They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

I am a nice person. At least, that's what people tell me. Apparently, it's one of my enduring characteristics -- curly hair, smile, niceness. I, myself, don't think I'm all that nice, but I know myself a lot better. For instance, at this moment, I am contemplating how to start a letter to an old friend that I probably hurt a while back. It was one of those situations that I always flash to when people tell me that I'm the nicest person that they know. The other situation that I think of is when I told my then-and-now friend Rebekah that she wasn't "cool" enough to be friends with me after freshman year of high school. I tell people that and they can't believe it -- "You said that?" they ask. When I nod and shrug, as in, I was stupid and young and petrified about my reputation, they say, "Man -- that's so mean! You were a mean girl!"

So I'm admitting it. I was a mean girl. And believe me, I am still capable.

Today, I spent the last half of the morning running errands so that I could write during the afternoon. I'm very excited about the direction that my novel is taking -- a sort of meaningless side character that I wasn't sure why I was including turned out to be very important and the pivotal figure in leading the main character back to a painful memory. I love when that happens -- you're not expecting success, you're actually expecting total and utter failure, and then, all the sudden, a moment comes together and although it's not toally clear, it's clear enough that you can get down the outlines of the image. Then the outlines become clearer and clearer and you revise once, twice, seven times, and afterwards, you have a moment in focus. Having a moment in focus, just as I know it ought to be, is probably the most rewarding part of writing fiction for me. It's why I crave to be in my writer's chair, tapping away and staring into space all afternoon.

But before I get to that, I have the real world to worry about. Money. Bills. Food. Netflix envelopes. So, I hop around town, from one destination to another, trying to get it all done as fast as I can so that I can get to the part of my day that matters. I ended up at Rubio's for lunch today, which is not unusual. In fact, all the lunch time workers know who I am and probably roll their eyes at each other when they see me coming because of my very complicated, Sally-in-When-Harry-Met-Sally order. I always get a fish burrito, but without onions, cilantro, salsa, sour cream, and black beans. And I get the white sauce, but I get it on the side. There's a method to my madness -- I get containers of the salsa at the salsa bar and then, mix the white sauce and salsa together so that I can both pour it over my burrito and dip my chips into it. Much of the time, I later walk back up to the counter to ask for a take-home box because I only eat half of the burrito. I always bring a book, get a 3/4 Diet Coke-1/4 Coca-Cola, and relax among people that I hear, but don't have to talk to.

Today, though, there was no relaxation to be had, neither at Rubio's or Kinko's or Von's. And it was because of children...curs-ed children.

Many of the people who know that I'm nice also know that I'm not a child person. I'm not kid-friendly. I'm a sharp edge. I like a few kids, ones that I've warmed up to over time, like my niece and some kids at church, but as a rule, I dislike merging with kids in public. It's partly because I'm uncomfortable talking to kids in any voice that is higher than my natural one. I find that kids and parents of kids enjoy falsetto cooing and squeaky exclamations. One thing I like about my niece is that she looks at me weird if I pull a voice like that. The other part I dislike about kids in general is the constant activity. Enough with the bouncing off the walls already. Just sit down and read a book. Or draw pictures and imagine stories to go along with them. That's what I did when I was kid. That, and played in Illinois mud puddles after thunderstorms. If any one ever wants to blackmail me, they'll have to look no further than my sister.

So imagine me, with my burrito and my Thom Jones at Rubio's, and as I start to eat, some cutesy music starts to blare from the table next to me and the falsettoest of falsettos shrieks, "Hola!" That would be the one and only Dora the Explorer. On a portable DVD player. Two kids with their mom and grandma were watching this DVD with no consideration for anyone around them who might want to eat without having to listen to Dora shrilly say, "Look at what Diego found -- un perro!" The real kicker is that once Dora was over, the kids whined and complained until the moms put in a Strawberry Shortcake DVD and let it play just as loudly. I don't know who I was more annoyed at, the adults or the kids. In any case, my annoyance happens often at this particular Rubio's, since there is a Gymboree in the same shopping center and from overheard (loud) conversations, I've gathered that the moms have some sort of post-play pow-wow.

I have often thought about what would happen if I wasn't so nice. If I turned to parents of the Dora-DVDers and said, "Hey, don't you remember how annoying it was when people's kids were making a racket before you had any?" If I said, "How would you like it if I picked a fight with someone on my cell phone and you had to listen to all the details?" Or how about, "Can we keep DVDs out of food joints and just in houses and cars? Because some of us are trying to enjoy our food without a side of Dora."

But maybe I am a nice person. Because I would never, ever say any of that outloud. I may think it, chew my specialized burrito a bit resentfully, but when it all comes down, I would never sass a mama.