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A close friend of mine, a newlywed, recently moved to the fine city of Miami, Florida with her graduate student husband. Now this friend is a warm, down to earth girl with the utmost of Midwestern sensibilities, so as you can imagine, Miami does not exactly feel like home. The people are rude (except for the old folks) and everything is chic, hip, expensive, and trendy. It is a city lacking in mashed potatoes, stonewashed jeans and great lakes.
I was talking to this friend on the phone, trying to console her and pull her out of her unhappy state. She dislikes where she lives, her job is awful and she has not made any age appropriate friends (though Mr. and Mrs. Goldfarb upstairs are just dolls). In an attempt to console her, I point out that at least she is getting plenty of Vitamin D living in Miami, a vitamin essential for calcium absorption. I expect this to cheer her up, after all few Americans meet the recommended daily dosage of D, but all I got was silence on the other end.
I guess when you are feeling miserable, the intricacies of vitamin absorption are not enough to cheer you up...
My friend and I were downtown one evening and with dinner time fast approaching but little money in our pockets, we headed to Subway. Truthfully, we went there because my friend has calculated the exact number of calories in a 6 inch turkey sub on wheat and allows herself to eat there twice a week. She really savors the anemic deli meat sandwiches and the array of bland veggies and breads they offer.
Anyway, as we walk into the small store in Dupont, we find ourselves between an angry woman and a poor fellow behind the counter looking quite bemused. Yells the woman “the sign says FOOT LONGS!!! And you’re telling me you don’t have hot dogs!?” The man replies meekly in broken English, “sorry no hot dog, sandwich.” Pointing to the window sized sign, the customer, now completely irate, screams “How can you have that sign up and no hotdogs!!!!!!!?” The clerk, still confused, repeats “sorry, no hot dog, sandwich.” Quickly realizing the confusion, I was about to interject and explain to the woman, on the sandwich maker's behalf, that the advertisement was for foot long sandwiches, not hotdogs. However, before I could do so, she whipped around and left the store in a huff, grumbling to herself all the way.
Moments later, as my friend begins to order her sandwich, the woman comes back into the store, slumped over and looking ashamed. She apologized and explained her misunderstanding of the advert. For several mintues, she tells us all how sorry she is, how “sincerely sorry” she is and that no, she still does not want a sandwich, but wanted the clerk to know how regretful she was of her behavior. Once she seemed satisfied with her penance, she left once again. Several minutes later we got our sandwiches. Eat Fresh
My folks had been looking forward to seeing Anne Murray in concert for several months, but at the last minute were unable to attend. As their favorite daughter (and the only one in the area) the pair of tickets was left to me. I went with a friend and had a rockin' good time. The crowd was definitely an over 60 bunch, but I like old people and aside from the occasional crinkling of hard candy being unwrapped, you would have never known this excitable crowd was full of senior citizens. Anyway, the concert was great but the trouble began as I was exiting the parking garage.
I pulled out of my space and turned, following all of the appropriate arrows. Now, I was definitely going against a thick slow line of traffic, all the while silently wondering what those fools were doing. As I crawl along, accelerating with the pace of a two-toed sloth, I become aware of the glares coming from the other drivers as I inched by. There was one driver in particular shooting me vile glances, who had her head literally sticking out of her window, pointing at me. Her head was protruding so far out of her vehicle that if I were to pass her (and I was approaching quickly), the hood of my car would have lopped it right off. I continue my journey and am still against traffic when I slowly pull up to her, careful not to graze her forehead. "YOU are going the wrong way," she says coldly. I begin to think to myself that maybe I should just turn around and join the other downstream fish, perhaps all of the sign and arrows I have been following were incorrect…
Not wanting to resist any longer (I will never survive a revolution), I pull into a space to attempt a 3 way turn and join the line of traffic. Of course, much to the amusement of my friend and I, no one would let us in. I say amusement because at this point I am laughing so heartily tears are streaming down my face. Just as a car gave me space to inch backwards, two old ladies, who seemingly just materialized from the thin noxious air of the parking garage, ambled behind my car. Realizing I was maneuvering out of the space, the ladies then abruptly turned towards the front of my car, and though there was plenty of room, one of the dames actually walked into my hood. By this time, the kind soul letting me into the line had long since moved on and I was left in the same spot once again.
After several minutes of desperate looks and 180 degree head turns, one fellow begrudgingly gives me a millimeter of room to back in to. However, every time I inch out of my space, he inches forward. I finally pull out, happy to be on my way and leaving the exhaust filled parking jail, only to find myself parallel to the car I thought had let me in. Not only had he not allowed me to get in front of him, I had now created my own lane of traffic, similar the problem I had before. I put my head in my hands, ready to abandon the car and walk, when finally a huge white SUV took pity and let me in.
We escape the parking garage unscathed, emerging 30 minutes after the initial pullout. As I take a final turn out onto the main road, I look to my left and see the white SUV, the one that came to my rescue just moments before. I solemnly nod, hoping he receives my quit thanks. He does, nods back and turns down the road, disappearing into the dark, misty evening.
Boy, those Anne Murray fans are tough...
