Interactions With A Wicked Old Maine Gal
The phone rang in my office it was a coworker, 'There is a car in the parking lot with the drivers side door opened and a leg sticking out, I think there's a lady passed out in it.' I sat hoping that one day, just one, would go by without having to deal with yet another field fire. Something else must have distracted me because I forgot about the lady until someone else called from the reception desk and said, 'Mrs. D is down here and needs help with the medical emergency pendant.' Frig.
I bounded down the stairs and at the desk was a very small very old woman in a pale blue sweater, beige skirt with the waist band tucked riding way north of where a waist should be, opaque tan panty hose and orthopedic tan shoes. Her glasses were as thick as coke bottles and her tan hair was clearly not her own. In her gnarled fingers she held a pendant that was once off white but was now yellowed with age.
'Hi, may I help you?' I smiled at her overwhelmed by the various shades of tans she was sporting. I wasn't prepared for her to bellow at me.
'I can't take this thing into the bathtub, it's not waterproof!' For a moment I wanted to channel my inner John Cleese and shout, 'Pardon?!?!' But I simply offered her one of the two lobby chairs and took a seat next to her.
'Were you in the parking lot for a while?' I asked as I took the pendant from her and began to inspect it.
'Yes, that reminds me, do you have a cookie I could have?!' She asked again yelling. Everyone in the office began rifling through their desks and I jumped up and dashed to the candy dish. Clearly we were dealing with a blood sugar issue and we are nothing if not compassionate. I found a caramel and quickly handed it to her. It wasn't until she opened her mouth to pop in the gooey morsel did I see the error of my ways. At that advanced age few people, with even the best dentists, have their own choppers, Mrs. D was not among the chosen few.'
As I studied the pendant, she began rattling off a list of items we could use to MacGyver the thing for a proper tubby. Her speech was garbled by the mouth full of caramel, more tan, saliva and dentures that appeared to be working themselves free of any remaining Polygrip.
'Got any duct tape?! A paper clip!? Rubber cement!? Rubber bands!?' NASA missed the boat on this broad. I rummaged around the supply cabinet pulling out anything I could find and sat down next to her again.
'You know Mrs. D, if we made this look like a piece of jewelry we could make millions.' She very much liked this idea and quickly turned her head to answer me. I'm not sure what she said after that because as she swiveled her head I noticed two things. First, her head moved independently of her wig. So while she was facing me, her wig was still looking straight ahead. And second, the caramel had managed to meld its way across the top of her large dentures and looked like brown gums overtaking her teeth. She must has felt this as well and began making a medley of the most god awful slurping, sucking and gurgling noises. From a young age when my mother tried to teach me to balance a check book while standing over me crunching pretzels in my ear, I cannot stand eating or drinking noises. I didn't know whether to cry, try to dislodge the sticky mess for her or grab my checkbook.
We made a tapped up paper clipped banded mess of her pendant that we were both quite proud of, but I warned her to not submerge it in water despite out efforts. She was pleased, thanked me and got up to leave.
'Mrs. D, are you making a left onto Route 1?' I asked worried for her safety and the safety of other drivers.
'How else would I get home.' And off she went. I watched her drive slowly by peering through the steering wheel.
Several months went by and Mrs. D hadn't been able to make her way to the mailbox to send her payment so I decided to call and offer to pick it up for her.
'Hi Mrs. D, it's Michele I understand you cannot get your check mailed so I thought since you were on my way home I'd stop and pick it up for you.' Aren't I a peach?!
'What?!' She screamed into the phone. I shut my eyes and bowed my head. Here we go.
'I SAY I CAN PICK UP YOUR CHECK AFTER 5 TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!???' I yelled.
'Okay! But I'm not dressed!' Seriously?
I pulled into her driveway after dark and with the aid of my clogs twisted my ankles in through what I later found out was a rock garden that I had mistaken for her front walkway. I fell once and lost track of how many 'almosts' and times I said 'shit' or 'jesus christ!' I knocked on the front door then realized where I was and no one answers the front door in Maine, usually on the other side of the front door there is a sofa or buffet table, they just dont' get used. I tripped my way to the side door where I found a bell hanging from a string tied to a nail. I knocked on the door. I knocked again. I banged. I rang the bell. I beat the bell on the door. The temptation to try the door handle was great, but my fear of facing a shotgun on the other side was greater. Finally the door opened and there she stood smiling, tan robe, tan wig, large teeth and gnarled fingers holding a cane in one hand and a check in the other.
'Oh it's good to see you!' I said and I really meant it. At 93, Mrs. D had probably seen and done more things than I could ever imagine but she was still going strong and through those coke bottle glasses, her eyes sparkled like a mischievous teenager.
'I told you I wasn't dressed!!' God speed Mrs. D, God speed.
I bounded down the stairs and at the desk was a very small very old woman in a pale blue sweater, beige skirt with the waist band tucked riding way north of where a waist should be, opaque tan panty hose and orthopedic tan shoes. Her glasses were as thick as coke bottles and her tan hair was clearly not her own. In her gnarled fingers she held a pendant that was once off white but was now yellowed with age.
'Hi, may I help you?' I smiled at her overwhelmed by the various shades of tans she was sporting. I wasn't prepared for her to bellow at me.
'I can't take this thing into the bathtub, it's not waterproof!' For a moment I wanted to channel my inner John Cleese and shout, 'Pardon?!?!' But I simply offered her one of the two lobby chairs and took a seat next to her.
'Were you in the parking lot for a while?' I asked as I took the pendant from her and began to inspect it.
'Yes, that reminds me, do you have a cookie I could have?!' She asked again yelling. Everyone in the office began rifling through their desks and I jumped up and dashed to the candy dish. Clearly we were dealing with a blood sugar issue and we are nothing if not compassionate. I found a caramel and quickly handed it to her. It wasn't until she opened her mouth to pop in the gooey morsel did I see the error of my ways. At that advanced age few people, with even the best dentists, have their own choppers, Mrs. D was not among the chosen few.'
As I studied the pendant, she began rattling off a list of items we could use to MacGyver the thing for a proper tubby. Her speech was garbled by the mouth full of caramel, more tan, saliva and dentures that appeared to be working themselves free of any remaining Polygrip.
'Got any duct tape?! A paper clip!? Rubber cement!? Rubber bands!?' NASA missed the boat on this broad. I rummaged around the supply cabinet pulling out anything I could find and sat down next to her again.
'You know Mrs. D, if we made this look like a piece of jewelry we could make millions.' She very much liked this idea and quickly turned her head to answer me. I'm not sure what she said after that because as she swiveled her head I noticed two things. First, her head moved independently of her wig. So while she was facing me, her wig was still looking straight ahead. And second, the caramel had managed to meld its way across the top of her large dentures and looked like brown gums overtaking her teeth. She must has felt this as well and began making a medley of the most god awful slurping, sucking and gurgling noises. From a young age when my mother tried to teach me to balance a check book while standing over me crunching pretzels in my ear, I cannot stand eating or drinking noises. I didn't know whether to cry, try to dislodge the sticky mess for her or grab my checkbook.
We made a tapped up paper clipped banded mess of her pendant that we were both quite proud of, but I warned her to not submerge it in water despite out efforts. She was pleased, thanked me and got up to leave.
'Mrs. D, are you making a left onto Route 1?' I asked worried for her safety and the safety of other drivers.
'How else would I get home.' And off she went. I watched her drive slowly by peering through the steering wheel.
Several months went by and Mrs. D hadn't been able to make her way to the mailbox to send her payment so I decided to call and offer to pick it up for her.
'Hi Mrs. D, it's Michele I understand you cannot get your check mailed so I thought since you were on my way home I'd stop and pick it up for you.' Aren't I a peach?!
'What?!' She screamed into the phone. I shut my eyes and bowed my head. Here we go.
'I SAY I CAN PICK UP YOUR CHECK AFTER 5 TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!???' I yelled.
'Okay! But I'm not dressed!' Seriously?
I pulled into her driveway after dark and with the aid of my clogs twisted my ankles in through what I later found out was a rock garden that I had mistaken for her front walkway. I fell once and lost track of how many 'almosts' and times I said 'shit' or 'jesus christ!' I knocked on the front door then realized where I was and no one answers the front door in Maine, usually on the other side of the front door there is a sofa or buffet table, they just dont' get used. I tripped my way to the side door where I found a bell hanging from a string tied to a nail. I knocked on the door. I knocked again. I banged. I rang the bell. I beat the bell on the door. The temptation to try the door handle was great, but my fear of facing a shotgun on the other side was greater. Finally the door opened and there she stood smiling, tan robe, tan wig, large teeth and gnarled fingers holding a cane in one hand and a check in the other.
'Oh it's good to see you!' I said and I really meant it. At 93, Mrs. D had probably seen and done more things than I could ever imagine but she was still going strong and through those coke bottle glasses, her eyes sparkled like a mischievous teenager.
'I told you I wasn't dressed!!' God speed Mrs. D, God speed.
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