So – my good buddy and I drove up to El Lay yesterday to take care of some bidness – he graciously rode along with me as my “Diamond Dummy” – a vaguely derisive moniker applied to someone who rides with you on your respective mission so that you can use the diamond (carpool) lanes for your journey.
The customary “payment” for this favor – and believe ME, it IS a tremendous favor, at least out here in Kalifornia – is that you buy your DD any & all meals during your trek. What you get in return is a 90 minute/leg time, versus an (up to) 3-4 HOUR/leg time; well worth the price of a meal or two!
We take care of bidness (Craigslist buy), and since we’re in Santa Monica, we set out on foot for some victuals; we settle on a tiny little pizza parlor – two tables inside, two tables outside. We sit outside and place two orders for the “Lunch Special” – a personal pizza and a drink for $5.99.
Now – when I say this place it tiny, I MEAN tiny; the entire business, inside and out, would fit in my living room! It is clearly a family business too – as I inquire as to where the restroom(s) is/are, I’m directed “to the back” – I walk past the cash register and into the kitchen – Dad & Son are working the cooktop/ovens, Daughter-In-Law is working the cash register/waitressing, and Grandson is sitting at one of the two inside tables working his Gameboy.
The kitchen and the restroom are IMMACULATE – good sign! I take care of the vein-draining, then join my compadre back outside, where we do the requisite “Kalifornia Weirdo Watch” while we’re waiting for our order. 25 minutes later, out come two “personal pizzas” – each the size of a trash can lid, fairly HEAPED with toppings – $5.99!! Did we get in The Wayback Machine?
Our waitress/cashier, a mid-30’s Armenian lass, is one of those “low talkers” – I have to strain to hear her speak in her demure voice. We set in on the two pizzas like the jackals that we are – OUTSTANDING!
After we’re done, I go in to pay – as she makes change, I say – “Those pizzas were OUTSTANDING!” I lean forward and stoop slightly to hear her response: “Thanks – you should try the sandwiches next time – they are really FUCKIN’ good too…”
Did I just hear this 5 foot tall, mid-30’s, shy, prim, proper wife/mother/daughter-in-law of the owner say “FUCKIN’ good”?! Whaaa???? Yeah, I did; in THE most matter-of-fact, unemotional delivery. “Uh – can we rewind tape and hear that again? I’m not sure I heard that?” I say to myself…
Which leads me to my Thought Du Jour; to wit: When a person that you know who almost NEVER swears, or a person that you meet who gives the appearance of NEVER EVER swearing, DOES SO – what a dramatic effect, that makes MAXIMUM use out of the cuss word!
*I*, on the other hand, pretty much use “the f-word” in just about every sentence out of my foul mouth; hey, I’m from Jersey, O.K.? Son of a pair of alcoholic “potty-mouths” – I was pretty much fuckin’ DOOMED from the day I popped out the hole, when Mom said – “Fuck, did THAT hurt! Now where’s my fuckin’ cocktail for my troubles, Doc?”
On through Kindergarten, where I got my mouth washed out with soap – now THAT was an incident! (See results below.)
Sooo…the next time you hear a swear word out of someone that you would NEVER expect, please extend a “tip of the hat” to him/her – they’re doing it Fuckin’-A Right!
Dick Jones 