I don't know what day it was that I went to get my taxes done. Last year I did them myself and I screwed them up and I had to pay and ugh, ya know? P recommended his lady at H&R Block because if I went to her-he'd get some sort of $25 gift card thing and I put it off as long as I possibly could and finally-because I had to show my tax forms for something totally unrelated-I made an appointment.
This is a place that we had to pass about 500 times on the way to Loyola(Imagine I drove myself to surgery. That is so badass-now that I think about it.) so I knew where it was and I got there and I think I had to wait and this woman comes out and I think, umm okay. I wonder what it was about this particular woman because I'm just not seeing it.
She was very overweight, grey hair, limping(or 'vaulting' as we call it in massage town) and she had on a blouse with an autumnal pattern of leaves and this was the beginning of Spring. I just didn't get it but whatever, right? It had to be done.
So we begin the tax dance and I hand her my stuff and-I had never been to H&R Block before so I don't know if this is 100% normal, but she starts grilling me about receipts.
Did I not have one for ________? That was the game.
Do you not have any purchases for massage? Not a new table? Not new equipment? Not lotions? Not sheets? Not a new massage chair? Not anything? Are you sure? Are you completely sure? Shaking her head. Shaking her head. Shaking her head.
And then we went into personal expenses. Do you not have any receipts for a new computer? Or a new phone? Or a new car? Or prescriptions? Or new glasses? Or dental work? Or how about ___ or how about ____ ? What about this? What about that? Frown frown frown.
This was relentless and she was judgmental. It was crazy uncomfortable.
I said: Hey. Look. I am dealing with issues of cancer. Financially, the brakes have been on for several years. There are no receipts. There have been no purchases. Stop asking.
For fuck sake.
We got-at some point-to my birthdate and she smiles because she is something like three years younger than I and I'm thinkin' holee shit. Do I look like that?
And it gets to quittin' time-mercifully-and it turns out that P isn't going to get his $25 because it's going to be cheaper for me to take the first time customer special of something like 150 bucks(That's not accurate but it was a whole lot of money)as opposed to the 300 I was supposed to be charged(Umm WHUT?!?!) and I end up having to come back another time and she leaves me waiting while she asks some other dude a string of horrendous personal questions that I am overhearing out of her cubicle and I get the Customer Satisfaction Survey where they ask me the likelihood of my return and if there was a button that said 'When hell freezes over' that's what I would have pushed.
(Later I found out that her day job was a parole officer. A professional quizmaster. Lucky me.)
Last Friday, I was flying.
No kidding. I even drew myself a picture-this was such an astounding event.
If you know me in my second Chicagoland lifetime, you might know what scares me. Yeah. The dentist. Having not been for a year or two, on top of many many other frightening things-I knew I had to go but it took almost all I had-to get myself there.
My strategy for that day was to completely immerse myself in self-care. It was like a blizzard of taking care of myself so that when I finally arrived in the dental chair? I was at a level of such maximum chill that I couldn't even believe it myself.
The entire dentists office was so delightfully charming to me-really. When I walked in? About five different women all looked at me and smiled encouragingly. It made me laugh-they were so nice.
So as you can imagine, where I left there having had a successful cleaning? I was euphoric.
So there I am, in the canned food section of The Jewel. This was my planned prize payoff event for whatever was going to happen at the dentist.
I am hunting for the appropriate size can of corn that we scored in the latest episode of Jewel Monopoly and I don't have my glasses so, I'm having a bit of a struggle but it's okay because I'm so so so happy with myself it's a kind of a glorious thing.
A woman I know approaches and plants her feet in front of my cart. I look up and she says, So.
What color is your hair supposed to be?
My brain goes into slow motion because I never expect something like that. In a million zillion years, under what circumstances would that comment be appropriate because I'm not finding it. I sputter out something like, uhhhwhat color is YOUR hair supposed to be? As if me saying it to her is going to illuminate the crazy inappropriateness of uninvited commentary on another person's appearance cuz you know that went nowhere fast.
I remember asking my Mom to buy me How Chicks Are Born which-for all this time-I thought was called How Chickens Are Born and I am sure-because I asked for it-I must have read it like 10 thousand times and I can't even explain the fascination except to say it rears it's head again today only in title because from both these stupid, unnecessary, rude experiences(and I know for sure they're not the worst things people have ever said)I-with the help of some magical people-will be announcing the creation of a new business that I believe will contribute to the cure of a certain cancer.
I'm gonna need your help. There's a lot of pieces to put together.
Please stand by.