Author: Kathleen Fisher

Last week when I interviewed, we met at Starbucks and I ordered a chai tea.

I dislike Starbucks for many reasons.  The first being that when they get busy they all act like they’re at the trauma unit of County General and two commuter trains at rush hour just collided.

Multiple injuries.  Sirens.  Gurneys in the hall.  I need more platelets.  Get neuro down here.  Stat.

Since these are merely beverages being served, the whole place needs to chillax because nobody, and I mean NOBODY is going to die from waiting for coffee.

The other reason is this………….I was waiting for my order and they called one up for Kathy.  I started to walk to the counter when someone else came at the same time.  Two Kathys.  One drink.

Oh, you’re a Kathy, too?  Sorry, I thought that was mine.

To which The Other Kathy replied, “It’s only yours if you ordered a tall half-skinny half-1 percent extra hot latte with whip.”

No, that’s not me.  I’m not that pretentious.

A couple of years ago, The Big Daddy and I had gone down to KC’s shopping/entertainment district to meet my brother and his family who were in town for the Easter weekend.   At a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, two guys were in front of us.  As we stood there, a car drove by and somebody hung out the window and yelled, “FUCKING FAGGOTS!”

Oh. My. God.

The light changed, we crossed the street and one of the guys said to the other, “See.  This is why I couldn’t live here anymore.”

In the many thoughts racing through my mind, all I could think to do was to catch up to them and say, “I’m sorry about what just happened because Kansas City is better than that.”  They thanked me and told me “it was okay.”

Nothing about that was okay.

I don’t think of myself as some kind of do-gooder out to rid the world of homophobics who are so brave they toss slurs from a speeding car under darkness, but I cannot witness that kind of thing and do nothing.

While The BD got side-lined when he ran into a coworker, I learned their names, what they did for a living, the crushing lonely life of discovering you’re gay in small town Kansas twenty years ago and why New York City was a better fit for them.  It was a ten minute conversation that we were all the better for, and before we parted ways they told me my kids were lucky to have me for a mom and hugged me goodbye.

Grace was resurrected that night.

I had a job interview yesterday and it wasn’t awful.  It was a sales job for a new store opening in Kansas City that sells clothing, furniture and skin-care products.  Since I’m fond of all three of those things and can write stories in my head while I steam clothes, I filled out an online application, completely forgot about it and then got a call for an interview.

It has been awhile since I’ve gone on one of those and I told The Big Daddy that I was kind of nervous about it.  He told me to “be myself”.  Therein lies the problem.

I met with the co-managers and was mindful of my chattiness which almost always leads down the road to Flakeville.  They did not have my application in front of them so they asked for a rundown of my retail experience.  Clothing chain for petites…closed.  Parent company of said clothing chain….closed.  Lighting shop…closed.  Funky, hippie clothing store…closed.

Wow, they said, you sure have worked for a lot of places that have gone out of business.

For fear of driving a nail into this interview coffin or scaring them off, I did not share the name bestowed upon me many years ago by The Big Daddy.

The Black Widow Of Retail.

I have been on the hunt for the perfect MOB dress.  My criteria is something that makes me look tall, thin and not frizzy.

I thought my search was over when I spotted a beauty on the clearance rack at Macy’s marked down from $180.00 to $29.99.  And guess who had a 20% off coupon in her hands?  It didn’t fit but that didn’t stop me from becoming obsessed with it and spending all afternoon on the computer trying to hunt it down.

I decided to go to Hall’s, which is a department store exclusive to Kansas City and very expensive.  In 21 years of living here I have never set foot inside, but I thought this occasion called for an exception.  I was greeted by not one but two salespeople.  I ended up with four dresses to try on and after I was escorted to the dressing room they asked if I’d like anything to drink.  They never ask me that at the thrift store.   Dress #1 made me look short and fat which is how I look all the time.  Dress #2 wasn’t a good color.  Dress #3 was something they snuck in as an option for the rehearsal dinner.  I don’t believe I asked for that.  Dress #4 was a gold sequined frock that in a million years I’d have never picked and I LOOKED AMAZING in it.  Oh my, I think I found the one.

It was $550.00.   

As soon as I saw the price tag I got a hot flash.  Full out hot sweaty mess with an expensive sequined dress plastered to me.

I hung everything up all nice and pretty, put my head down and made no eye contact when I left the dressing room, then hot-tailed it out of there like I’d just held up the place.

Which I kind of did.

We had our first burgers of the season this weekend and since it was so hot we sat on the porch to eat.  When we were done, Mallie Bee came out with a box of popsicles and passed them around.  When she got to The Big Daddy he declined as HE HAS GIVEN UP ALL SWEETS FOR LENT.  Really?  I hadn’t heard.  Only one more week left, he said.

Ummmm, what about that piece of cake you had last nite?  That was complimentary he said.  Yes, it was free, I said.  No, no, no, I mean it was a birthday.  It would have been rude to turn it down.  And the piece of cake you had the week before?  Another birthday, he said.

Oh Big Daddy, come, come……….have a seat at the table for sinners.  Why there’s plenty of company.

I got here early.

Day #4 to be exact.

A personal best.

Next door to us lives two professional women who are a couple.  We love having them as neighbors, and remarkably they aren’t attempting to break up our marriage.  They have good jobs, nice cars, great house, trips a few times a year, steak on the grill, wine from a bottle instead of a box.  Here at Green Acres, The Big Daddy and I make it up as we go and make tuition payments.

Every spring our screened-in porch is some kind of cluster or another.  We are always repairing and/or repainting and it seems to me that they sweep theirs off and next thing they’re talking over a cocktail while we’re ten days and a gallon of paint away from having any fun.

It pisses me off.

This year things were different on the other side of the fence.  They had a repairman there for FIVE days.  A new door, rescreening, repainting.  There was some kind of buck$ getting shelled out and I tsked tsked the misfortune next door.

While I was basking in the glow of superiority, Lowe’s delivered some suh-weet outdoor furniture for their soon-to-be-totally-redone porch.  I looked at my curbside/vintage/garage sale finds strategically placed so the hole in the screen where the squirrel came in and the whole in the screen where the squirrel went out weren’t so obvious and thought one thing…..

Loser.