“We sisters! We sisters!”

Late one afternoon, I was waiting for the south bus at the main stop downtown. This was about a year before they moved all of the stops to the new bus “shelter” at the other end of downtown. As I recall, it was mid-fall and chilly. I stood shivering hoping my bus would pull up soon. I looked to my left down the busy street in anticipation. I then noticed about three feet to my immediate left, a woman of about 35 years. She was tall; maybe 5’10” and nicely dressed. Yeah, I guess she would be considered very attractive by most with angular features. I stared ahead again, I did not want to stare at the woman. Bored, my eyes wandered across the street and up and down, landing on a young woman of maybe 25 years, standing roughly three feet to my right. The very peculiar thing is she looked just like the woman to my left, only 3 or 4 inches shorter. I casually looked again to my left and then to my right and back again and again. Weird, except for the height, they could be twins. At one point, the woman to my left was leaning forward looking beyond me at the younger woman. I looked at the woman to my left curiously wondering what her fascination with the other woman was. Yes, she looked like her but… It was at this point that the woman to my left stepped in front of me and approached the woman to my right. “Is your daddy, Jimmy Ray?” she asked the younger woman. “Yeah, he my daddy” the younger woman responded. Over-joyed the older off the two almost shouted “We sisters! We sisters! He my daddy too.”

I smiled too, I like seeing people happy. You could literally have knocked me over with a feather. They seems so happy, yet so casual, as if they both discovered they had the same model of iPhone or something. The younger woman, in fact did not seem surprised at all, she seemed pleasant and delighted, but not surprised. “You know there’s 38 of us, don’t you?” the older asked. It took a second or two for my head to make sense of her question. Thirty-eight what’s? …I got it. I became momentarily comatose as they bantered the names of their mutual siblings, as if they were distant cousins from opposite sides of the country. They both gleamed and seemed genuinely pleased to make each other’s acquaintance. As I zoned in and out, still unable to get past the number 38. I heard something about Jimmy Ray working at a local funeral home. This might be a clue as to who daddy was. The entire ride home, I was bothered by this. Who the heck has 38 children? I thought that being a mortician was a good business to support them all. I knew from a recent article I had read that the minimum cost to raise a child to age 18 is currently, $235,000. Let’s see, 38 X $235,000 = $8,930,000.00.

I spent the evening obsessing over that $9 million figure. I remembered that a cousin is an unofficial historian of the community, some might say gossip. If she did not know all there was to know of Jimmy Ray and his antics and issue, no one would. I telephoned her and received immediate confirmation. Yes, he has nearly forty children. He is also nearly 80 years of age now and is not now nor has he ever been a mortician. He is paid per “show” and puts the little funeral flags on cars and directs the traffic; lining up of cars for funerals. We estimated that he receives roughly $50.00 per show. This has been Jimmy Ray’s vocation for 3 or 4 decades, I am told. Boggles the mind. He wouldn't be able to take care of himself on $50-$150. A week yet, I also learned that the man was a bit of an impeccable dandy. Perhaps, the many baby mamas helped to support him? I understood the number to be 30. Not, to judge, but it all hurts my head and heart. Sometimes, I think we are too free in this country. Nearly forty children and at the height of your career you make less than minimum wage?

The story made me wonder further about the financing of all these children’s lives. I did not believe I was being unfair to assume that the 30 baby mamas were not heiresses regardless of how dapper Jimmy Ray was or is. I imagined them all to be poor and uneducated. Who would have this man’s child when in such a small town everyone other than myself knew that all his ex’s were indeed there and not in Texas. What I mean is that all of these people live in the same small gossipy town. People talk and it seems obvious to me that there must have been plenty of chatter about this prolific baby daddy. I don’t see how in a small town (actually a small city) his reputation had not preceded him? They have to have known and simply not cared, I suppose?

Maybe, I am being judgmental and or unfair, but I further surmised that at some point in all 38 children’s lives, they needed and received support from the county to survive. Therefore, I might suggest that the kind people of the United States of America footed all or part of that $9,000,000? That works out to roughly $250. per month per child. Certainly not a huge amount and probably not enough and certainly not their fault, but geez!

*Names and places and other stuff was changed here to protect the "innocent".

The Jacket

Somewhere around last Thanksgiving, I found a great waist length ski jacket. It was by the designer Perry Ellis and was down. As well, it was well made and reversed from the black and forest green I usually wore to a complete solid forest green. The elastic gathers at the wrists and waist kept the wind out and the down help me remain toasty even at the minus-twenty mornings we have woken up to this winter. In a very short time that jacket has become as dependable and reliable as an old friend.

This morning I awoke to chilly temperatures of 26°F with a bit of wind. I could feel the chill on my chest. I immediately zipped the jacket up to my chin. Finding that somewhat restrictive, it was my first thought to pull the zipper a bit downward. The second I touched the head of the zipper, the pull tab fell off along with part of the piece that it was attached to. I tried carefully to hold the jagged remainder of the pull while yanking downward. Nothing. I could not get it to budge. It pulled upward about another half inch and froze there. At that point, it would not go up or down. I worked at trying to open the zipper for at least an hour and a half. I was starting to freak a little. Because I had pulled the thing up so far, it was impossible to wiggle my arms free and pull it over my head. I thought that if the jacket started to shrink, then there would have been the makings of a great The Twilight Zone episode. At any rate it did not shrink, but I still could not get out of the jacket.

As time wore on (pun intended), I asked a maintenance man if he could help. I thought that maybe he had pliers, which he did and other than make me fearful that he would slip and stab me with them, he had no luck with the zipper as well. He gripped the remaining piece of the pull thingy and tried to work it back and forth, but he got nowhere.

So, now I am sweating, a lot and not a lot. It has been over three hours since I originally zipped up “The Uniform of Death”. I was getting panicky and the jacket also felt warmer and also tighter. I was sitting struggling and hoping that I could get it to work. I was so freaked and frustrated that I was wondering if there was a patron saint for broken things or stuff that won’t work right. I could think of none. I kind of giggled when I thought that maybe St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things would intercede and help me find my mind. I was desperate. In addition, to the point in fact that I hearted that jacket and found it perfect for my needs, the weather was in transition. The next day there would be a high temperature in the mid-fifties and with the rain and chill, it might be half that warm during the night. The weather will probably rollercoaster for another week before we have temps in the mid-60’s during the day and high forties during the night. The jacket is the only one that I have to get me to real spring. I have a lined pullover anorak, which is okay as long as it doesn’t rain (the arms are not lined. With rain, I feel as if I am wearing nothing. I know “then I met a man with no jacket at all”. Nevertheless, at 4 ½ hours it became clear that my efforts were in vain, the jacket could not be saved.

I went back and found the maintenance man and asked if he could cut me out of the thing. But first, like superman exposing his S, I grabbed a fist full of jacket chest on each side and gave a great tug. Nothing. I then squinted and closed my left eye tightly (I don’t know why) as I listened to the metal scraping against metal sound get closer to my face. I heard the man say “okay, that should do it.” I was all sorts of sad and relieved as I removed the jacket. I thanked the man or I didn’t, I don’t remember. What I do remember is wadding the jacket up and tossing it in a nearby trash can.

“Friggin’ Monday” I shouted.

I'm Starting To Not Like You...

“I’m starting to not like you” is what the clerk in the thrift store told me. A local chain of 15 or twenty thrift stores has a location a block from the university. To present themselves as trendier and less thrifty, they even have created a name/brand different from the rest of their organization. Last year it was publically reported that the organization made $16,000,000. strictly from donations. People bring them their goods or they go and pick them up if too large and the rest is gravy. The profits fund homeless shelters and alcohol and drug rehabilitation. A fine model you say? Well, I thought so as well. (This has bothered me for some time so forgive me if you have heard me whine about this before)

The trendy university shop, I am told does very well. The university has roughly 25,000 students and roughly 10,000 employees. The store has taken great advantage of their targeted market. There are many students from other parts of the country with stores that charge a great deal more and as well, there are foreign students who out of convenience or ignorance believe they are getting a bargain. Many of the prices are at least 3 or 4 times their other locations. For instance, men’s footwear at their other locations are $5.00 for shoes and $7.00 for boots. At the trendy location, the prices are whatever the market will bear. I have never seen men’s footwear for $5.00; anywhere from $15.00-$45.00+ is typical at this shop. The other day I saw an obviously used pair of shoes for $34.00. I don’t believe they were worth a buck. Used shirts carry tags of $6.99. I have purchased new shirts at JCPenney sales for $5.00. In addition, the shop sells used furniture at a premium. They actually look online for the price of a new item and then price the used at a third regardless of age or condition, most times. Many of their household items are sold (which are used) at the same price as new.

Here are a few of the price differences...

US= University store,
Other= other thrift stores in same organizational chain

Men's Ties
$2.99-$6.99  US
$1.99  Other

Men's Shoes
$15.00-$45.00+ US
$5.-shoes, $7.-boots Other

Dress Shirts
$6.99-$9.99 US
$3.99-$4.99 Other

Tee Shirts
$3.99-$9.99 US  
$1.99 Other

Hats
$3.99-$6.99 US
$.1.99 Other

Scarves
$6.99-$12.99 US
$1.99 Other

 I have made several inquiries about prices and I guess they are sick of me. From conversations it is clear that store management and employees believe that if someone purchases the items, if anything they should have charged more. I queried why they believed it was okay to bleed one group of poor to make another group comfortable? Even though the university charges $54,000., most students don’t have much left over after that. Again, I was told that “they buy it” meaning the traffic bore the price, therefore no one got hurt. I have persisted over time and that is why they are angry with me.

Who are they, Robin Hood? How can you justify robbing one group of poor over another? I am told that the people who shop there are not as bad off as the people their profits serve. Could it not be argued that their customers made a different set of choices than their constituents? And who is to say that those who made “better” choices should be abused to help those who did not? I have indeed heard other customers grumble about the prices but, because the students and others who are a tad clueless of the actual value of items still buy the goods, the store pushes the envelope. Used jeans last week were $6.99 and this week $9.99. I asked why and was told because they were good brand when new.

This is not an antique shop, in fact I imagine that antiques don’t even make it to the retail floor, but that is another story. I do not understand that they do not get that they are abusing people. How is that alright just because you help alcohol/drug addicted people? I probably should not be too judgmental here but, I find this all a bit a-moral. They are taking great advantage of their customers yet, I’m the bad guy for noticing?

LESISM'S Two

Thy Brother's Keeper

Drama Thy Name Is Les - We have well established that if anything weird is going to happen, it will happen to me. The universe, I believe uses me as a default. 

Anywho, this morning I decided to walk to the grocery store. At around a quarter to eight I passed a late model Subaru parked at the curb with its headlights on and the engine running. I also thought it odd that the windows were half fogged. Curious, I walked nearer and spied 3 college guys either sleeping or dead, which I guess is kind of an eternal sleep, but no matter. At this point, I also noticed that all the windows were wound up. the windows were mostly steamed up but, I could easily see someone in the driver's seat, passenger seat and a third person lying across the back seat covered with a light colored jacket. I pondered for a moment as to whether or not I should do something. Who knows how long they had been there or if their sleep was temporary? I decided that if the lights were still on and the engine was as well still running; and they weren't parked in a closed garage, they were mostly just sleeping off last night's festivities rather than risking a D.W.I. violation. I thought that I would take the same way back and check on them.

I continued on with my walk for about a half block until Annoying-Moral-Les surfaced. I went back. Three taps on the window woke the driver and the passenger next to him stirred as well. He rolled down the window, "Hey dude, what's up?" I told him that he shouldn't have the engine running with the windows wound up while he and his friends were asleep. "Okay, dude" he said as he smiled broadly and wound the window up while reclining and turning the headlights off at the same time. His driver's side passenger had already returned to his slumber (my) mid-sentence. The passenger in the back seat had never moved during this exchange. I continued onward believing that a cop would pass by and I could tell that person. 

What was my responsibility here? I continued on my way. A couple blocks up I passed a middle-aged guy running. I stopped him and shared my tale. He said that he would look out for the car. As well, I kept an eye peeled for a cop car, but did not see one either coming or going to the store. An hour and a half later I walked back that way and fortunately, they had gone. I share this tale in that it was a moral dilemma of sorts. How much of a keeper are we to be to our brother? If three adults drink to excess and end up in a bad situation, is it our responsibility to in effect care more than they do and "save" them. I am uncertain of a definitive answer here and welcome your comments.

All before 8:00a.m.

Here are just a few situations and observances that I have noticed this morning.

One.

I would actually like to try a Hazelnut Macchiato, but I cannot bring myself to saying those words out loud.

Two.

In the past week I have passed three different guys wearing short short spandex shorts as clothing. Pushing the envelope is one thing; seeing what’s in the envelope is horribly unnecessary.

Three.

A Testimonial:
I purchased a “treat” last evening, Sugar-Free cookies. Geez, after the first bite I checked the package ingredients to see if both sand and dirt were included. The absurdity of it all made me laugh and then cough and the rest is why I use Tide.

Four.

A Laptop, two cell phones, an iPad, a fancy charger pad, an even fancier iced coffee thingy and he appeared to only pretend to work. Oh wait, he has a call and he’s going to be on FB later. As well, he’s considering a new BMW. He also curses as my grandmother would say “like a drunken sailor”.

Five.

In the park someone has constructed a fort from old blankets and available bushes. I left a big bag of grapes at the front door.

Six.

I boldly assisted two undergrads with direction to studies of beauty symmetry. How? Why” Because those who can do and those who can’t teach.

Seven.

While attempting to adjust my collar, I managed to give myself a really hard uppercut. 

It's going to be a great day!

"Where is your God now Moses?"

WOW! Drama in real life… Earlier, as I stood waiting to cross the street downtown I had a bird’s eye view of an unfolding drama. A man in his early 40’s held a 6”X8” sign which read “HOMOSEXUALITY IS A SIN. JESUS WILL SAVE YOU!” The man also held a portable microphone as he bantered with the six or eight people who had gathered and obviously disagreed with the man and his message. The most vocal was a short woman in her mid-late 60’s. She was outraged and suddenly ripped the sign from the man’s hands and tore it from the 2’X4’ length of lumber it was attached to. The man looked stunned as the woman tossed the sign at him and started to walk to the other side of the street. Once to the other side she apparently changed her mind and turned around. Once back where she started, she began beating the Christian with the length of wood. His pleas for the police went ignored by the large crowd that had now gathered.

As I watched, I stood in shock with the voice of Edward G. Robinson (The Ten Commandments) in my head saying   “Where is your God now Moses?”