A Good Laugh to End the Week

"She dancing on a, like, tabletop when they met. Uh, how does she expect him to, like, respect her when they had sex right away. No wonder he, like, flirts with you."

"You're right. I shouldn't, like, have given him head though."

"Are you going to go the wedding?"

"Yes. Uh, I'm sure she'll look pretty."

The last statement was delivered with the type of indignation reserved for someone replying to the world's dumbest question ever. I almost took a half step back from where I was standing for that final reply.

The two women having the conversation finished stirring their coffees (or tea - I didn't exactly look into the cups) and then wandered off to where ever.

I may just stand around the kitchen - specifically next to where the hot chocolate mix is - and listen to conversations. I bit back the urge to interrupt to ask for some clarifications. I resisted the urge after ever sentence.

I may not be able to look at co-workers the same way after this. Sometimes you learn just a little too much about them. Okay, that isn't true. I REALLY want to have a follow up conversation and ask for some sort of crazy stories from the two women talking since if the casual kitchen conversation is that risque I can't wait to hear what they would say after one or two shots.

Or maybe I don't want to hear the story as I may weep for humanity or some other type of judgemental, I'm-a-Father-Now crap.

Wayne

Reminder, someone always has it worse

There are times one needs to be reminded of how good he or she has it. Okay, that is a little too schmaltzy a sentiment, let me put it another way: Reminder, someone always has it worse.

February 16, 2012
I took the day off from work to spend it taking care of the neo-sick Sienna. I say neo-sick since she has had a lingering cough for about 8 days now, yet no temperature, yet no appetite, has not been herself and fell asleep in Danielle's arms a couple of nights ago.

Coincidentally she had her one year Doctor appointment on February 15, the Doctor took a listen and said to keep Sienna fluided up. Maybe not her exact words, though that is the sentiment.

I spent the day crawling after Sienna with a bottle of milk, dirtying nine baby spoons as I tried her on different food, and generally wore myself out. Not the end of the world, it has been a long couple of weeks and both Danielle and I are tired. Seeing it in writing: wa wa wa, us.

But I'm not there yet on the point of this entry.

February 17, 2012 - Subway ride
I get myself all dolled up for work, take a crowded subway ride in, and would really rather be hanging out on the couch. Still, I'm employed, the company I work for were totally cool with my last second taking a day of yesterday and I never have any doubt the check will cash.

But I'm still not there yet on the point of this entry.

February 17, 2012 - Elevator ride
I stuff myself into a crowded elevator, the second to last person on, as it will be a four stop trip to where I'm going. The last person on it my friend Porthia (not her real name). She asks me if I'm look forward to the long weekend. I smile, knowing she has children, I'm likely to get an ounce of parent sympathy from her.

But I'm still not there yet on the point of this entry. Though I probably sound like an attention hog or something I shall point out (a) it involves my child and (b) you have all sounded worse at some point.

The elevator continued to the sixth floor aka stop one. At that point the head of the departments, Jefferson gets on. Jefferson is a stoic man, perfect in a bar for hanging out, yet perfunctory at work. Jefferson also has kids, Porthia and I are continuing our conversation. I loop Jefferson in.

"You've got kids, you know how this is."

"Yes," Jefferson said, "my son threw up all day yesterday. He has a stomach flu. He sips water, throws up; sips water, throws up."

That is terrible. I have actually had that same exact sickness. You get to the point where you don't want to drink anything.

"How old is he? Does he know what's going on?"

"He is five and half. All he knows is that he is thirsty, wants water, and keeps throwing it up. If he isn't able to keep anything down by noon my wife is going to take him to the ER."

But I'm still not there yet on the point of this entry. Believe it not.

We keep talking as the elevator gets to 15, though Sienna's sickness doesn't seem SO bad at this point.

February 17, 2012 - Elevator ride at 15
The elevator opens up, Chinzia gets on. Jefferson, Porthios, and myself stop talking about our children's problems. I'm trying to remember is whether Chinzia is the co-worker who had an 8 year old child die from medical complications. I saw out on paternity leave when it happened last year. No, I recall, it was someone different.

I don't think it is a surprise when I say I am now at the point of this entry. Actually, I am pretty sure I have already made it.

Wayne

Talking with People: The Peace Corps

Thanks to John F Kennedy the United States has its own escapist version of a less dangerous, slightly more respected version of the French Foreign Legion. Not nearly as violent (usually) as the FFL or the U.S. Military the Peace Corps is a place many an unemployed/don't want to go to law school or grad school/career changists fantasize about joining.

I've been lucky enough to know several Peace Corps members including my own father*. You need a certain amount of perseverance to make it through the initial training and complete your assignment as something like only 5%** make it all the way through.

One interesting facet is ALL the Peace Corp members I know have some really bad ass, fun stories. Here are a couple that made me laugh. All the names of been changed to protect the guilty.

The Military is Coming...I think I'll Leave
Over home made brews one day - his, not mine - Alex was telling me about his sudden departure from a war torn part of the country he was staying in.

Apparently there was some local military that was active off and on. In the past year they had been getting closer and closer to where he was stationed. In particular after heavy rains. Or elections.

During the election his area got overrun by armed military people.

"Holy shit!" I said, nearly spilling the beer, "what did you do?!"

"Nothing, we had left a week earlier. We're Peace Corp members not idiots."


The Walk of Shame
Craig found himself lonely for some female companionship. The local girls had been quite forward with him during his stay, plus the other Peace Corp guys were saying what friendly no-strings attached girls these were. Toward the end of his tour Craig said, "Screw it!" or in this "screw her!"

In this case Craig slept with a most buxom local girl who he worked with- a bout of fornication which began at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and passed well into the eve. He invited her to spend the night since the jungle country he was in didn't exactly have midnight taxis.

The next day his buxom conquest was about to go on her way when she gave him a doe-eye look worthy of Bambi. "Aren't you going to get me breakfast?" she asked.

A reasonable question, though certainly not inline with what his Peace Corp brethren had claimed. "Uh, I have to get to the school."

"Well how about some money for some breakfast?" she requested.

Craig caught on quickly, gave her the equivalent of 5 bucks American - a HUGE sum for her - and sent her onto the native version of the Walk of Shame.

A few days later buxom girl and Craig went out again. Another round of raucous lovemaking followed, along with another sleep over. This time they were cuddling in the morning when she started asking him questions, "You're leaving soon," she asked.

"Yes," he said. He figured a Green Card request was on its way.

"You've very rich working for the Peace Corps." She was seductively running his hands over his body when she said it.

"No, I'm not rich."

"But you've saved most of your money."

It turns out it is a well known fact that Peace Corp people in his particular area saved a lot of money since housing was free.

"Uh, I guess so."

"Can I have it?"

You can't blame a lady for trying.

"Um, no."

"How about a quarter of it?"

"I'm not an idiot," Craig told me, "I only got her breakfast again."

See Peace Corp people. Intelligent no matter what the situation.

I'll have more stories when I get a chance. Or remember them. Or have them told to me.

Wayne

* He wanted to learn Spanish so he joined the Peace Corps. I don't know what that says about my family.

** I forget the exact figure. Just know it is REALLY low.

About My Nonny...

Someday Sienna is going to ask about her grandparents - or if she is anything like me her greatgrandparents. In honor of Magic Johnson announcing he was HIV positive 20 years ago and a coincidence I give the Nonny post.

I ended up thinking about Nonny*, my paternal grandmother a couple of times in the last two days. Yesterday it was when Danielle and I were discussing Grandparents naming - my father goes by Nono, my stepmother goes by Nona, and my mother-in-law will go by, according to her, "whatever Sienna wants to call her." This morning my co-worker John and I got onto the subjects of old school toughness and grandmother's**. Ergo, you get the Nonny entry.

My Nonny was an Italian woman disguised as a block of flesh measuring 4 foot 6 high by 4 foot 6 round. I never recall seeing her in anything except a black dress, white shirt, thick glasses, and unmoving black curly hair - though pictures show her with a occasional bit of color. She had made a living as a seamstress, which accounted for her incredibly strong fingers and hands. If she grabbed you she GRABBED you and there was no way she was letting go until she wanted to. She was old school in how she dispensed love, justice, and wisdom.

By the time my brother and I were old enough for her to have a noticeable impact on our life, she had been tempered by numerous other grandchildren - or at least that is what we are TOLD. It is a frightening concept to image her at the height of her kickassness powers. She spent about a third of a year living with us - spreading her love between ourselves and various other family members the other two thirds of the year. After my Mother died she ended up getting an apartment about half a mile away from us.

Food is Love...
Like all Italian grandmothers my earliest memories of Nonny involve food. Not in one of those cooking all day events, or homemade sauces, or any family recipe secrets - my memories involve pizza. Specifically pepperoni pizza from Centre Pizza in Framingham. If Nonny was coming over we got pizza. This was a HUGE deal as Papa Gino's was actually closer and cheaper, though Nonny knew we liked the more expensive Centre pizza and the tiny pieces of pepperoni dotting the salty cheese which sat on a field of spicy goodness.

We've Heard So Much About You...
As I already mentioned my brother and I had heard seemingly thousands of Nonny stories. Her old school ways came from being a street smart Bostonian with a love that melded with pride in the form of my two Aunts - Linda and Anne, and her baby boy my father Joey. By the time my father was six Grandpa** was no longer in the picture, which effectively left Nonny as a single parent during the 40s & 50s.

A single parent resulting in a thousand stories. Here are my favorite all-time "Don't Mess With My Nonny Stories."

A Plate of Spaghetti
Nonny was watching my cousin Ricky and asked him what he wanted for dinner. She made him a plate of spaghetti and put it in front of him. "I don't want THIS" Ricky said. Wordlessly she dumped the plate of spaghetti over Ricky's head.

The Tree v Nonny
Nonny was driving her car and slid off the road straight into a telephone pole. The pole fell onto her car roof, crushed it inward, leaving her bloodied and unable to move. She looked ratched unconscious when the paramedics showed up. One of them said, "We have a big one in here." Without opening her eyes she replied, "When you get those pole off me I'm kicking your ass."


Nonny & Boyfriend's
My Aunt Linda's boyfriend Phil was over and in the forbidden upstairs room. Specifically the bedroom. Which is when my Nonny arrived and saw him on her bed. She ran across the room and JUMPED onto him, landing a perfect form body splash. She looked like a fullback hitting the hole and reportedly got good air on the jump. She then chased Phil out of the room, bouncing him down the hallway for being where he was not supposed to be.

No Sympathy for Your Dumb Actions
Nonny was babysitting my brother and I when I was about ten years old. I loved black olives. It was my favorite food in the world and we always had 24 ounce cans of olives in the house. I asked my Nonny if I could have some, she said yes - except not too many - and left me to my own devices. I then ate the ENTIRE can.

Then I drank the remaining olive juice.

Soon after I threw up olive and olive juice all over my bedroom floor - I can still picture the tiny chunks of olives sitting on the wood floor our cat Smokey walking over the remains, giving one good sniff and then sprinting out the room. In tears I ran to Nonny and asked her to make me feel better AND clean it up. "You Son of a Bitch, clean up the mess. I told you not to do it." She then handed me paper towels.

Now, by now stretch of the imagination was Nonny mean. She was quite loving. When my mother died she gave me some practical words of wisdom, "Your mother is dead. It's done. I'm old. You have to help take care of your father."

Practical. To the point.

She had just come up from a different place and really was of a generation where she wanted and needed her children to do a bit better than she did.

Her Practicality on Education...
My mother's family disowned her for a while since she was Jewish and married a Catholic. Very Romeo & Juliet - though without all the death. I once asked my father how Nonny had reacted - seeing as how she was a hardcore Catholic. My father told me that she actually didn't care as long as it didn't interfere with his graduate school education. All she cared was that he did well in school. When my brother was born and my Nana and Grandpa (the Jewish side of the grandparents) heard he would be raised Jewish all was forgiven. Knowing my Nonny, she probably figured she already had enough Catholic grand children anyway.

She was Street Smart & Protective...
Having heard about the street smart and protective stories I actually got to see it in action one particular time. I was goofing around in my driveway with my friend John and I had a fold up knife in my front pocket. All of a sudden from a window overlooking the driveway came a booming voice, "Wayne, get up here!" "What? No. We're going out." "Up here now!" "I said--" "Up.Now.John, go home."

Ticked off I went into the house. She greeted me with, "Is someone bothering you? Why do you have that knife?"

She had seen the outline of the knife in my pocket. She threatened bodily harm to whoever was bothering me. No cops. No questions. Just a name. "No one, is bugging me, Nonny." She looked through me to see if I was lying and when she saw I wasn't, her hand shot out and w

ithin half a second she had me off the ground and was shaking me like a rag doll. "Don't be stupid. You carry a knife and you'll find trouble!"

She took the knife from me and tossed me out of the room. I STILL don't know how she was the outline.

She Respected Courage...
My friends were terrified of Nonny. She could intimidate without trying. One day John wanted to play with me and couldn't find me at home. He then rode his bike to my Nonny's apartment to see if I was there. I wasn't. I thought she would be mad that he went there. Instead of she loved it, thinking he was respectful enough to go there. John is the only friend she would actively ask about and I think it made her doubly happy when she found out his parents were first generation from Scotland. She would always ask, "Is that, Son of a Bitch John coming over?"

Ah Yes, Son of a Bitch...
That was a way of saying she liked someone. You were a "son of a bitch" and somehow it made the person smile. In the days before political correctness she had a mouth on her that wasn't even offensive since every adult I knew about her talked the exact same way. I can't even repeat the words in this blog.

I do know that she gave it was well as she took it.

She was always "Ma" though...
Parents have a way of reducing you to a six-year-old child and my father was no exception as he always said, "Ma" in a thick Bostonian accent that was a badge of honor from growing up in the city. Oddly enough other than his sisters I NEVER heard anyone refers to parents as "Ma" - always Mom or Mommy. Coincidentally no one calls my father Joey - only Nonny and her own part-Boston accent and part-old country accent managing to chew up the word and spit it out as seven syllables.

Yes, Nonny was a tough old bag.

Tough enough that she was declared dead. Twice.

Last Rites the First Time
During an operation to remove a brain tumor she received last rites. She survived. The Doctor declared that she had worn him out and that the tumor was SOFTBALL sized. Which admitted he would not have tried to remove if he had known it was so large.

Last Rites the Second Time
As my Nonny grew old she (reluctantly) was put in a Nursing-type hold in Fitchburg and as she grew weaker a hospital. Looking way too skinny and her skin seemingly translucent and looking like a wrinkling overcoat her heart stopped. As they worked to revive her she received last rites. She survived. Again. When told about it, she muttered the question, "Again?"

Coincidentally my Aunt Anne was in the room BOTH times she was received last rites.

A Final Goodbye...
After the second last rites Nonny was so sick that he little baby Joey was called back from the Peace Corp. She ticked HERSELF off by living and becoming healthily enough that she finally told my father to go away. Among the final words were, ""Don't have a funeral for me. I've inconvenienced you enough and you have a life to live."

She died several months later. There was no funeral. Only the memories of a Nonny who loved her family and lived life to the fullest. She also made me smile.

My favorite all time Nonny comments...

• "Hitting a child is fine. Hitting a kid a lot is not-so-fine. You gotta know the difference."


• "I want you to be happy. If you marry a Jew that is okay. (Long pause) Though if you marry a Christian that'd be better."


• "Jesus died for your sins. If you went to Church you'd understand that. Though the bagels are good at temple."


• "I hope you get all your mother's looks. Not her driving though. She was a terrible driver."


• "Joey, you're my baby and I'll always love you. You're getting fat though."


• On my father's girlfriend Robin moving in with us, "An Italian? These kids are Jewish - she better raise 'em that way."


• On my friend Neal, "Every parent thinks his kid is special. His are wrong."


• On me helping my brother with his paper route at age nine, "Go to school or this will be your job forever."


• Upon meeting Robert Parish in a line a supermarket, "You're tall. You're black. You must be a Celtic. They don't allow other blacks in Boston."

What Does Magic Johnson have to do with all of this?

1991. The world was changing and Magic Johnson just quit playing basketball due to HIV. Nonny comes up to me, "Hey, Wayne, about sex." Me, "uhhhhhhhh." Really, how do you react when your sixty plus your old Nonny comes up to discuss sex. "You know Magic - right? Well, he got the AIDS. If he can get the AIDS you can get it. Wear a condom." 20 years later I STILL don't know how to reply to that.

Sienna. That is your greatgrandmother. The legendary Nonny.

Wayne--

* Interestingly enough Nonny is spelled Nonni and means "grandparents" or "grandfather" in Italian. I have no idea why we called her Nonny. We just did.
** John's family is from China and as a fourteen year old girl John's grandmother used to sneak food into the Japanese prison camps.
*** Depending on the story Grandpa either died of consumption when my father was six or Nonny threw him out of the house for being an alcoholic and he was considered "dead."

Talking with People: Real-Life Caricatures

"I bet you that is the prosecutor." Those were my first words when the man in the cheap tan suit with the bright yellow tie walked into the room. If a John Grisham character were to leap off the page and walk into an actual court room this was the man. His white hair added to his real life ensemble, providing a striking resemblance to the fictional mayor from Spin City.

It was just about hour three into my not-sure-how-long sojourn into jury duty at the Brooklyn County Court. Danielle had warned me that there is nothing quite like jury duty in Brooklyn and that a pen and pad of paper was not so much a suggestion as a commandment from her.

Smart wife I have.

There twenty of us stuffed into a small windowless room with egg shell white walls. Incredibly enough the chairs were attached together in pairs of two - if you planned on moving then your neighbor could either stop you or receive an unexpected free ride in whatever direction you were going. A would-be oscillating fan was in the front of the room, mockingly located 3/4 of the way up your wall. I say would-be since nobody had bothered to turn it on. The only other adornments were a wooden table and three cushion chairs behind it.

The Tan Caricature immediately lived up to my expectations by opening his arms as wide as possible and stating, "Welcome everyone!"

Joining him in the front of the room was a short, bald white man who would have drawn much more of my attention as a resemblance to a Soprano extra. His suit was much sharper and his entire demeanor screamed, "This is ridiculous."

As the Tan Caricature continued to stand Soprano-lite sat down and looked around the room. That is, I think he looked around the room - he had a wandering eye. I immediately put some of my brain power to trying to decipher whether this would be an advantage or a disadvantage in the jury selection.

I'm still not sure.

The third gentleman in the room was mostly arms and legs - his lanky frame seemingly half a step ahead of his torso. He wore a cheap brown suit. The reason I know it is a cheap brown suit is because I could see the edge of the pant legs were frayed and I could see the color difference in the collar. I guess I should say it was a cheap brown suit with a slightly lighter brown collar.

Somehow he sat down in his chair. I can't say I actually saw him sit down, more that he was standing one second and then the next second he was in the seat with his legs crossed. I took a closer look, trying to figure the odds of him being cross-eyed. Nope. Though he either had drank some chocolate milk that morning, was really an eight grader trying to grow a mustache for the first time, or should consider investing in a razor since there was something growing on his upper lip.

These would be the people involved with the case.

Tan Caricature kept his arms spread wise as though he was trying to embrace the room. What happened next was an off-off-off-Broadway theater audition gone completely wrong. He over enunciated every word and with every word there was an over exaggerated gesture.

It was impressive. Doubly-impressive was he spoke for no less than 18 minutes. I did not know that was legal in jury selection. He explained the case - several times using almost the same words - and I felt he was trying the case. What surprised me was that neither Soprano-lite nor Milk-stache was stopping him.

Then it occurred to me, They've seen this performance and they're going to give him enough rope to hang himself. Almost on cue Tan Caricature said, "We've been together two days and seen each others performances."

That is really what the jury selection was to me. Performance art by three lawyers - it was such good performance art I laughed out loud several times* at different words that spilled from their mouths.

Soprano-lite was a partner in a law firm that represented a management company. His greatest performances were his slight shakes while Tan Caricature spoke and asked questions of potential jurors. It was a great, subtle performance - except after shaking his head he would look around and see if anyone noticed.

Milk-tasche gave the unintentional double impressive highlight of the day. He asked a question so complex to the potential jurors that I can't even repeat the gist of it since I still had no idea what he asked. It didn't matter as Tan Caricature and Soprano-lite turned pale, Tan Caricature actually said, "I object!" and they then went to Judge's quarters for 45 minutes to clear up whether the question could even be asked.

It was singularly impressive as it was the second thing he had said all day. The first being his name.

What was more impressive was upon returning Milk-tasche asked an equally confusing question. Blank looks all around. He then asked if we understood, myself and another person said, "Um, no." He then repeat the question only...more...slowly. The only reason he still isn't trying to explain himself is that Soprano-lite stepped in and cleared up the proceedings.

It was definitely an interesting event. Mostly since I got to see some humorous performance art, called it my civic duty, and am slightly bummed out since I wanted to see Soprano-lite destroy the other two lawyers in the court room as that is what is going to happen.

The mafia guy always kills off the southern and inexperienced new guy. That is just how life works.

Wayne

* I'm pretty sure this is why I was not selected. Tan Caricature, when it came time to interview me even mentioned, "You seemed to be having a good time in the back laughing along." I answered Yes.

The Man with Work boots on the Train

What first caught my eye was the Hasidic Jew's coat was taking up half the empty space. That is not my commentary on religion, description, or anything else in the world of a million disclaimers that I feel like I should disclaim. Merely that the man was a Hasidic Jew and his coat was taking up half the space where a human being could sit down on the subway seat.

I gave him the universal nod and the Hasidic Jew moved his coat out of the way. I've done the same action a couple of hundred times with my own coat. No offense, no anger, merely a piece of clothing getting a little ahead of itself.

Which is probably why I didn't fully notice the guy on the other side of me. I say fully notice in the sense of I certainly knew there was a human being to the side. Male. Work boots on. Pretty good condition. Leaving enough space where I could sit down when the coat was moved.

Less than a stop later I had my copy of Fast Food Nation out and was blissfully aware that I was not overcrowded there were no pregnant people looking for a seat or anyone about to keel over.

Three stops into the trip I heard the moan.

There are approximately four hundred thousand variations of a moan one can hear in life. Most of these moans you do not want to hear on the subway. You especially do not want to hear any moan, subway preaching, or a challenge of a fight coming from the person right next to you.

This moan was pretty low key and work boots started shifting around in obvious discomfort. I took a closer look at him via the peripheral vision - if you look wrong at the wrong person and you might get punched.

His face was pale and withdrawn with thousands of wrinkles- though not the type of pale of withdrawn of a drug addict - the thousands of wrinkles from too much time in the sun where a man constantly crunches up his face and the pale and withdrawn look of being in immediate pain.

Currently, work boots was clutching his right arm in pain. The type of clutching where there is pain shooting through your body and there is no way to stop it.

I'll admit it - if he didn't look clean I probably would have gotten up and moved. Instead I asked, "You okay, man?"

Work boots half-laughed. I did not have any real expectations or thoughts of what he would or would not say other than my hope it would not require immediate medical assistance. "My back's all messed up. It's embarrassing to make these noises." The first part was said through a half-laugh, the other part what I guessed was his normal voice.

Work boots voice was scratchy, most likely the result of spending too much time outdoors inhaling dust and pollen. It wasn't quite gravely, though certainly well on its way.

"I'm heading to the Doctor," work boots added, while he self consciously tried to pull his hand away from his pained arm, failed and returned to clutching his own bicep. "I gotta get there before 9 or they cancel my appointment. Doctors."

He said the last bit with one more half-chuckle. The same half-chuckle you use for dealing with mechanics, tax agents, or anyone you have to deal with when you don't want to.

He kept talking. I couldn't blame him. I've been in pain before and all you want to do is distract yourself from the pain.

"My back's all screwed up, it's got these discs --they're--they're" he started searching for the word. His expression was one where he knew what he was looking for, knew exactly what it was, only he couldn't verbalize it.

"Bulging discs," I added.

"Forgot to take my aspirin this morning and this ride's killing me." He shook his head and winced. "Doctor gave me two choices. My discs are degenerative--"

He looked at me and I nodded for him to continue. I've had my own back issues and years of playing sports has made me aware of the potential risks.

"--I don't want surgery 'n that's choice one. Choice two is an epi--epi--epi." His face suddenly contorted. "I sound like I have fucking turrets." The last part came out in a blaze of fury. The fury dropped and his eyes darted around to see if anyone had overheard.

"Epidural," I finished for him. "They want to shove a needle into your spinal column."

Work boots pulled his hand away from his arm as whatever wave of pain finally passed. "I forgot my aspirins this morning. Tylenol to thin the blood so everything moves a bit more. Ibuprofen for the swelling. I went to my chiropractor - he can't even move my back. He gets behind me, jams his shoulder into my back," he lowered his shoulder slightly to demonstrate, "and can't move it."

"You ever try acupuncture?"

His face lit up at this question. "No, is it good?"

"I've had all sorts of back stuff. Acupuncture really helped me at one point."

"Can't hurt." The way he said it wasn't in defeat - only admitting to an option that wasn't there a minute ago. "All of this stuff has to be done before 5 though. Otherwise I lose a day of work."

Conversations are weird like this. Writing his segue out makes it seem like he jumped a thought - only he didn't jump a thought at all. He merely thought how he could incorporate a new found option into his life.

"You stretch at night too?" I asked him. My own back issues coming to the forefront.

"Hah. My girl massages my knees, neck, back; I stretch. Some days I'm hunched over drilling for 10 hours - you know what 10 hours folded over feels like? Like you don't feel like unfolding."

I wondered how he could forget his aspirin this AM, so I asked. He smiled a grim smile. "I left them - just forgot. I take them without water. Can't even swallow them so I chew 'em like candy."

I winced. "That sounds disgusting."

"Even when I was a little kid I couldn't swallow 'em. I don't want anything stronger - no codeine, or whatever else, that stuff'll kill you."

I thought about how daily aspirin use can cause liver damage. I kept the thought to myself.

He reached up and touched his right shoulder. "Torn rotator cuff too."

"You always outside?" I pretty much knew the answer. I had met work boots before. Different variations. Different times. Same guy.

"Outside. Inside. Whatever the job calls for." Work boots looked up the clock in the subway, "I gotta make it there by nine."

We watched at the subway sign told us we were approaching Union Square. It kept repeating various messages as it got closer - none of them the actual time. Humanity turned over and the subway pulled out of the station - finally the clock read: 8:41.

Work boots face dropped. "I gotta make it 77th and Fifth. Going to be tight."

"Day after vacation for a lot of people. Everyone is half a step behind," I told him.

Work boots smiled at that. "I'm 44 years old - man - take care of your back. Everyone should know if you're lifting, bend your ass down and lift from the legs. How's that book?"

He gestured toward Fast Food Nation. "It's good. It's about the fast food industry and all the businesses that are involved with it."

"Fast food. We're a nation of convenience. I want it now. I want it yesterday. Big business has it smart - they get everyone. You know how gas is expensive? Other countries laugh at us 'cause it's five bucks a liter in most countries. Unreal, right?"

He looked up at the clock again. Suddenly aware of the time.

"You should transfer at 42nd for the local, that way if the escalator is out you don't have to walk the steps at 59th. It always breaks when you need it the most."

He nodded. "I ain't leaving this seat right now. With any luck the doctor will send me home. I could use the day off."

The train pulled up to 42nd street. "This is my stop," I told him.

Work boots stuck out his hand, "Thanks man, I needed that." We shook hands and I exited. I felt like thanking him. Whatever work issues I was thinking about. Whatever twinges I felt in my own body. Whatever was bothering me - it reminded me that you can think you're having a bad day or something tough is happening and there are people who are having a much worse day.

Though if I asked Work boots if it was a tough day I'm sure his answer would be the same answer my blue collar Uncle Bill once said, "What? Am I supposed to stop getting up and working this morning?"

Wayne