I stood outside of the Celtic, having a cigarette when I see his youngish women, perhaps late 20’s approach. She had disheveled but clean hair, far too loose jeans that sort of ballooned as she walked and a soccer team T shirt of some European squad I never heard of. She had come from the direction of the 95 overpass over Route 1 that leads into Attleboro and I had heard, from the firemen that used the bar as their clubhouse, that there were homeless encampments all along the highway in the woods there.
She came straight for me, making eye contact and when close enough she asks:
“Can you give me a ride to downtown Attleboro? I have an appointment at 11pm.”
“11 PM? What business has appointments at 11?” I think
I then figure this out. She’s one of the homeless from the highway that just wants a ride. I stood there, immediately disappointed by this request because my plan that night was to sip beer, chat and otherwise be left alone and be brain dead for a bit. This was “my time” and wanted to ratchet down some w/o people needing something from me. Shuttling the homeless wasn’t in my plans.
So how do I get out of this w/o seeming like a bastard?
I then put on an act that I am deaf. Since I had worked with the deaf population for a good time back in the 90’s, I can do a very good impression of them.
So I say, in a mangled, fumbling voice the deaf have IF they can speak, sounding a bit like Marlee Matlin from the movie Children of a Lesser God, and signing with my hands, I tell her this:
“I cahn’t hear any-think be-cawse I am defff thinth birth. You haf to th-speak tuh me wif thine langu-adge u-thing your handz. Do you know A eth L? (ASL)”
Homeless girl just stared at me for a good three seconds when she leaned into me close and responded like this, loudly, thinking that’s all that was needed.
“Can you give me a ride to downtown Attleboro? I have an appointment at 11pm!!”
“What?” I say and sign to her. I tried not to laugh because she thought the cure to my deafness was to shout at me. She tries again...
“Can YOU give me...Oh the hell with it…”
Off to our side was Becky and a few other girls from the bar laughing, after watching this show I put on. I then turn to them and protest, “Th-stop laffin at me! It’z not nithe or rite! I can’t halp that I’m deff!!!”
Homeless girl just looked at me and the girls like we were nuts. She finally gave up and went on her way.
“Yayyy!” I get to finish my butt and go back inside to sit down and sip my beer in peace.
**
Every summer I keep all the windows and doors in my house open. I like the breeze, fresh air and the openness. It also is a nice invitation to a few in this area who have known me to pop by if they do. The problem is that others I do not want to talk to feel I’m inviting them as well. Particularly salesmen.
One day some one knocks at my door and I go and see. It’s a young guy, perhaps 22, dressed sort of like a Mormon, in a white shirt, black tie and slacks. His hair is close cropped and he’s carrying an iTablet.
While at the door I just look at him through the screen, silent and wait for him to tell me why he’s here.
“Good Morning Sir! Have you noticed that your neighbor across the street has solar panels on his roof?”
“Oh Christ.” I think, a solar salesman.
I didn’t plan my next reaction, it sort of just came to me, quickly and out of nowhere. I then start rocking on my feet like a guy I know at work who does the same out of boredom or habit. I raise my hands and fold them together and press them against my chest and let my face relax, become almost loose. I now look half aware and dense.
“..and if you allow us to do a FREE inspection of your roof and power requirements of your home, I’m sure we can find the perfect system array for you that’ll get you off RI Energy’s grid!” The commission seeking sales kid tells me.
He ends his sales pitch and I let a good 15 seconds go by in silence when I say, as if my tongue has swollen two times the size in my mouth….
“Do you wan to meet my doggie? He ith down thtairs in da cellah….his name is Debby.”
I tried hard not to laugh to myself when I told him the male dog’s name was Debby.
The poor kid then comes to a slow realization that he’s talking to a old adult with retardation.
“Is there anyone else here…” the kid asks.
“No...juth me ‘n’ Debby...do you want to meet him? He iz a good doggie...he only bit my face once!”
I love how people’s eye contact can be sooo focused when they’re in a situation they never had before or seen. This poor kid was locked onto my face the whole time I was acting it up.
“Uhh...umm...I’ll come back...OK…?” the kid says, backing away a few steps before he turns around, lest I let my Debby “meet” him.
As the kid walks away, I open the screen door and wave to him and say...”Bye! Bye! Bye! Bye! Bye!” far too many times.
Cool! That got rid of him...now back to my audio editor to fix up the Grateful Dead catalog I stole off the internet.
**
I was fourteen when this occurred and it was more out of desperation, short temper and apparently it became real bad timing when it was over.
For some reason, we were getting sales calls all afternoon. Roofs! Siding! Built in pools! Credit card offers! You name it. This was also the time when they used real people to sell you stuff on the phone vs. the robocalls they use today.
I had been answering the phone all day and was getting sick of it. Finally, around 6pm I got a call and without ever finding out just who was on the other end I start a tirade.
“Listen you cocksucking son of a bitch! We don’t want your fucking useless wares or shit! Take your phone and shove it up your ass till it comes out your mouth ….so FUCK OFF!”
And I hang up the phone hard.
Sixty seconds later the phone rings again.
I pick it up and this time I normally say “Hello?”
“Ronnie? Is this Ronnie?” It’s Mary (my grandmother).
“I think I dialed the wrong number….Someone was yelling at me!”
I had happened to see the clock on the kitchen wall which said 6PM. Yep, every day for years Mary has called at 6PM to talk to my Mom. I stood there feeling the blood rush to my face and blush like I’ve never blushed before, hoping to God she didn’t recognize my voice from earlier. You don’t...you never...say words like that to your church-going Irish Catholic grandmother...ever. I had now done that.
I turn and say..”Mom...it’s for you” and I hand it off to her and slink out of there fast.
