“Happy Hump Day, Bitch!” My voice mail to a friend.
The irate tone was well deserved I thought, since I had looked forward to talking to him personally. My fumbling around with the blue tooth earpiece on the way to the gym had been for naught and, worse, I could have gotten in an accident had my eyes strayed for an additional millisecond. Now, that would have been a reckless way of reaching out to a BFF, huh?
Went to the gym early that day for the 5-pm Zumba so I could mail on the way the completed RMD1 forms at our town village hall. Felt good that I made it in time for the last 4:30 p.m. postperson pickup.
I coasted my car, facing out, into a perpendicular parking space at the gym’s parking lot. Backing out is a no-no according to my niece since she found out that the engine used more gas.
As I was gathering my cell phone, keys, and water bottle, the “Star Gaze” ringtone came on and with earpiece already hooked on my ear, I picked up the call.
“How are you, AH2?” my friend Pat asked in her usual endearing way.
“Fine. I am in the gym’s parking lot, ready to go inside. How are you?” I answered with suspicion since she only calls whenever she wants something.
“Not much.”
Right after the short exchange of pleasantries, we bantered about whose-fault-for-not-getting-back-to-me-soon-enough to explain the long silence between us.
“I tried to contact you,” she said.
“I don’t think you did despite my e-mails and voice mails”.
“I did contact you,” she insisted.
It was then that I confessed that I might have blocked her phone number. The inadvertent confession riled her up, prompting accusatory remarks which included why I laughed nefariously when I picked up the call.
“Well, I get a lot of scam calls and I thought yours was one of them.”
“So, never accuse me of failing to call you.”
“Are you calling to find out whether we could go some place tonight?” I redirected the flow to assuage the situation.
“Oh, maybe,” she hesitated.
“Sorry, Pat, but I am already going inside the gym and getting late for the 5 pm Zumba,” I answered as weekday warriors, oblivious to my talking to myself, marched in with me. Hmmm…either people are so polite or have accepted loud verbal chats on cell phones as a norm.
“Oh, okay. We’ll talk again later.”
I handed my card to the information desk clerk and proceeded to an outside locker for my hooded sweat shirt, ring, watch, earpiece and bulky key ring. Squeezed the locker key inside my back yoga pants pocket and picked up a clean towel, filled up my water bottle, and put towel and water bottle in my usual place in the gym. Since I was not really late, I sat on a bench and tried to access the internet on my cell phone. So, I lied to Pat. Don’t you ever make white lies? What do you want from me?
Having difficulty with internet access, I moved around the gym hoping for a successful connection, but to no avail. Instead, I went back to the bench and tried saving bears in the level #273 Candy Crush Game.
Zumba started with my favorite instructor. Having overdone lifting heavier weights and joining Strong Zumba for the first time the day before, I irritated my right shoulder which had rotator cuff surgery years ago. Thus, I favored my right shoulder, allowing the left to do all the strenuous and graceful extensions. During the go-get-water breaks, I smelled my armpits whether they were odor-free since at last Zumba, I kept smelling something weird. I thought that the typical axillary odor emanated from someone else, but once I got home, I found out that I was the culprit; washed and deodorized my armpits in haste and dared not to reuse the also guilty athletic shirt for next Zumba.
My arthritic knees and sore right shoulder made it through a sweaty full hour with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” routine and the post workout stretches capping the group exercise. Left the gym astonished at my being more limber and having a stronger body core.
Stopped at our town’s McDonald’s to redeem a buy-one-get-one-free coupon. However, as soon as I parked the car, the thought of missing out on claiming a free T-Mobile Tuesday Halloween Bucket crossed my mind. I rushed out to get to the branch at the mall, making it within the 4-hour window nary a traffic bummer. Clerk gave me an extra for my niece when I told him that her town branch ran out. Took picture of the buckets which I texted to my niece who was both surprised and pleased.
I drove back to the same McDonald’s with the stacked electric pink Jack o’Lantern buckets keeping me company on the passenger seat. I was happy as I angle parked.
Since I was 5th in the line at the counter, I had some time to scan the wall menu as to which to consider a “buy” or “free”. Still bewildered by the many choices, I was at a loss when I became the only person in the line. The girl at the counter, sensing my head-scratching impression, offered to help with the patience of a saint. I heaved a sigh of relief when the right choice as a “buy” and a “free” was ultimately decided. Moved to the side to wait for my order. While waiting, I felt a deep sense of gratitude to the girl who was not only pleasant, but quite pretty.
“What did you say your name was?” I asked even though she already told me of it.
“Brianna,” she said with a surprised look on her face.
“Could you spell it for me?”
“Brianna. B-R-I-A-N-N-A”.
“Thank you. I will be mentioning you in my evaluation tomorrow. By the way, who is your manager?”
“She is here and her name is Maria,” she said while pointing to someone in the kitchen.
Brianna introduced Maria to me as she approached the counter.
“Maria, you should be lucky to have Brianna as your employee. She is very nice and very helpful”.
“Thank you,” Maria said as she rubbed Brianna’s shoulder. I couldn’t hear what she was saying to Brianna, but I knew it was complimentary just by looking at their faces.
Feeling good, I slid to the other side of the counter and picked up on saving the bears to kill time.
“We are making your sandwich right now. Can you take a seat while you are waiting? I will give it to you when it’s ready,” Brianna explained after a minute or two. I nodded and sat at a table with my back towards the counter. Hmm…I must save the last bear now, if not tonight!
Brianna broke my bear-saving zealotry as she stood next to me with a big McDonald’s bag.
“Here’s your order, sir, and thank you for waiting,” she said.
“Thank you,” I emphasized, giving her a very approving thumbs up as I walked towards the door.
Drove home in a seeming mist of unmistakable McDonald’s smell as I wondered why the bag was bigger and that it smelled of something different from what I ordered.
Once inside my garage, I rushed out of the car with my sandwich bag and laid it on the dining table. As soon as I was seated, I propped open to the page where I stopped of Stephen King’s book, “On Writing” and while holding my breath, I unrolled open the bag. Inside were 2 boxes, on top of each other. But right next to stack was a large order of French Fries! With pumped fist, I let out a shout that almost knocked off the laptop holding open the book.
I knew it! I knew it! Did they give a freebie because I had the patience to wait or because of how my simple act created a nice feeling of existence between Brianna, Maria, and me? Never mind that I would have liked the latter to have been the reason, I was quite ecstatic! With such relish, I started eating them as I read the last few pages of the book. While holding the last fry, words on page 269 broke me into tears:
“Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.”2
I have always realized that I find joy in writing and have also known that I make a few happy because of it. Must I then deny them and myself, I guess, of the continued happiness if I allow laziness or lack of desire to let a day go by without a writing paragraph or two? And why did I cry? Was it because I felt guilty for the lapses or was it because it was for joy?
I finished the book and ate the last fry. With a full stomach and puffy eyes, I marched off to my bedroom. As I pulled the bed sheet and quilted cover over me, my attention wandered from watching TV to thoughts of writing daily and its joys, reading more books, calling Pat for a friends’ night out, attending the sore on right shoulder, praising Brianna on *McdVoice3, Stephen King inspiring me, and being pleased that Larry, my bitch of a friend, called to apologize for not “being there”.
I nodded off with the TV on.
1. RMD, Required Minimum Distribution; anyone reaching the age 70½, is required by
law to annually withdraw a certain amount of money from retirement accounts.
2. AH – asshole
3. Stephen King, “On Writing”, Scribner, 2000, p 269
4. McdVoice: www.mcdvoice.com McDonald’s Survey Customer Satisfaction
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