sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS

I was in a hurry to get home. I’d been downtown running errands, amazed at whatever happened to Lenscrafters… they used to be the place to go for humble, inexpensive, and quick eyeglasses… but somehow it’s all gone Eurotrash. The place is a boutique for Dolce - Gabbana now where the cologned men in suits all want to help me, and to assure me that they are here to help me, and that it’s ok to ask any questions I might have, and if I want some help they’ll be right over there. I assured them that I knew, and felt entirely comfortable, and able to ask for any help I might need. This didn’t reassure them. They all seemed to be somewhat more uncomfortable after I reassured them of my personal confidence. I had to think about that a minute, but ultimately I am not interested in Gucci frames for $380 plus the price of lenses. My glasses are broken and I need to replace them, but I only want to spend about $50. I might be out of luck.

Then I was in the apple store with everyone. It was like a Samosa stand in the heart of Bombay. Everyone was screaming and shouting and raising their iPhones into the air… “Excuse me… Excuse me! I have a 3 o’clock appointment and I just want to be able to delete my email from my iPhone, can you help me?” A mess. An onslaught. A third world marketplace of consumption. I stood there quietly watching the seventy year old Armenian transvestite trying to log into the concierge for an appointment to have her iBook looked at. Her hands shook, and she smelled like garlic form last night’s meal. When she became overwhelmed she would laugh, and then swirled around like Stevie Nicks and then put her hands on her hips, look around to be sure everyone was looking at her (which of course we were) and then toss her head back and cackle with her man’s voice, and then attend to the computer again. What takes most people about three minutes took this ancient gypsy spirit about twenty five minutes (including three partial explanations, four dances, four cackles, two conversation interruptions and some typing.)

When the concierge realized what was going on he looked at me as if I were with her. I smiled and quickly took off my Foster Grants. I didn’t want anyone to think I might be with her. Well.. maybe I did. Maybe we should buy a house together and twirl around and around cackling when the IRS comes around to collect the taxes. I wonder if I could survive on raw garlic and spectacle. Probably not, but it’s a charming thought.

The concierge finally asked me if he could help me. I told him I only needed a couple keys replaced on my keyboard. He looked at me as if he were going to kiss me and with a sigh said “Oh thank god.” and we went into the back room together. He replaced my keys, had a glass of water, and then shook my hand.

On my way home, sweating in the sun, walking fast to get home in time for the goodnight chat with my son, I came upon a woman struggling with some speakers. I stopped, and then helped. She was dragging four speakers out of her section 8 walk up onto the street where she had a nice chair, a bottle of royal gate vodka and a package of More menthol 100’s and a bright orange bic lighter. We set up the speakers in a circle, and the ran back inside the house. I waited, just standing there watching over the speakers when suddenly this disco beat began to play. The Emotions began to sing. The woman re emerged from the walk up with a huge smile on her face. Her golden front tooth sparkled in the afternoon sun. Her eyes were clear, and her non metallic teeth were bright white.

We dance together on the sidewalk until she got tired and sat down, cracking open the plastic twist off cap of the vodka bottle, and lighting up a smoke. Delighted, and relieved, feeling touched by the hand of God, I walked home and had a wonderful talk with my son.

The Emotions Flowers