Little Miss Thing, age 7: (holding plush rabbit) “Mr. Flops loves you, Daddy.”
Me: “How is my Grand-Bunny today?”
LMT: “He’s not your grandchild. I got him from the shelter.”
Me: “If you adopted him and love him, then he’s most definitely my grandchild, and I love him all the same.”
(pause)
LMT: “Hug attack!” (throws bunny in my face)
Me: “Oww!”
LMT: “Sorry. He’s just happy to have a family.”
Me: “Hi. I need my suit cleaned and pressed today, please.”
Dry Cleaner Lady: “Sorry, can’t do it for today, hon. You have to get it in by 9 am for same day pickup, and even then you can’t pick it up until after 5.”
Me: “Oh, I didn’t realize.”
DCL: “Yah, sorry. See, it’s on the sign here and everything.” (points at sign)
Me: “Oh.”
DCL: “We really can’t make exceptions.”
Me: “Sure. Of course not.”
DCL: “Thanks for understanding.”
Me: “Of course. Really, I understand. Thank you for your time.”
(two steps toward door, turns back)
Me: “Just by chance, do you know of any other cleaners that could do it today? It’s for my Mom’s funeral tomorrow, so I have to find someone who can do it today.”
(long pause)
DCL: “We’ll have your suit ready for you by 3.”
I’m eating my cheap omelet in a diner where “with cheese” means a pale yellow square of American slapped on top. I can still see the wrinkles pressed into the “cheese” from the recently removed cellophane wrapper.
Eddie Rabbit’s “I Love a Rainy Night” rattles quietly above from crackling, overworked speakers.
The too-friendly waitress buzzes, smiling, from table to booth, flaming red fingernails highlighting all the yellow-gold rings on each hand.
Next to me four white-haired, gravel-voiced older men in work clothes loudly discuss old cars, old girlfriends, and how the government should be doing more to protect “intersex people.”
Wait… wut?
I love this town.
Very Vocal Viking 