Monthly Archives: December 2017

On the nights that I pick up my wife from work, there is an impromptu show of sorts that takes place after closing time.  Sometimes, it seems as if it could have been scripted.

Their closing time is 9 pm, and it has been so for as long as I can remember.  They lock up, do a cleaning of the store, and usually turn out the lights by about 9:30.  I sit and smile at the number of cars that pull up within that half hour, and the people that get out, try the door, peer into the windows, shake their heads, go back and look twice at the store hours which are plainly posted on the door, make various gestures of frustration, and depart.

There was a woman who arrived after the store lights were already turned out, got out of her car, and went through the above procedure at least twice, then commenced to bang on the window, demanding entry.  I could see the employees shaking their heads and pointing to the clock, but the woman just stood there gesturing.  Finally, the crew came out, followed by my wife, who locked the door.  The woman went up to her, shouting and waving her arms.  They talked for a moment, then my wife got into the car.  The woman had wanted them to reopen the store so she could get a pack of smokes.  My wife had suggested that she go to the grocery store next door, and the woman said she was not allowed in there anymore.

On another night, there was a youngish fellow leaning against the front of the store.  He was obviously very drunk and had just finished a cigarette, tossing the butt into the garbage can.  After a couple of minutes, he started searching his pockets, presumably for another, without success.  He then spotted a small metal box hung upon the wall.  This box was the designated destination for cigarette butts, and he looked happy that he had found it.  He opened the lid and withdrew two or three, put them in his pocket, and finally found one that was mostly intact.  With a smile on his face, he searched his pockets once again.  No matches left.  Stumbling around, he sidled up to my car window.  I said “sorry, buddy, my car doesn’t have a lighter”.  No lie, it didn’t.  He then went towards the grocery store, attempted to enter via the OUT door, and got body slammed when someone activated it.  Nothing serious.  He got up and went in, but was subsequently forcibly removed by store staff.  Lastly, he went back over to where he had been leaning, hanging his head dejectedly, until he noticed a waft of smoke coming from the garbage can.  He emptied it on the ground and found that his discarded butt had started a small blaze, and eureka! he had a light for his stogie.  He stamped out the flames and just left everything lie.  This whole vignette brought to mind the old
Red Skelton character by the name of Clem Kadiddlehopper.

Just some idles studies in human nature.  Don’t get me wrong, there are many things I’ve done in my life that deserved to be laughed at and probably were.  The smiles I enjoyed were by association.

Trigger warning: Suicidal ideation.

She might have seen the signs in the months before.
His snarlyness.  The odd sleeping hours. The overeating.  The loss of interest in anything but the damn iPad.  How everything else seemed to require a gargantuan effort.  The seemingly blatant and secretive disruptions of her compulsion for organization.  The knives stuck to their magnetic strip inside the cupboard door (one pointing downwards).  A coffee cup hung “backwards” on its hook in defiance of the other dozen.  His surly incommunicativeness.  “Where are you going?” To a medical appointment.  “What for?”
Doc says I need to see a psychologist.  “What’s the matter?”  I don’t really know.
“Well, snap out of it, will you?  It’s no picnic around here”  And “Get off those damn pills,
I don’t want to be around to see you pass out on the floor.”  These words, like daggers to him, open a perfect furrow, and an unwelcome seed is sown.  An unhealthy association develops between the figurative knife and the actual.  After all, how can she know, or understand?  She has only her fear to guide her, and knows not what else to do.  If I tell her about the blackness, she will think it is her fault and will become more distraught, or she will view me as weak.  They have been fighting more as of late, with few pleasant moments between them.  She goes off to work, this time for the whole evening.  Good, some time to myself.  I’ll lay down for a bit.  God, I have to get up and do something.  This is no good.  Too restless.  The Doc asked me to write down how I feel at some particular moment.  How about restless, anxious, sad, and worthless?  How long has she been gone?  God, it’s too lonely.  Too lonely.  I wish she was here.  Why am I thinking about the silverware drawer?

Merry Christmas.

What are you looking for

What are you eating

Did you close the garage door

Did you lock the front door

Why are all the lights on

Where’s all the cats

How come you only put 2 inches of water in the sink when you wash dishes

What’s the expiry date on that

Are you off work this weekend

What are your hours tomorrow

When are you going to fix that

Who are you calling

Where’s my glasses (they’re on your head)

If you want to save electricity, why do you leave the TV on all the time
(keeps the cats company)

Who’s that woman you were talking to

What did you do today while I was working

Did you see that funny video on Facebook

You going to apply for that job they had advertised

How did your day go

Are you not feeling well

What are all those unlabeled things in the freezer

How many months have they been there

Why don’t you put labels on them

Did you forget it was our anniversary

How many stitches did it take to close that wound

Did I hear you say you were sorry?

Did you forget it was my birthday

What do you want for Christmas (nothing)

Where’s my glasses (reprise)

What time is your lunch break (same time every day)

Did you talk to any of the kids today (no)

Why don’t they ever call us

Did you take the garbage out (yes, dammit)

Will you dig me 35 holes to plant my tulip bulbs in

Will you stay with me?

Yes, I will

 

 

 

I do not wish to be critical of people (watch this, I will do it again).  Have been judgmental in my life, too many times.  At this late date, it is still a tug of war with something higher that tries to steer me away from this ingrained habit.  I once wrote a poem called Pieces of you , and the motivations for it I will put down here.

On a time, I was at a gas station snack bar to get some coffee and lunch.  The young fellow behind the counter seemed either hard of hearing, or of limited ability to understand, as it took him some time to get my order straight.  I probably demonstrated my impatience by pacing back and forth, tapping the foot, etc.  It made no impression upon him, as he continued at his slow pace, a wide toothy grin on his face, and no communication.  I thought of him as a simpleton, and did not show any politeness in the least.  What is worse, I did a crass imitation of him when I told the story, at a later date.  Even my own daughter looked upon me with disapproval. This cut to the quick.  “Out of the mouths of babes”, as it is said.  The first step in learning a lifelong lesson.

When I have seen people with Down’s, those crippled with Palsy, or having other visible signs of “abnormality”,  I have been taken aback, perhaps for reasons threefold:
fear of the unknown, guilt that I just wanted to walk away and carry on with my own worldly concerns, and at times a squirming discomfort when their eyes have met mine and I saw that their souls were perhaps more pure than my own.

Once, as a teenager, I had a horrible experience in a public washroom.  A man opened the stall door (it would not lock), and offered me a sexual service if I would do the same for him.  I got out of there as quickly as I could, but have borne the unpleasant memory to this day.  I know there can be real love between persons of the same sex, and that love is surely the important thing.  Changing my mindset has been a challenge.

Then there is the prejudice against people of color or different racial ethnicity.  I still realize its presence within me in some ways, even though, as they say “Some of my best friends are …..)”.  Some seem to be inscrutable and alien to me, and I am at a loss as to how to read them.  I do not think that one can say that these prejudices are learned, blaming the media or those around us who exhibit them.  We make up our own minds, and, if that includes going along with the crowd or swallowing all that we are fed through electronic media, then it is our fault.  There is good and bad in everyone, right?

And those that are on the streets, or who are on the point of being evicted from their homes.  Mostly, I do not know why they are in this kind of trouble.  The easy thing to say is that they are there because of an addiction problem, laziness, mental health issues, or all of this.  My thoughts about giving them money have been that it’s a waste, because I think they will probably just go and buy booze or drugs with it.  I would rather take them and buy them a hot meal, or give them a coat.  Would I take them into my home?  I do not think so.  There is still the fear of the unknown, and what could happen.

So, these pieces have helped form my personal puzzle.  You may identify with one or more of them.  I know that they are hard things to unlearn, and many of us may not even want to make the attempt.  I regret the assumptions I have made about people, and must try to give the benefit of the doubt.

Criticize the deeds, not the person.