crazy old women

where do hood ornaments go to die?

by Shauna on October 21, 2008

yesterday i had to take my car to the body shop. no, i didn’t have an accident. tommy did. in my car. well, it wasn’t actually his fault. he was rear ended while sitting at a red light. so technically it could have happened to anyone, but the fact that it happened to him while he was driving MY car makes me crazy. this also after he got popped by one of those red light cameras in my car–to which they mailed the ticket to ME since the car is in my name. how’d i know it wasn’t me? i checked the date of the ticket and i was out of town when the offense occurred–and…i don’t run red lights…especially that one.
so anyway, i made my way to the enterprise rental office and found myself in line behind 5 people. if i could have turned around and left i would have, but i had no choice. i needed a car. but i can’t stress enough how much i HATE long lines.
the woman standing at the counter was in the process of picking out her car. she was an older, retired woman i might add. her choices were: a pt cruiser, a kia spectra, and a ford fusion. all small cars. she wasn’t impressed with any of the choices. her husband, who was sitting in one of the plastic waiting chairs, yelled out, “what are our options?” to which she turned around and shouted back, “a pt cruiser, and 2 other small cars.” her husband hollered back (while still seated in his chair) “well, definitely not the pt cruiser. just pick something and let’s go!” i couldn’t agree with him more. in fact, i quite liked his no nonsense style. i wondered why he’d left her in charge in the first place. and then i remembered: he probably didn’t have a choice. sorry, lost my head there for a minute. he got up from his seat then and joined his wife at the counter. she continued to peruse the picture of cars that the enterprise rental guy had given her. and i sighed heavily. all i could think was, please don’t let me get stuck with the pt cruiser. i’ll drive anything else, but please not that.
she looked up at her husband and said, “well, not a one of these cars has a hood ornament.” (i swear to god i’m not making this up) then the husband made a fatal error. he said back, “point a to point b. that’s all we need. it’s temporary. pick the ford.” she whipped her head around (it may have spun all the way around–it happened so fast–it’s a blur and i was suddenly frightened) and shouted, “I DON’T CARE IF I HAVE TO WELD A BRASS HORSE ON THE CAR MYSELF, I’M HAVING A HOOD ORNAMENT.”
the enterprise guy stopped typing at this point and looked up at her. he said, “um, ma’am, we’d appreciate if you wouldn’t weld anything to the hood of our car.”
her husband laughed, the man behind them laughed, i laughed. she, on the other hand, was not impressed.
the girl was serious about her hood ornament. i watched as she slid in the driver’s seat of her rented ford fusion, obviously disappointed at the lack of brass figurine on the end of the hood. her eyes were locked on the place where an ornament would have been fashioned in the good ole days. i was sad for her. the hood ornament is a dying breed and i hadn’t noticed before. none of the new cars come with hood ornaments. not even the cadillac. i never considered that people actually liked having metal do-hickeys bolted to the hood. and then i thought to myself, i gotta see her car. i wonder what she has sitting on the end of her hood. a cross with jesus? a mermaid? the mug of george w?
silver lining to all this: i thought of a possible new career for me if this writing thing doesn’t pan out. i could design and sell hood ornaments. i would be such a hit with the older crowd, no?
oh, and i didn’t get stuck with the pt cruiser. the man in front of me was happy to take it. i’m in the kia spectra. and harley loves it. she thinks it’s the fanciest car she’s ever been in and wants to buy one when she’s older. boy is she easy. could it be? maybe she’s not my child after all?

{ 11 comments }

the barbara walters show

by Shauna on August 25, 2008

the other day one of my cousins called and left a message on my voicemail. it basically said something like this. hey, i just got off the phone with mimi (our grandmother) and she wanted me to leave my address with you so you could tell it to her, so here it is. i thought, why didn’t she just get his address from him? they were already on the phone together. odd. so anyway, i scribbled it down and then dialed my grandmother’s number. she answered on the 8th ring.

“hello?”

“hey mim. i’m calling to give you case’s new address.”

“ok, let me get a pencil.” (side note: everything is a pencil. a pen is a pencil, a crayon is a pencil, a marker is a pencil, a pencil is a flamingo. just kidding. a pencil is a pencil. just making sure you’re paying attention)

she comes back to the phone. “ok, i’m ready.”

so i proceed. “2-1-0-8.”

she repeats. “2-1-0-8.”

then i say “vista. v…”

“z?”

“no, V. as in victor, victory, victorious.”

“s?”

“no. V. AS IN VIVIAN.”

“z?”

“NO. ok listen. VISTA. write these letters down. V-I-S…”

“z-r-l.”

my head begins to throb. “no mimi. let’s do something else. abcdefghijklmnopqrstuV!”

“z?”

“NO! do you know the alphabet?”

she laughs. “yes i know the alphabet.”

“then what comes after u?”

so she begins reciting the alphabet to me. she gets to the letter t and i swear to god she starts adding in letters that don’t exist in the english version of the alphabet. i say, “hold on, hold on. i’m not even sure what language you’re speaking. is that russian?”

“who?” she says.

ugh. “never mind. listen mimi. V. AS IN VIC-TOR-Y.

“v?”

YES! THAT’S IT! YOU GOT IT!

so she writes v. then i say, “i-s-t-a.”

she repeats it perfectly. awww. first word down. only 4 to go. next word. view. oh crap. there’s that fucking letter v again.

so i say, “the next word is view. v-i-e-w.”

“stream?”

“no. VIEW. like the show on tv in the morning with barbara walters?”

“i don’t watch that show.”

“you don’t have to watch it to know what it’s called. what’s the name of it?”

“oh, i don’t know. it’s got that black woman on there i don’t like. what’s her name?”

now i’m headed to the liquor cabinet. it’s 9 o’clock in the morning, but i don’t care. i suddenly feel the urge to do tequila shots. “whoopi goldberg?”

“yes, that’s the one. i’ve never liked her.”

“that’s great. what’s the show she’s on called?”

“the barbara walters’ show?”

“IT’S NOT CALLED THE BARBARA WALTERS’ SHOW. IT’S CALLED THE VIEW. VIEW. VIEW. VIEW.”

“i’m sorry, honey. i just can’t understand what you’re saying. maybe you should tell the address to your mama and she can tell me.”

“you think you’re gonna understand her better than me? we talk EXACTLY THE SAME. now listen to me woman. we are going to do this if it kills us.”

“ok.”

“you know the word you just wrote down?”

“yes.”

“ok, the second word starts with that same letter. V.”

“z?”

oh for the love of pete. it’s now clear why she wanted me to do this. i don’t have a gun in the house. most everone else in my family does. any one of them would have blown their brains out by now.

“t, u, V.”

“oh, v.”

“YES! that’s it! v-i-e-w.”

she repeats the letters exactly as i say them.

“oh, view. why that’s the name of that show barbara walters is on in the morning.”

“i know.”

“you know, i’ve never cared for that black woman that’s on there. what’s her name?”

i roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “whoopi goldberg.”

“yes, that’s it. i don’t think she’s funny.”

“i’m sure she’d be devastated to hear that.”

“what’s that?”

“i said, let me finish giving you this address before we miss the presidential election.”

she laughs, but i would bet a million dollars she has no idea what i said.

we get through the city, state and zip code with relatively few breakdowns in communication. it’s a good thing too. my faculties had all but left the building.

we talked a few minutes longer and then she said, “well, i better let you go. i need to go put in my hearing aids so i can hear worth a darn today.”

i interrupted her. “wait. you don’t have your hearing aids in?”

“no,” she said. “i usually wait until i’ve had a shower.”

“why didn’t you tell me…” and then i stopped. what would be the point? so the woman can’t hear. she’s 84 for christ’s sake! i hope to one day drive my own grandkids crazy.

we said goodbye and i checked the time. 10 o’clock. i hurried into the bedroom and turned on the barbara walters’ show. you know what? i don’t much care for whoopi goldberg either. my grandmother is right. she’s not very funny.

{ 12 comments }