March 15, 2005
I was able to get some more samples of Lexapro. I am feeling “normal” again, thank God. After we returned from the oral surgeon, (paid with a post-dated check-yes, you may interpret this information), I went to the bank to withdraw my last $40 until my Miraculous Mom’s check arrives. As I got out of my car, an elegant, light-skinned African-American woman, dressed impeccably, came up to me.
“Excuse me, but I need some help.”
Uh-oh, I thought.
“First of all, my name is Beverly.” She shook my hand, in a manner that bespoke of doing so at many a fundraiser. “By chance, do you have Triple A?”
This is so on my to-do list, but that information was useless to her, so I just answered:
“No, I’m sorry I don’t.”
“This is the situation. By the way, I teach the eighth-grade.”
Clearly she was trying to reassure me of her legitimacy. She was so articulate, refined even, I had no trouble believing it.
“My car broke down. I just got a ticket from a police officer for $70, which infuriated me. I need $13.75 more to tow it or it will be towed for me.” I surmised she had already withdrawn her last $40 from the ATM. Nix the fundraiser assumption, but this certainly jibed with low teacher salaries.
Of course I should have asked her exactly where the car was, and verified her story. But I was in a red zone, and time was of the essence. Instead what came to me was the message conveyed by two wonderful speakers I’d heard in AA recently They said they kept sober by helping whenever and wherever they could. Then I looked at her hands, covered with fine jewelry, and the gorgeous necklace that adorned her.
She then added:
“Of course, if you give me your address, I will send you a check as soon as I get home.”
Obviously, this could not have come at a worse time. But instead of telling her I was about to withdraw money to get Vicodin for an ailing friend, and to go to the 99 cents store to get all manner of soft foods, I said:
“Obviously God put you here for a reason,” (thinking, 'because She had to hook you up with the one bleeding-heart doormat on the block who wouldn’t immediately blow you off.') I checked my pre-ATM pocket, discovering $22 or so. I gave her the $14.
I didn’t have my address on my card, just my email and blog info, and I asked her if she was on the Internet. “Oh no, my dear, I came of age in the 60s. I have issues with Big Brother.” (Did this mean she was a Freedom Rider with an FBI dossier or a paranoid schizophrenic with a dossier from The Chestnut Hills Mental Care Facility?)
I wrote down my address with a pen. Beverly thanked me rather graciously, and off she went. But I have to say, this woman did not walk like a lady. She walked haltingly, strangely. Either she had an injury, or she’s indeed a crazy person.
I will either get a check in a few days for $14, or I paid for a truly bravura performance and fed a fabulous homeless actress for a day or two. (But if she was conning me, what would she have done if I said “yes” about Triple A? Or was that to throw me off, part of the game?)
I proceeded to the 99 cents store and have $30+ dollars (and a full refrigerator) until Mr. Postman delivers.
Someone who will remain nameless is dead to the world on the couch. Hopefully he will sleep for a few months. Since he can’t smoke for a week, it will make it easier for me to take the plunge myself. That will save a fortune.
So maybe that is why, in the bigger scheme of things, his tooth decided to go ballistic. (The unextracted other 4 problem teeth, according the surgeon, are “time-bombs.”)
I’m off to the pharmacy now. Thank Heavens for generic meds.
MCO 2005
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