by Angela Tadlock
Despite the bustle of shoppers, the fruitcake slicing, mistletoe kisses and the magic adrift on the moonlit snow, politeness, during the holidays, leaves a lot to be desired. The rudeness that accompanies the irate mother and the disrespect that linger in the shadows of the impatient customer the other eleven months of the year, suddenly rages forth like a leviathan the morning that dark Friday arrives.One lesson I learned while working in retail was that a person chooses to be rude. It costs nothing to be polite. The only requirement is that you not care about other people or how they may perceive you.I have worked in retail for five years and have formally retired to the stock room where I oversee the organization and preparation of the back stock. In that stock room I work alone, away from people and their malcontent. Unfortunately, my job insists that I must trudge out to the sales floor on occasion where I am forced - or rather paid - to stand behind a counter and ring out customers’s sales of whom, most are rude.Most talk on their cell phones and don’t respond properly when you cordially say, "Hello." Others permit their children to pull clothes off the racks, and some return clothes emitting the strong scent of cigarette. But above all, it’s their demeanor that offends. A refusal to smile. Persistence to stay on the cell phone throughout a transaction. A lack of propriety as they gossip endlessly about their private affairs.In the mass of rude conduct, I will always remember a single child who showed me that thankfulness still exists out there in the material world. Her stringy hair was light brown, which covered the glasses she wore. Her eyes seemed to bulge from the refracted optical lens making her appear slightly frog-ish. Her smile was as big and as bright as her eyes. She was the most polite child I have ever met in my life, standing only forty-five inches high with a scraggly frame. She tried to bottle an enthusiasm that hopelessly poured over. But what I remember most of this child, was the enormous hole in her neck.Her eyes glistened with joy as her grandmother placed a little knit purse on the counter. I’ve seen parents and grandparents lay down more than three hundred dollars for a single child at a time. During the holidays parents will ask for twelve boxes to wrap four outfits so they can "wrap each item individually so they’ll have more underneath the tree.""Ungrateful," I think to myself every year."You’re promoting materialism!" I want to shout in place of the cheery "Merry Christmas!" I wish them. But I’m paid to give them their boxes and not discuss the materialism that has infiltrated our society.Now, before me, there stood this little girl with nothing but a single knit purse clenched in her tiny hand. So happy to be getting this purse . . . or so I thought."Hello." I said with a genuine smile.A short, raspy "I," was her reply, which resembled the scratchy squeak of a soprano clarinet in the anxious hands of a student. The sound plunged a bucket of ice water into my stomach as I fought to hold the smile unaltered on my face. Her grandmother began to explain."Four weeks ago she had surgery. She’s four and has never been able to speak before." The ice water froze in my stomach as my throat tightened."The surgery has allowed her to speak for the first time since she was born." Her grandmother continued. "I’m buying her a purse today ‘cause she’s been such a good girl."I continued to smile despite my hardened gut. Her face beamed with pride, not over the purse in her hands, but the voice she finally had. I looked into the eyes of this child as I thought of what ordeal this four-year-old already had to bare. I no longer saw her stringy hair or her bulging eyes. Only the proud smile that said, "I can talk," spoke the words she was unable to articulate. I looked at the angel as selfless and as thankful as the heavens could send and for the first time in my life, I was humbled.I felt the tears sting my eyes, which I fought back. I composed myself quickly unsure of what to say while I gulped down the knot in my own neck. I finished the transaction and bagged her little purse in a small accessory bag – the children always love that."Goodbye," I called to them as they turned to leave.Without hesitation she turned back to me waving her whole arm, refusing to miss an opportunity to omit any kind of sound."I," She called back with her new voice, smiling like never before over the power to speak.As they turned away once more, my thoughts filled with my two-year-old daughter, who had spent that morning shrieking inane babble at me in between shrieking no’s. In an instant I became grateful that my daughter could tell me "no" for she could also tell me "I love you."The next time she screams I’ll be grateful that she can and, despite the materialism, there is one angel I know of who was grateful enough for the voice she finally had.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
Old In My Prime
I released a disgruntled sigh as I placed the phone back on the cradle; The whiny, scratchy voice of Lucille Ball echoed from the bedroom. I had just finished talking with my sister which, lately, had been enough to put me in an off mood. She was three years younger than I and had a knack for making me feel older than our mother when we finished comparing notes on our lives.
I had two children, both toddlers, and had been married for only four years. She had a live-in boyfriend, no kids, and no husband. I had four senior cats who were pushing nine. She had a quiet, one-year-old kitten.
She had started college, changed majors, was promoted to manager in the warehouse, changed majors again, and had begun planning a wedding. I had begun a writing course, was promoted to supervisor in the store, had skipped the wedding plans along with the honeymoon altogether, and had two children.
She and I hadn’t always been like this. As children, we were best friends, as teenagers, we were inseparable and now, as adults, we couldn’t stand each other. Neither of us knows how it came to this. We both know that it has. We never talk about that.
I walked into the kitchen, replaying the conversation over in my mind while re-quoting the parts that really troubled me to Tribble who was laying on the table relaxing, her eyes half shut. Ignoring the cat on the table, I walked to the cupboard and pulled down a solid, white coffee mug, then on to another cupboard where I pulled down my coffee crystals and flavored coffee mix. It was nine o’clock at night and I had some writing to do. Setting the mug next to the now sleeping cat, I walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk and removed the singing tea pot off the stove.
As I scooped out the desired amount of coffee into my mug, I thought of what Alicia had said to me. "Your dishes are so boring." She had then proceeded to tell me about her freshly bought dishes which were lined on the outer rim with little red lighthouses.
"They’re not boring. They’re classic." I said to Tribble defensively as I stirred my coffee. I took a sip and headed into the living room to the computer, first stopping to grab my evening vitamins from my regiment while mumbling about my "boring dishes."
She and her boyfriend had just returned from a weekend excursion to Niagra Falls. The twelfth one this year. It was October. Three weeks before that, she had been to Atlantic City. I sat down to my desk and stared off while pensively sipping my coffee.
It had grown cold these past few nights and the current chill in the air forced me back out of my chair. Setting my coffee onto my desk, I walked to the thermostat and turned it up to 72. Any higher and the husband would let me know about it. With my mind now preoccupied with the description of my sister’s first bar hop, I made my way to the bedroom closet and pulled down the cream, heart-crocheted afghan to throw over my legs. Desi Arnaz was now shouting in Cuban.
"I can bar hop if I wanted to." I said to my lounging, white Peach asleep on the couch as I walked back to the computer and coffee. She stretched lazily in response to my persistence and looked up at me. "I just don’t want to because it’s stupid! Who enjoys being drunk? I prefer my coffee, oatmeal, and toast to throwing up last night’s beverage in the morning."
I sat back down to the desk, my afghan now in hand. After spreading the fringed blanket over my legs, I resumed my coffee as the whistling of the radiators began. She had boasted proudly about her drinking parties and the day she had spent in New York with her old girlfriends from highschool. It had been more than nine years since I had even spoken to any of my girlfriends. And parties...?
The sudden sound of my daughter’s fussing shook me back to motherhood and forced me to abandon my thoughts. In a flash, I had set my coffee down, whipped off the blanket, and ran to her room on tip-toe.
There she slept, shifting and mumbling in her sleep. I proceeded to her bed, quieter than before so as to not wake her sleeping brother in the bed next to her. I gently began to rub her back and her body relaxed to my touch. The restlessness passed as she settled back into a calm, dreamless sleep. I released a quiet, deep sigh and tip-toed out of the room to return to my chair and to blanket, coffee, and thoughts.
I sat back down, recovered my legs, and took another sip from my coffee.
"She’s immature." I said, this time to Rolo who had leapt into my lap, her needle like claws bearing into my thighs. After positioning the cat into a more comfortable position, I continued. "She has no kids. She hasn’t grown up yet. Of course, she’s 23 and engaged. It’s about time she did settle down."
I had begun stroking the long, soft fur as her purring sedated my nerves. "She’s too old to be acting like that and the way she flirts....." My thought trailed off unfinished. Despite my feelings, some subjects were left alone. After all, she is my sister.
I drained the last of my coffee, now lukewarm, and placed the empty mug on the desk for the final time. My legs were feeling warm again and the radiators had stopped whistling. My mind, still focused on the winded monologue my sister had subjected me to earlier.
As she had poured over every rich detail of the hotel room and every event of her trip, I had sat in silence with nothing to say. She was as detailed as a nineteenth century French novel and the interest had worn off long after I had spent my own vacations living it up back when I was nineteen. Since then, I had settled down with my husband shortly preceding the arrival of our children.
"I’m not suppressing myself. I love the way I am." Rolo looked up at me unconvinced of what I had said. Her solid yellow stare bore into me.
"I am content. There’s nothing wrong with being conservative. There’s nothing wrong with being prude."
The yellow eyes continued their hard accusing, stare.
"I can bar hop if I want to. I’m not boring. I’m not as reserved as she thinks!"
The hard, yellow eyes never moved as the "I Love Lucy" theme echoed from the bedroom. The credits were rolling and my Seal, looking to nap, had curled up at my feet under the desk.
I finally broke my gaze with the uncomfortable stare of my cat and looked to the black and white of an era gone and nearly forgot.
I had two children, both toddlers, and had been married for only four years. She had a live-in boyfriend, no kids, and no husband. I had four senior cats who were pushing nine. She had a quiet, one-year-old kitten.
She had started college, changed majors, was promoted to manager in the warehouse, changed majors again, and had begun planning a wedding. I had begun a writing course, was promoted to supervisor in the store, had skipped the wedding plans along with the honeymoon altogether, and had two children.
She and I hadn’t always been like this. As children, we were best friends, as teenagers, we were inseparable and now, as adults, we couldn’t stand each other. Neither of us knows how it came to this. We both know that it has. We never talk about that.
I walked into the kitchen, replaying the conversation over in my mind while re-quoting the parts that really troubled me to Tribble who was laying on the table relaxing, her eyes half shut. Ignoring the cat on the table, I walked to the cupboard and pulled down a solid, white coffee mug, then on to another cupboard where I pulled down my coffee crystals and flavored coffee mix. It was nine o’clock at night and I had some writing to do. Setting the mug next to the now sleeping cat, I walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk and removed the singing tea pot off the stove.
As I scooped out the desired amount of coffee into my mug, I thought of what Alicia had said to me. "Your dishes are so boring." She had then proceeded to tell me about her freshly bought dishes which were lined on the outer rim with little red lighthouses.
"They’re not boring. They’re classic." I said to Tribble defensively as I stirred my coffee. I took a sip and headed into the living room to the computer, first stopping to grab my evening vitamins from my regiment while mumbling about my "boring dishes."
She and her boyfriend had just returned from a weekend excursion to Niagra Falls. The twelfth one this year. It was October. Three weeks before that, she had been to Atlantic City. I sat down to my desk and stared off while pensively sipping my coffee.
It had grown cold these past few nights and the current chill in the air forced me back out of my chair. Setting my coffee onto my desk, I walked to the thermostat and turned it up to 72. Any higher and the husband would let me know about it. With my mind now preoccupied with the description of my sister’s first bar hop, I made my way to the bedroom closet and pulled down the cream, heart-crocheted afghan to throw over my legs. Desi Arnaz was now shouting in Cuban.
"I can bar hop if I wanted to." I said to my lounging, white Peach asleep on the couch as I walked back to the computer and coffee. She stretched lazily in response to my persistence and looked up at me. "I just don’t want to because it’s stupid! Who enjoys being drunk? I prefer my coffee, oatmeal, and toast to throwing up last night’s beverage in the morning."
I sat back down to the desk, my afghan now in hand. After spreading the fringed blanket over my legs, I resumed my coffee as the whistling of the radiators began. She had boasted proudly about her drinking parties and the day she had spent in New York with her old girlfriends from highschool. It had been more than nine years since I had even spoken to any of my girlfriends. And parties...?
The sudden sound of my daughter’s fussing shook me back to motherhood and forced me to abandon my thoughts. In a flash, I had set my coffee down, whipped off the blanket, and ran to her room on tip-toe.
There she slept, shifting and mumbling in her sleep. I proceeded to her bed, quieter than before so as to not wake her sleeping brother in the bed next to her. I gently began to rub her back and her body relaxed to my touch. The restlessness passed as she settled back into a calm, dreamless sleep. I released a quiet, deep sigh and tip-toed out of the room to return to my chair and to blanket, coffee, and thoughts.
I sat back down, recovered my legs, and took another sip from my coffee.
"She’s immature." I said, this time to Rolo who had leapt into my lap, her needle like claws bearing into my thighs. After positioning the cat into a more comfortable position, I continued. "She has no kids. She hasn’t grown up yet. Of course, she’s 23 and engaged. It’s about time she did settle down."
I had begun stroking the long, soft fur as her purring sedated my nerves. "She’s too old to be acting like that and the way she flirts....." My thought trailed off unfinished. Despite my feelings, some subjects were left alone. After all, she is my sister.
I drained the last of my coffee, now lukewarm, and placed the empty mug on the desk for the final time. My legs were feeling warm again and the radiators had stopped whistling. My mind, still focused on the winded monologue my sister had subjected me to earlier.
As she had poured over every rich detail of the hotel room and every event of her trip, I had sat in silence with nothing to say. She was as detailed as a nineteenth century French novel and the interest had worn off long after I had spent my own vacations living it up back when I was nineteen. Since then, I had settled down with my husband shortly preceding the arrival of our children.
"I’m not suppressing myself. I love the way I am." Rolo looked up at me unconvinced of what I had said. Her solid yellow stare bore into me.
"I am content. There’s nothing wrong with being conservative. There’s nothing wrong with being prude."
The yellow eyes continued their hard accusing, stare.
"I can bar hop if I want to. I’m not boring. I’m not as reserved as she thinks!"
The hard, yellow eyes never moved as the "I Love Lucy" theme echoed from the bedroom. The credits were rolling and my Seal, looking to nap, had curled up at my feet under the desk.
I finally broke my gaze with the uncomfortable stare of my cat and looked to the black and white of an era gone and nearly forgot.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
The Spitter
by Angela Tadlock
It's the first day of preschool. Like all parents, I cried when I saw her ready. Armed with Miss Kitty (the white Ty-baby kitten that had been grayed with her love) Emily walked out the door. Thirty minutes later we stood in line with our camera. I couldn't believe three and a half years ago she had been placed in my arms only six pounds and six ounces. Here she was now at thirty pounds excited and nervous to be going to school.When I went to pick her up two and a half hours later I was not prepared to hear that she had spit at the teacher. My mouth fell open. I went into the room and waited a few minutes while the other children left with their parents.At last we were alone with the teacher."You spit!?" I began to shake I was so angry. Her teacher and I began to explain harshly that when mommy is gone teacher is mommy. Tears of anger formed in my eyes. I couldn't believe I was so angry that tears had formed.After an apology we went to the car where I really laid down the punishment."Give me Miss Kitty!" Now it was she who was crying."NOOOOOOOOOOO!""You want her back!? Tomorrow at school you had better be good or you won't see her until next Thursday!"That day she screamed and pleaded for Miss Kitty. I had decided that she would get her back for school (I couldn't send her to school on the second day without some comfort), but at home, Miss Kitty was banned. It was her first night without Miss Kitty. It was harder for me than it was for her.Friday morning we readied Emily for school, I returned the ragged cat just for school and with a warning."If you are naughty at school, I will take her when you get home and you won't get her back until you are good at school."It worked! Later that morning her teacher reported excellent behavior. She received Miss Kitty and my Little Princess was a princess once more.Next Thursday she bit another student at school. Here we go again.
It's the first day of preschool. Like all parents, I cried when I saw her ready. Armed with Miss Kitty (the white Ty-baby kitten that had been grayed with her love) Emily walked out the door. Thirty minutes later we stood in line with our camera. I couldn't believe three and a half years ago she had been placed in my arms only six pounds and six ounces. Here she was now at thirty pounds excited and nervous to be going to school.When I went to pick her up two and a half hours later I was not prepared to hear that she had spit at the teacher. My mouth fell open. I went into the room and waited a few minutes while the other children left with their parents.At last we were alone with the teacher."You spit!?" I began to shake I was so angry. Her teacher and I began to explain harshly that when mommy is gone teacher is mommy. Tears of anger formed in my eyes. I couldn't believe I was so angry that tears had formed.After an apology we went to the car where I really laid down the punishment."Give me Miss Kitty!" Now it was she who was crying."NOOOOOOOOOOO!""You want her back!? Tomorrow at school you had better be good or you won't see her until next Thursday!"That day she screamed and pleaded for Miss Kitty. I had decided that she would get her back for school (I couldn't send her to school on the second day without some comfort), but at home, Miss Kitty was banned. It was her first night without Miss Kitty. It was harder for me than it was for her.Friday morning we readied Emily for school, I returned the ragged cat just for school and with a warning."If you are naughty at school, I will take her when you get home and you won't get her back until you are good at school."It worked! Later that morning her teacher reported excellent behavior. She received Miss Kitty and my Little Princess was a princess once more.Next Thursday she bit another student at school. Here we go again.
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