Cantankerously Yours
Valentines I Will Not Send
By Wendell Abern
Dear Bleeding Hearts,
Yeah, yeah, I know. Valentine’s Day. Candy. Flowers. Cupids. All that mushy garbage.
Every year at this time, I ask myself if my idol, Ebeneezer Scrooge, would deign to send a valentine to anyone. Clearly, the answer is no. And I couldn’t agree more.
In fact, I believe there are some people, companies and institutions who deserve to be omitted from anyone’s valentine list. I made a list of my own such non-recipients, and it came to 3,462. For purposes of this column, I have whittled my undeservers down to a manageable five.
1 – My local super market.
Wonderful place. Wonderful selection. Love going there.
Until I get in line to pay, and the cashier leaves to go fetch cigarettes for a customer who doesn’t want to wait in the Customer Service line.
I have mentioned this infuriating practice to all of the store’s managers, complaining that they go out of their way to pander to cigarette users. They all mouth the company line: “Sir, we care for each customer equally well.”
Well, my store recently installed a suggestion box. I have been stuffing it with complaints and suggestions every time I shop. I use different handwritings, different pens, different names, and even deliberately misspell words. Some of my latest efforts:
“Who runs this place? Oh wait, I know. The same guy who used to run AIG. Harriet S.”
“I hate this place! Your ads say shopping here is a pleasure, and then I wait while some clown sends the cashere for cigarettes. That’s pleasure by you? You want pleasure, send your casheres to my boyfriend. Jennie M.”
“14 minutes at the deli counter for six slices of ham; 4 minutes waiting for someone to acknowledge my presence at the chicken station; 3 minutes in line to pay; 21 minutes in your store to buy two items. Just thought I’d thank you for speeding me through your lines and making my trip here such a pleasure. Jerry G.”
I was certain no one actually read the suggestions, until last week.
I was standing in line behind a muscular, good-looking young man, and as he paid, the cashier smiled at him and said, “Are you Jennie’s boyfriend?”
2 – Ikea.
Wonderful ads. Great catalog. Reasonable prices. Couldn’t wait to go and size up the place.
Will never go there again.
I walked in and a young man offered me a Swedish meatball. Delicious. I told him I wanted to look at some furniture. He directed me to an upstairs escalator.
On the second floor, I wandered through room after room, looking at chair after sofa after cabinet, and becoming more and more confused by the selection.
I had been walking for at least a half-hour and decided I’d had enough. I started back the way I’d come; with my crack sense of direction,
I couldn’t find the escalators. I decided to ask an employee how to get back downstairs.
I couldn’t find an employee.
I stopped next to a woman and asked, “Is there a salesperson around here somewhere?”
“What, salesperson? They don’t have those. They got nine thousand cashiers and a guy gives out meatballs.”
I thought, I’m never escaping. I’m going to have to live here. I stopped a guy heading my way and told him I couldn’t find the way out.
He said, “Hey, don’t tell me your problems, Charlie. I’ve been here since Tuesday.”
An elderly woman saw me start to quake, and came to my rescue. “Just follow me,” she said, escorting me to the escalators.
“I hope you have something to calm your nerves,” she said as I stepped on the down escalator.
“I will in a few minutes. A jumbo hot dog.”
“That’s not such a good idea.”
“Okay, two jumbo hot dogs.”
By that time, the escalator had reached the ground floor. I ran to the exit doors.
3, 4 & 5 – Karen, Emily and Nancy.
Three wonderful women. Beautiful. Compassionate. Thoughtful. Caring. Very bright. Lots of fun.
Except they don’t know how to eat.
These three ladies invited me to have lunch with them after services one recent Sunday (Unitarian Universalist congregation: River of Grass).
Lunch with three beautiful women! Terrific idea! Very flattering! I did feel a little weird, however, when we walked through Toojay’s Deli and I “disappeared.” See, you follow three beautiful women through a restaurant,
you suddenly become The Invisible Man. I mean, no one in that restaurant knew I was there; in fact, no one even knew I existed.
When we ordered, things got even worse.
Karen began by asking for a Reuben Sandwich without corned beef.
“What!” I shouted. “You can’t do that! That’s like ordering a cheeseburger without the burger!”
“Pay no attention to him,” Karen told the waitress. “Bring me the Reuben with the cheese, the sauerkraut, the Russian Dressing, everything; just hold the corned beef.”
I segued into my most effective churlish frown until Emily ordered.
A chicken salad plate. I felt somewhat mollified.
“But substitute tofu for the chicken,” Emily said.
“What!” I yelled. “What, tofu? This is a deli, for God’s sake! You’re supposed to leave here with heartburn and a cholesterol problem!”
“Pay no attention to him,” Emily said, smiling at me sweetly. I scowled in return.
Then Nancy ordered a chef’s salad with no bacon and no turkey.
“Help!” I yelled. “Somebody, help! I’m trapped in a booth with aliens from the planet Vegetarius!”
“Pay no attention to him,” Nancy said. “Bring me the honey mustard dressing on the side.”
The waitress turned to me and said, “What can I get you, sir?”
I said, “I’d like a Seaweed Casserole. Hold the lily pads.”
In unison, Karen, Emily and Nancy said, “Pay no attention to him.” Then Karen said, “Bring him a brisket sandwich on rye with a latke. That should keep him quiet for a while.”
Nancy said, “We want to keep him quiet for a while, we better order two latkes for him.”
They all smiled sweetly at me.
Later, as I finished my second latke, I thought … I’m eating lunch with three beautiful women! I’m the luckiest guy on the planet! And even though they don’t know how to eat properly, I can’t wait to do it again.
However, I refuse to send any of them a valentine.
Cantankerously Yours,
Wendell Abern
Wendell Abern can be reached at dendyabern@comcast.net.