naked, rude, inaccesible, and cheap

Whew, the last few days have been eventful. I’m not gonna write about everything right now, because I kind of hate to have more than one subject in an entry, and also because I haven’t yet decided which bits I’m gonna write about at all. But I will tell you this particular bit from last night, because it’s funny and made me feel good:

Okay, as you folks know, I deliver pizza for Husson’s. And, like people who work any job where they have to deal with the public, we have certain regular customers that we hate. Husson’s Enemy #1 is this guy named Ayers who lives on Wilson Court. In the first place, I just don’t like Wilson Court. I don’t want to drive there. It’s a narrow, hilly, poorly-paved (even by local standards) deathtrap, and it wrecks Rosie’s suspension. Even if I was fond of him, I’d be unhappy about delivering to that place.

But really, I’m not likely to feel any fondness for him. In the first place, of course, he never tips. Ever. That’s bad enough, but he’s also very rude. He answers the door in his underwear, which I hate, a pot-bellied man in his mid-fifties standing there in his boxers and socks, no shirt. But more than that, he never says anything. I ask “How are ya doing?” Nothing. I tell him how much his food costs. He gives me the money (exact change, of course) but says nothing. I tell him I hope he enjoys his food and has a good night. By the time I can finish this statement, his door is already shut.

So last night I had to go out there. I had plenty of time, picking my way out to Wilson Court, to simmer, and I was angry by the time I got to his house. But when he opened the door, I was still all polite smiles.

“Hello,” I said. He just stood there.

“Hellooooo,” I said again. Still, he made no response.

And, it just pissed me off. I just decided that I was tired of his behavior. So I said, “Look, I’ve been coming out here a couple of times a month for a year now, and you’ve never said one word. I’m a human being and I deserve to be treated with respect, and I’m not giving you this food ‘til you say hello to me!”

He stood there for a second, and I was really just about to take his food and go back to the store, but he finally mumbled a grumpy “hello.” Didn’t hurt, did it?

“Thank you,” I said. “That’ll be $14.56.”

So when I got back to the store I asked Phil, the manager, whether he’d called to complain. Phil said no, but asked why I thought he might. So I told him and Anthony, the other driver, the story. And they laughed, and Anthony said I was his hero, ‘cause EVERYBODY at Husson’s hates this guy, it isn’t just me, and then Phil got on his cell phone and started calling the rest of the crew, all the people who work there but were off last night, to tell them the story.

So now I’m accidentally a Husson’s legend, which is pretty cool. But mostly, it just felt really good to tell Ayers off. I had a big smile on my face the whole rest of the night.

You're no URNOJFK

Some of you young folks may not remember much about the 1988 Presidential election. It went badly. But it did boast one beautiful moment, one iconic, pop-culture incident that stands out. It came in, of all places, the Vice-Presidential debate. Dan Quayle (remember him?) was trying to deflect criticism that he was too young and inexperienced to be the VP. He said at one point during the debate that “I have far more experience than many others that sought the office of vice president of this country. I have as much experience in the Congress as Jack Kennedy did when he sought the presidency.” Which, incidentally, wasn’t true, but we’ll let that go.

Anyway, Lloyd Bentsen responded with an all-time great line: “Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy; I knew Jack Kennedy; Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy.”

And the crowd went wild, and we all went wild. It was really the only bright spot for the Dems in that campaign. (The GOP had their own iconic moment, of course; remember the Snoopy helmet?)

So, there was this person in Richmond back then who went out and got a personalized plate put on her car that read “URNOJFK.” Mama spotted it first and told me about it (I can’t remember now if the person in question was a friend of hers). And a little while later I happened to come across it on one of my late-night walking, thinking, singing and drinking sessions. For the next few months I brought all my friends by to look at it. I never got tired of it, you know? It was a welcome voice of defiance during the Daddy Bush presidency. Every time I’d pass that corner, and she was home, it would make me smile.

She kept it throughout his mercifully short term. She kept it when the Clintons came to power, too (and after the election results were final in 1992, my friends and I went out and toasted the license plate in the middle of the night). For ten years or more, that license plate was a standard tourist stop for me. Every time I went home, I would be sure to stop by the apartment, near the meeting of Elwood and the Boulevard, to see that car. Dude, it just never got old.

This past time, when I was home, I went by to see it, just before leaving town. And it wasn’t there! I was heartbroken. There was a car parked in her old space, though, that had a plate on it saying DEMOCAT. D’ya think it’s maybe the same woman? If it is, I wish someone would tell her that this is much less cool.