell the tale. If the guy’s problem extended beyond the failure of our educational system, it would be mean spirited to tell you that indeed he said, “CAPACATY” (Kuh-pa-kuh-T). He said it at least a dozen times during the four and one half mile ride. Again and again and again he told passengers waiting to board, “I’m sorry, this bus cannot take any more passengers. It is over capacaty.” Each time he said capacaty, I would forget how much I hated public transportation and instead perseverated over how much I detested the point in fact that the bus driver could not pronounce the word capacity. I even took out a pen and wrote “capacaty” on the label of the jar of peanut butter in my bag. I was getting confused. Each time he said capacaty he hesitated on the last two syllables as if he had a little grammar cop in his head saying, “Dude, you’re going to F**K it up again!” And once more out came capacaty; my head hurt more.

(As an aside: Microsoft Word keeps automatically changing capacaty to capacity as I type. This makes me wonder how far off in the future a spell-check chip for our brains will happen.)

A couple times he changed things up a bit and uttered “capacacy” (kuh-pa-kuh-C) instead of capacaty. That too had a marked embarrassed tone at the end. Then I noticed a girl facing me of maybe 16 or 17yrs., who weighed 275 if a pound. She was wearing skinny jeans. I was a bit jealous of her calves; they were at least twice the size of my own. She seemed so happy although, I noticed that her forehead furrowed each time the driver said capacaty or capacacy. “Yeah,” I thought, “even big girl know he be sayin’ it wrong.”

Les Mails a Package (in one act)

Pardon the formatting here. This blog site does not allow much manipulation of margins and such.


The Setting: The dankest and dingiest of post office locations. The place is almost cave-like in late afternoon. It’s raining heavily outside.

Characters:
LES = Me
MLPC = Mean Lady Postal Clerk
* * * * *

Scene One

(Enter stage right: Les wearing a smart chocolate brown Perry Ellis blazer and in jovial spirits in spite of the rain)

LES
(While waiting in line he is distracted by the horse play of the four children in front of him. The mother is not as amused.)

I would like to mail this please.

MLPC
(The mean lady postal clerk has badly dyed red hair that has been straightened but not curled. She looks tired and as if they tried to make her go to rehab but she said no. She takes the package giving Les a curious once over)

That would be $7.28 to get there tomorrow; $5.08 will get it there Saturday.

LES

Saturday’s fine.

MLPC

Is there anything breakable, perishable...? Do you want insurance or delivery confirmation?

LES

No and no and no. I trust you.

MLPC

What’s in it?

LES

Books.

MLPC

Because you said books, this [package] is subject to inspection.

LES

What? I don’t understand.

MLPC

(In a tone that suggests arrogant superiority. If Les were deaf she would have simply spoken louder.)

It means we can open your package to make sure you did not put anything in it other than books. To make sure there are only books in the box.

(She then writes something on the box which is too small for Les to see as he cranes his neck.)

LES

That’s ridiculous but, if you want the terrorists to win...

MLPC

$5.28 will get it there tomorrow, $2.82 by Saturday.

LES

Saturday

MLPC

(She mumbles unintelligibly and says...)

...delivery confirmation?

LES

I have to tell you that I’m a bit disturbed that my package will be opened. I have never had so much as an over-due library book and now my packages are suspect and subject to inspection?

MLPC

That’s $2.82... out of $5.00.

LES

(Now very pissed)

When you are finally out of business in a few years, think of this moment.

MLPC

Have a blessed day!

We could use a few more like him!

I sat reading a research article in my local library when a boy of about 10 or 12 years raced by. He was followed in hot pursuit by a taller older kid, I thought. It all happened so fast. I also thought that the “race” was perhaps a silly prank the boys had contrived, racing from the library’s back entrance across the length of the library and finally out the front doors. Not giving it another thought, I lowered my head to my work. I guess I’ve learned nothing from Oprah.

As I was about to leave nearly an hour later, I walked over to the librarian’s desk to thank her for her help. She asked me if I had seen the commotion earlier. “You mean those kids that ran through?” The librarian enlightened me to the point in fact that the first runner was 12 years old and that the individual in hot pursuit was his father. Apparently, the kid had run away from school. This wasn’t his first time. The school had contacted an unconcerned mother who called the boy’s father at work across town. The father (who is my new hero) left his job and drove around town until he found his AWOL son. I assume that the foot pursuit started once the two discovered each other.

Just outside the front doors of the library the father overtook his son and threw him into the family car, while telling those concerned about the boy’s safety who he was and why the apprehension was necessary. My first thought was that that kid did not know how very fortunate he was to have such a father.