"Could you guys work some Clash into the Muzak mix?"
That's how I joke with my favorite cashier. She's cool. She laughs. She knows customer service. I like that. If she's there, she's the only one I trust fondling my broccoli and National Enquirer. If she's not there, then I eye the UPC jockey suspiciously. Most of them don't know the difference between a yellow onion and a Hawaiian sweet. I do; it's 30 cents a pound. Which one do you think they're more likely to charge me for? My cashier knows the difference. She's accurate, she's cute, and we both have stuff in common: We both wear wedding rings. This means she's safe. I like that in a woman. She's easy to talk to, and I don't have to worry about ulterior motives.
I don't really know a lot about her. I can't even tell you her name. She wears a name tag, but the writing is small and pinned just over her right breast. My vision being what it is, I'd look like I'm staring at her chest. That would change the dynamic of our relationship. I don't want that. I'll let her keep her anonymity. For now, she's my clerk of mystery and we spend most of our time talking about my favorite subject: me. She's sweet; she listens and she remembers stuff. How can you top that?
Last week, we talked about the odd abundance of teenager regulars in aisle 14.
"What do they do there?"
"Isn't that weird? I came for my paycheck last week and they were all hanging out there! Don't they have better places to be?"
"I know, we were always out planning the next party."
"Right! When I was their age, we hung out in a burger place parking lot making plans."
"Me too!' My voice goes up to that weird girly octave, and she doesn't notice. Or she doesn't say anything. That's just as cool. I feel bad about lying to her.
I never planned a party in the parking lot of my local burger stand. I was inside the burger stand working. My friends were in the parking lot drinking everclear and Kool-Aid partying, acting stupid, and getting girls. Occasionally, I'd find a cold beer back by the dumpsters. My friends cared! Either that, or David, the guy who worked the grill, his friends cared. It didn't matter, I'd take the beer. David didn't need it, he showed me how to make a bong from a paper cup and a disposable ashtray. David was resourceful. He'd also been arrested twice for breaking and entering. Seems he had a bad habit of being too drunk/stoned to know the difference between his house and somebody else's. The local police would wake him up from a strange couch, and give him more familiar lodgings. The elderly couple, who owned the couch, huddled, in the corner as the cops restored order.
"The world has changed Martha."
"Yes it has Henry. Remember when we used to drink hooch outside the soda shop?"
"Yes I do."
"Come to bed my hero."
See? Even Henry had fun. Me? I worked. Oh, I could have gone out after work, but I found that stale fry grease and polyester uniforms didn't do much for the ladies, no matter how drunk they were by 2am.
One guy, Bob, said it worked for him. He'd put a dab behind each ear and go trolling. He also went home to his two dogs. I never asked. Some questions are best left alone.
Like my favorite checker's name. I don't ask. I'm afraid it'll ruin our dynamic. Suddenly I'm asking personal stuff and we stop being friendly. I'm no longer "Thank you Mr. Blogwriter, you've saved seven dollars and fifty-six cents," I'm "that weird guy who comes in every Friday night."
I like where we're at. We share laughs without obligation. Maybe next week I'll buy some alcohol so I can show her my drivers license. Yeah, and then I can hang out in the parking lot and plan a party. Then again if I'm there when she gets out that send a new message.
"Hey buddy, are you stalking my wife?"
"No, not at all, but I am planning a party, want to come?"
No, things are good the way they are. "Paper or plastic?" is just what I need.
7 comments:
Do men regularly check for a ring on women? I've never noticed one way or the other before.
Depends. Some guys never look, because they don't care. Other guys always look, because they care too much.
Most of the rest of us look when it's appropriate. Sort of like a survival instinct. I don't think I ever looked while I was married. It wasn't important. I was taken, and branded accordingly. Since I already displayed my colors, I didn't concern myself with the other person's status.
Now as a "semi-single" Even though I'm not dating, I find that "I see ring people" again. It's an instinct.
But guys and rings are a weird thing. Not so much noticing, but wearing. Some guys won't wear rings. Some guys hide rings. I had a friend who told his wife , before they were married, that he would not wear his wedding ring. He was a mechanic, and didn't wear jewelry at all. Apparently the less chance of getting your hand caught in an engine, the better. I don't know, what says "I love you" like a hook for a hand?
But ring habits of the American male are a blog entry unto itself.
So what about you women? Guys know the myths, but what's the ring reality from a real woman?
I can't speak for other women, but I don't wear my ring. Neither does my husband. Your entry just made me wonder how many people look at my bare ring finger and think I'm single. How many women think my husband is single. And how many people see us together with our kids and think we (insert term for having kids outside of marriage). Not that there's anything wrong with that. That was our plan, until we decided to get married.
I never worry too much about what other people think. So long as you and your husband are on equal terms with this, that's all that matters. The ring is a symbol, nothing more. The most important thing is the love you two share. I think that some couples exude "married." You just assume it by the way they are together.
At the opposite pole, I think it's pretty obvious that my ring is a mere token. Sort of like going to an abandoned lot, seeing a carousel, and saying "Hey, there used to be a carnival here."
Who we are, dictates how people read us.
Oh, I do have to ask this though? Is there a reason you don't wear rings, or is it a "that's just the way it is?"
I think we definitely exude "married," as you say. No one has said or hinted otherwise. I stopped wearing mine years ago to avoid scratching our babies (the ring and engagement ring are one piece). My husband just isn't a jewelry person. But if he wanted me to start wearing mine, I would insist that he wear his.
See? And that's what's important. You have that understanding, and there's no miscommunication. Those are the things that mean more than all the circular symbolism in the world.
Me? I'm a writer; I'm all about the symbolism, although I'm not a jewelry guy either. That's why it meant so much when she stopped wearing her ring. I wonder sometimes, if she didn't do it more for me, than for her. You know what I mean?
We used to exude "married" too. People knew . It's funny how that flicks off like a switch when things go wrong.
Man! that sounds melancholy. It's not though. I don't feel that way. It's just observational. Like staring at a painting of squiggly lines and going "he was angry." Of course there is the school of thought that says, "no, he just liked squiggly lines." but that's another post. I know the painter of this blog, he says the gray space isn't melancholy, it's just observational.
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