June 14, 2005
trashy at the kwikee mart
I was at the gas station putting fuel into my mobile air conditioning unit. Um, car. I had just taken the gas cap off when I heard a woman say to someone in her car, "I will kick your fucking ass." I couldn't tell if she meant it or not. I turned to look. There was a dog in the back seat, I thought she might be addressing it, but she was talking to a little girl. Little enough to still be in a car seat or booster seat or whatever it is. Yes, she was past toddler stage, but not past the stage where she had to remain strapped into the chair! She's not in a prime position to defend herself.
The lady then said, "Who are you to throw shit out of a car? We're at a gas station. You don't throw shit out of the car in a gas station!" Yes, that will teach the little lady some manners. No shit throwing at the gas station. Then she reached in and grabbed the kid's nose and said something that sounded to me like she realized she might have taken things too far but was unwilling to apologize...so she just pinched the kid's nose and kind of wiggled it around and then the kid started to cry.
Another woman in the front seat, who I suppose to be the child's mother (I've decided that the offending nose pincher is the grandmother) said, "Now don't you even start fake crying now. Don't you even start."
The grandmother said, "Oh, it's because I just pinched her nose."
The little girl was in the back doing the child's whiny-wail, which I would have done, too, "Leave me alone, ahhhhhhhhh!"
Holy cow. I was on the little girl's side. I felt a bit like one of those PTA moms who make faces when they don't approve of something. The PTA mom sees another mother, non-PTA of course, doing something she doesn't approve of, like giving the kid soda instead of juice or candy instead of fruit, and she makes a face like, "Well, I wouldn't do that. You're hurting your child. I wish you understood what you're doing."
I'm not sure my face had all those things written on it, but certainly some of those expressions were betrayed by my version of looking without looking like I'm looking. I turned my head away knowing that I would become more distressed. I looked at the other pumpers of petroleum and they seemed unconcerned. I'm concerned. I'm very, very concerned. And I'm so helpless when it comes to fixing things like that. And fixing isn't exactly the right word...
And they drove away. Mom, grandmom, dog, and kid. Grandmom was driving. She was opening a pack of menthol cigarettes.
It's not right! Not only does she offend my sensibilities when it comes to treating children and humans and dogs in a certain way, she robs the romance of cigarettes. Right there in the gas station. Who does she think she is, robbing tobacco romance in a gas station?! In truth, there isn't any romance about cigarettes sitting next to you or me. They smell bad and they make a person's nerves respond in unusual ways. But, there is something to be said for the sexy smokers in movies. I'm sure they smelled like ashtrays in real life, but on the screen, it's that hazy softness that takes the edge from reality, oh yes. That is good.
So there we could be, in a movie or in the cinematic version of our lives, with the filmy, sheer smoke curtain separating dreams from reality. There we might imagine ourselves on a clear night with only a sliver of moon, the smoke curling from our fingertips to the tips of the tree branches. The curls expand and relax and tangle until they escape to melt and disappear into a sky both welcoming and forgiving.
If I describe the world as cold, then there is a metaphorical advantage to having a lit cigarette. It might be an ember waiting to rekindle a lost love's fire. It might be the spark that will bring passion or invention or innovation. It might be a beacon, calling out quietly but persistently that someone is looking for you.
If I describe the world as the incoherent stream of information that I believe it is, then cigarettes are bad for you and they stink and allusions to metaphorical devices are intended to divert you from making a logical choice based on the authoritative and scientific studies that have been proven correct over and over again.
And what's the point of this? Well, it's that she takes it all away from me. There is no romance, no calm, pensive moments. She's driving around with a kid in the back smoking with the windows down and telling her that she'll kick the fucking shit out of her. And it's bad.
In a house I have carefully constructed using smoke as the walls between ideas, this woman has managed to break down the doors. She ignores the smoking lounge I created, full of black and white movie stars, glittering with lights from gems and knives, containing art deco ash trays that arch from the ground. She ignores the no smoking sign in the rest of the house. She even avoids the little alcove created for use in "I really need a cigarette" emergencies.
Nope. She smokes where she wants to and doesn't care that there are ways that make it okay for her to smoke, rooms for those times when it's okay, and then she's mean to a little girl...I need to put locks on my house. Maybe that's the answer to how to not feel helpless. Locks and not letting anyone smoke unless the world's in black and white.
Posted by dotty at June 14, 2005 11:39 PM