Appreciation...Submitted by Ducky at 2005-10-20 05:25:57 EDT
Rating: 2.0 on 18 ratings (18 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
The other day, I walk into ‘my’ coffee shop. The lunch rush is in full swing, and there are no empty tables. As I scan around, I see an older lady sitting by herself. I’ve never seen her before, and despite her borderline homeless appearance, I decide to take a chance on her and ask if I can join. As soon as she welcomes me to sit, I feel I’ve made a grave error. As I take a seat, the first thing I notice is her breath. Gone are the wonderful smells of homemade soups and sandwiches, to be quickly replaced with her stink. I don’t even think ‘halitosis’ covers it. It was more ‘I just ate the asshole out of a dead skunk’. After muffled gagging, I exchange pleasantries with her and make a mental note that I will never sit with another borderline homeless looking stranger again.
Then something on her moves. And again, more so this time.
As I’m preparing to watch something burst from her ribcage ala Alien, I see a small head protrude from the chest pocket on her shirt. Jumping out of my seat, disgusted, she calmly waves for me to sit and tells me that ‘Yammers’ won’t bite. Nice. Fucking. Name. What is a Yammers? Let me tell you. A Yammers is a large, scruffy, black-plague looking rat…not to be confused with the nicely groomed pet-store version. This is the type of rat that you would hit 50 times with a large cast iron frying pan (just to make sure), should it ever happen to make its way out of its respective sewer and decide to crawl within 20 feet of you.
I decide not to order food.
After downing my coffee and making small talk, I thank her for letting me join her and rise to leave. She looks perplexed. She grabs my arm, gives me a slow and steady look, and thanks me for the conversation. I can see sadness in her eyes. It’s clear to me that this woman has no one. She has nobody to confide in, whether she’s happy or maybe just having a shit day (not like Yammers-just-shit-in-my-pocket shit, but just a really bad day…although if some manky rat took a crap in my pocket, that- for me anyways- would qualify).
The point of all this? I don’t think I could be any more fortunate to have the friends that I do. The women in my life are some of the strongest, most intelligent and beautiful people on the face of this earth, and I feel completely fucking blessed that they’ve chosen to let me share in their lives.
The last time I went through something rough, I was nothing short of amazed at how my friends rallied around me...and my best friend in particular. This is a girl who will laugh at me when I’m sick with bronchitis and coughing like a harbor seal. She has lovingly nicknamed me Fuckhead. She reminds me that I’m lucky she’ll be seen with me when I decide to wear a skirt over jeans out of the house, and she tells me I dance like Ellen Degenerate (that bitch). Between us though, she’s the nice one, and when I need her …when it really comes down to it, she’s at my door with nothing but concern. Every. Fucking. Time. I can’t thank her enough.
Many of us have moved cities over the years, and I’ve always tried to keep negative shit to myself for the most part. I remember one point though, after a death in the family, sitting alone at work at four in the morning and crying like a child. I sent an email off to an old friend in Taiwan…she’s been gone for 2 years and man do I miss her…and when I got home from work that day I had messages on my answering machine from her, as well as from people I hadn’t spoken to in months from Waterloo, Edmonton, Cranbrook, and Seattle. What a wonderful, tight-knit, and fast moving network. They are so lovely.
I’m also fortunate to have a very large, and very close family. Despite that most of them are complete loons, I love them…and my aunts in particular. Some collect vases and scarves. Some get bored and decide to marry themselves. Some are highly medicated. To give you an idea, on one occasion I had the following transaction with my aunt:
*we’re sitting in her living room, watching television in silence. She spontaneously leaps onto the coffee table on all fours, rips her shirt off, and demands to see a mirror*
Ducky: Umm….why? What the hell are you doing?
Aunt: Damnit girl…just grab me a mirror!!!!
Ducky: God you’re weird. *gets up and grabs mirror out of bathroom*
Aunt: Well hurry up girl! I haven’t got all day! *takes mirror and places it underneath her on said coffee table*
Ducky: …*tries to ignore strangeness and turns attention back to television*
Aunt: WHAT THE FUCK???!!!! My tits look like THAT when I’m fucking????!!!!!
Ducky: I have to go.
They are workers, artists, family, and above all friends. I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world, and I would do anything for them. I really am lucky...and it took me sitting with some lonely old woman to really appreciate it.