You know those days when you just have to sit back in that comfy chair, pour yourself a glass of Malbec and say to yourself, “why do strange people keep spitting on me??!”
Wait, you don’t do that?? Random people haven’t been spitting on you your whole life? Really? Because that actually does happen to me.
Exhibit A. 7th grade, once a week, I would go to Skate-a-Rama to enhance my amazing figure 8’s, skate backwards as fast as I could and “dance skate” to a Taste of Honey’s, “Boogie, Oogie, Oogie”. A deranged, Charles Manson look-a-like, skates up to me and asks me to partner skate and I say “no thank you sir” and he spits right in between my eyes.
Exhibit B. I’m driving home from my first corporate job in Century City on a nice warn evening with the top down on the car. It’s the early 90’s and my hair is a wild mess of bleach blond with the kind of sprayed bangs that could knock out Sugar Ray Leonard in the first round. Traffic is insane so I take side streets through downtown LA. I’m stopped at a light when I see a wood-paneled station wagon pull up next to me in a manic fashion where the driver took one look at me, gathered his most amazing gutterel spew and sent it out his window where it passed through space about 11 feet, hitting me in the temple with some leftover in my ear and some in my bangs.
Exhibit C. Now it’s late 90’s and I’m managing a supperclub in Los Angeles. A guest tells me that a fight is escalating in the women’s restroom so I go in to break it up. I get the calmer patron to exit the restroom pretty quickly. The other girl is simply a drunk, crazy bitch that needs a tranquilizer but because I don’t have one at my disposal she gets in my face and spits right in my mouth.
There are more. Really, I have more.
I spent this Memorial weekend at the beach pondering life’s oddities…and it’s beauty. I also thought about my father who was a pilot in WWII. He was an amazing man who believed in fighting for our country’s freedom. Freedom for everyone, even those that like to spit.