Have You Met Me?

Part One

On the Fourth of July, Gasaus was a good financial person and went into work to get caught up on spreadsheets or whatever magical numbers thing he does. This left Blair, Buddha and I to head off into New York City on our own. Armed with Gasaus’ subway map, we headed off to The Metropolitan Museum of Art. We were very proud of ourselves, getting around the city on our own. I’d like to think we almost did not even look like tourists.

Well, expect for the cameras dangling from our wrists.

After the museum, we thought we’d try to go to the top of the Empire State Building. Unfortunately, there was a very long wait. At the base of the building was a brewery so we decided to pop into there instead. The air conditioning seemed very welcoming. Buddha went to the bar and came back with a sampler, tiny glasses filled with a variety of beer.

It make have been the first time in the history of our world where we, as a group, did not find one single beer we liked. We did not finish a single one of the sample glasses of beer. I know, it’s rather shocking.

We quickly left, hoping to run away from that unfortunate experience of bad, bad, bad beer. We took the subway back to New Jersey and wandered around a mall until Gasaus could meet us. From there, we walked to the river front to scope out a spot to watch the fireworks over the Manhattan skyline. The sun had not begun to go down yet, we had hours to kill and were in need of dinner. The first place we came to was only taking reservations. A few more blocks away from the river, a little French restaurant had a table.

Two bottles of wine later and a setting sun, we were ready to head back to the river front. I got up from the table to use the bathroom before we headed back out. There were two small bathrooms side by side in the restaurant, neither was specifically marked either male or female Instead, they just had a sign on each door that said, ‘restroom.’ I went in one, locked the door behind me and went about my business of using the restroom.

I was in the middle of pulling up my pants when tragedy struck.

I happen to notice the door handle turning almost at the same moment I heard the click of the lock going out on the door. And then, I saw a hairy big arm start to come in. Now, I do not remember what I did, what I said or what I screamed exactly. All I know is that I quickly jumped towards to door, hoping to block it from opening up any more.

The man who was thinking he was coming in screamed in shock. In embarrassment. Or, in hindsight, maybe it was fear of losing his arm.

Either way, the arm disappeared quickly. Just to be sure, I rested my arm against the door for a moment, waiting, hoping to recover my dignity.

Seconds passed slow.

And I waited.

But, at last, I knew the truth.

The dignity was gone.

Clearly.

No matter how long I waited, it was never coming back.

I finished pulling up my carpi pants and washed my hands, put on a brave face and opened the door. I was thankful that at least I did not know which man it was that I made scream like a girl, which man it was that may or may not have seen me in a very flattering, I am sure, pants half on moment.

I would just pretend nothing happen and hope no one noticed, I decided, looking into the mirror on last time, just to prove that I looked normal enough.

I came back to the table and sat down next to Gasaus, hoping that my friends had not even missed me.

My luck had run out.

Buddha had his face in his hands, laughing. Gasaus explained that he was very, very sad that his back was turned. He missed almost all of it. But, rest assured, he did hear it all.

All I could do was shrug my shoulders and wait for their laughter to stop. After all, they’ve met me.

Part Two
At least I was alone this time.

I went to use the bathroom in the pub we stopped at for a drink before our show. After a bit, I headed to the bathroom, certain to latch the stall door. I swear. But still, the door opened.

Because you’ve met me.

At least I was alone but still, I panicked.

Part Three

I stopped to use the restroom on the way to my gate at the airport. It was very early on a Monday morning. Given the Five AM hour, I was very surprised at just how busy the airport was. Inside a bathroom near the gate, I made sure that the bathroom stall door was latched closed, because I will spend the rest of my life making sure of that, and I parked my luggage up against the door.

It was a backup plan, in case the latch really wasn’t working properly.

A few seconds later, I saw a small hand reaching under the door. And then, another.

And then, a face.

Did I mention that I was peeing?

And it’s hard to stop midstream.

“Hi.” said the little girl, who was maybe three. “Are you going potty?”

“I am.” I said. What else is there to say, really?

And then I heard her mother yell at her to get up off the floor. She did not yell at her for chatting with strangers. Or peeking under bathroom doors. She yelled at the toddler for crawling on the floor.

And just like that, my visitor was gone.

And, we’re off.

Next post from the prairie.

“Can you put a help request in with the help desk?” a coworker asked his assistant.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, “And being retarded does not count.”

“What are you doing in preparation for my arrival?” I asked my mother. Mom is (still) in North Dakota, being a good daughter. I am heading up there soon. It will be my first time there in almost three years.

Mom thought for a moment. “Not much.” she said. “Actually nothing.”

#1

So, I have been entertaining myself with singing, “I’m leaving, on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again” at work whenever anyone asks me for something.

“We know.” said my boss today, “you’re going on vacation.”

I just smiled and continued with another round of, “I’m leaving, on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again…”

#2

I asked Mom if she could have some beer for us, I suggested Corona with limes. “Lime flavored?” asked my mother, a woman who does not drink.

“No.” I said. “Get fresh limes and the beer.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s just how you drink them.” I told her.

“It does not sound appealing at all.” said my mother.

“Never mind.” I told her.

#3

Grandpa is moving into a center that specializes in memory loss. Everyone is very thrilled that they found a place that seems such a good fit.

#4

I got a phone call at almost one AM last night, someone saying that work was canceled because of water damage. “This is Mike, from work.” said the voice on the other end of the phone, “calling to tell you to not come into work tomorrow.” He repeated, “This is Mike, from work.”

I was asleep when he called, and a bit confused, stuck in that haze of being woken up by a ringing phone. I did not ask this person, ‘Mike,’ where we worked or anything. Especially since, when I hung the phone, I realized that I did not work with anyone named, ‘Mike.’

I got out of bed and came downstairs, logged onto my work e-mail, just to double-check. There was no notice, no e-mail about anything from work. It took hours, but I finally fell back to sleep, all the while hoping work was really canceled. I knew enough to know I could not be that lucky.

In the morning, I thought maybe it was some sort of weird dream but the phone call was on my caller ID. It was, most likely someone’s weird twisted joke or a case of mistaken identity. As I pulled into the office parking lot this morning, I knew work was not canceled.

And that made for a very sad day.

#5

My favorite department store is having its annual summer clearance. I got some new bras, marked down from $50 and $75 for only $9. I love saving more than I spend, especially on stuff like that. But I do have a question- in the clearance piles, I found some bras that were marked down to $99 dollars. I looked closer. There was no typo. The original price was over $400.

So my question is this: who are the people - woman - that really pay $400 for a bra?

“Jack ass, you came in.” said the departmental assistant.”You ain’t been here all week.”

Excellent grammar.

“I have too been here.” I said. “Just in lots of meetings and, hey, you called me a ‘jack ass.’ That’s not very nice.”

“I have had no one to gossip with what with you being busy and all.” she said.

“I have deadlines. Wait, do you have any gossip?” I asked, hopeful. It has been so very quiet at the office these past few months.

“No.” she said. “You?”

“Nothing.” I said. “Nothing at all.”

I called Gasaus to ask about his plans, specifically his footwear plans, for the national parks we will be visiting next week. “What kind of shoes are you bringing?” I asked, as there are lots of potential hikes in our future. Good shoes are required. Even I know this. “Tennis shoes or hiking books?”

He explained to me his shoe options and asked what I was planning on bringing. I told him that I was considering either tennis shoes or more hiking shoes or both. I am not known for my sensible shoe choices so it pains me to be responsible and proactive. Neither the tennis shoes or the hiking shoes are black or heeled. Or cute, compared to my usual choices.

That pains me even more. (And will pain me even more if I attempt to walk a National Park trail in them).

“Well you better bring some good shoes, girly, girl or I’ll make you wait in the car while I go on the hikes.” Gasaus told me.

It is suddenly so very tempting to bring only sandals… I am just saying.  But since Gasaus does not always find me as funny as I find myself, I refrained from asking if he would leave the air conditioning on and the car running for me too should I not bring good shoes. In the end, I decided to pack both a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of good hiking shoes ala Dr. Martens.

There I go, being all sensible.

(But still know enough to pack band-aids too. Just in case).

“How long have I been gone?” asked my mother, from her childhood hometown, some 1200 miles from her home.

“Twelve years.” I told her.

“No really,” she asked again, “how long have I been gone?”

“Three weeks.” I told her.

“Three weeks?” repeated my mother. “Three weeks?”

“Yep.” I told her.

“It feels like a lot more. I am exhausted.”

“It feels like twelve years,” I asked, “doesn’t it.”

“You have no idea.” she said.

Believe me, I do.

Parents will do that to you.

“Have your parents sucked the life out of you?” I asked her, already knowing the answer.

“I think so.” said my mother, “I think so.”

“Dude,” said the product manager, “I am so out of here. Off on vacation. Leaving all you losers behind. You can cry all you want but I am out of here. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel,” I said, “like you’ll be the loser when you get back because I will be gone on vacation then. Who’ll be crying then?”

“Um, me.” he said, as his air of coolness vanished.

I called Aunt Deb this afternoon to see if she had any updates on my grandparents (her parents) and my mother up in Bismarck. After chatting for a few seconds, I heard her say,“I lost my phone.”

I thought maybe she was talking to someone else about her office phone as I had called her cell phone. But no one answered her. I heard papers being shuffled. “Shit,” she said, “I lost my phone.”

I said nothing for a few moments as the sound of her searching for her phone continued.

“Are you still talking to me?” I finally asked.

“Oh.” she said. “I found my phone. I was holding it up to my ear.”

“Did the voice in your ear solve the mystery?” I asked, barely able to get the question out.

“Yes.” said Aunt Deb, explaining that she was wondering if she had any text messages.

I had tears in my eyes from laughing at her, not with her.