He's a Strange Beast

Recently, I was fortunate enough to buy a new car. Well, it’s a car that’s new to me. I like to refer to it as my “mid-life-crisis-son-going-to-college” car.

Why mid-life crisis? It’s a red convertible, I’m somewhat in a crisis, and I’m mid-life if I were to only live to 60. Yeah, yeah, you got me; pants on fire! So, the “son-going-to-college” part of the car is that it’s a 2007 with 40K miles on it. Perhaps someday, I’ll get a new one after Iz graduates from college when I’m…okay, let’s not go there.

I bought a VW EOS, which is the "new" VW Cabrio. In 1996, I bought a used 1995 VW Cabrio; by the way, it’s very true that history repeats itself. Peasant blouses were trendy in the 1940s, 1970s, and now for the last year. (Okay, I had to put in my fashion two sense there, and yes, I meant to spell “sense” like that.) By the way, never throw out clothes; put them in the attic, and in 15-30 years, they’ll be back in style, I promise!

Anyway, I sold my VW Cabrio in 2000. (If Nathan were to hold a grudge against me for anything, it would not be because I called him “Bear,” my pet name for him, in front of his friends at his eighth birthday party; it would be because I sold the Cabrio. When my Dad died, he left two Toyota RAV4s; my brother took one, and I took the other one, which was less than a year old with only 10K miles on it.

At the time, I felt that if I were a good parent, I’d have a car with a backseat that could hold three passengers. The backseat of my Cabrio only had two seatbelts. I wondered how I could drive all of Nathan’s friends around if I were a seatbelt short; in 2000, I was out of my first mid-life crisis, and, by the way, if history repeats itself, so does the mid-life crisis evidently!

I wanted to be a good parent, but I was hesitant, because I loved my car. I had never loved a car in my life before, and the VW Cabrio was the first car I ever truly loved. I reluctantly put a “For Sale” sign in the car and then reluctantly put an ad in the Want Advertiser, which wouldn’t run for a week. Phew, I had time to put off being a “good parent.”

The evening after I put the “For Sale” sign in my car, my doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw my neighbor’s 16-year-old daughter standing there. She said, “Hi!” and then asked, “So, your car is for sale?” Knowing she didn’t even have her permit yet, I chuckled to myself and said, “Yes. It is.”

She then said, “My Dad’s going to buy it for me.” I asked, “Really?” She said, “Well, I can’t drive yet, but it’ll be mine when I can drive.”

Her Dad seemed to love cars, because he had about six of them in his driveway and at least one was a VW. I stood there somewhat amazed. I wasn’t amazed that she couldn’t drive yet; I was amazed that she was getting a car before she could even drive. When I was 16, I think my parents gave me a sweater vest!

The next day her Dad called. He wanted to buy her my car; I emphasize the “my,” because I was still wondering what I was doing. A voice said, “You’re being a good parent,” and I listened to it over and over when I signed the title over to him after he handed me a check for $6000.

When Nathan found out that I sold my car, he was upset. I tried to explain my whole “good parent” thing to him, but it was said again and again to deaf ears. Ironically, during that whole post-Cabrio time, I was never driving Nathan and a bunch of friends around; back then, Nathan was a shy kid with Connor, Ellen’s son, being his best and pretty much only close friend. "Carma" (yes, I meant to spell it that way) is indeed a bitch!

Believe it or not, my 1995 VW Cabrio, though somewhat rusted on the driver’s side door, is still being driven by my neighbor and his wife to this day. I saw his wife drive down the street in it this afternoon, and I’m always glad when Nathan isn’t around to see this. When he is, he looks fondly at the car, glares at me the “good parent who is really an idiot for ever giving up that car,” and then he sighs.

It was all very painful in that “bad parent” way, though I have learned my lesson. After I bought my “new to me” car, I promptly handed over the keys to my 2000 Toyota RAV4 with 180K miles on it to Nathan. He was elated.

I somewhat felt like I had been forgiven for my past VW sins. It was like I had given Nate the keys to a Ferrari. Of course, it was half the size of “Big Red,” the Suburban he crashed last Fall; so, in hand-me-down car terms, the RAV4 was a Ferrari!

When I took Iz for her first spin in my “new to me” car, she, not one to mince words asked matter-of-fact, “Mommy, since Nathan got the black car, I get the red car when I am driving, right?” Iz already staked out her vehicle territory. When I wasn't thinking “That’s my girl!” I was thinking, “Good parents drive fun cars and pass the fun cars and the love of them to their children.”

Anyway, there comes a time when driving your child everywhere becomes a total drag. You worry about them driving your car, but then you worry about your sanity when one child is already asleep and you have to pick the other one up from his job. After fighting off the antiquated “Well, I didn’t have a car until I was 22,” you think, “I’m going to be good to myself as a parent, and I’m giving him my car!” It’s the new parent math -- being a good parent to yourself!

But, there’s a downside to the child with car keys; it’s called “abandonment.” You don’t abandon them; they leave you, BUT this only occurs when they have gas money from you and you've paid their car insurance. Yes, a big HELLO, you contribute to their deliquency to abandon you; um, parenting is also a bitch!

Last Friday, I was texting with Nate about his plans for the weekend. As usual, he drops a bomb in a text message rather than in an actual conversation. He said, “Oh, I need to talk to you about Strange Creek, which is next weekend.”

I replied with “What creek?” He didn’t reply, so I knew it was something big, something that surely involved my money and my car! They think we parents are totally clueless, but if they only really knew who the clueless ones were, it would make our lives as parents a lot easier!

After I put my cell phone down, I immediately went to my computer to google “Strange Creek.” It was a music festival over two days where concert attendees would camp. Can you say, “Woodstock?!?!?!?!”

I was sitting in my office chair thinking, “No way. Not my son. Not my car. ” Of course, it seems that as I have aged, everything I did back when I was 18 was okay, because I knew what I was doing. It seems that Nathan has the same attitude, but I can’t accept it because I’m 40-something and he is 18; again, history repeats itself, because my Mom and Dad probably thought the same thing back then.

Tonight, I thought it was time to discuss the concert with Nathan. So, I asked, “So, you’re driving out to Greenfield and camping?” He said, “Uh, well, no. First, we’re driving up to Burlington, Vermont on Friday, seeing Ray Lamontagne, and then driving to Greenfield to meet up with about 15 other people from school.” WOODSTOCK, WOODSTOCK, WOODSTOCK!

I said, “Um, I don’t know about this.” Then I defaulted to the “bad cop” parent by asking, “So, what does your Dad think about this?” Nathan said, “Well, I think he’s okay with it,” and then he added “Well, more or less.”

I laughed and asked, “So, what does that mean?” Nathan said, “Well, he’s a strange beast.” I then said, “Nathan, we’re not strange beasts. We’re parents!”

Am I worried about this road trip? I am. Will I fund this road trip? I will. Would I prevent him from going? I won’t, because at 18, 28, 38, or 48, or 58 (if I’m that lucky), I will always worry; it’s comes with the “good parent” and “strange beast” territory, understanding only now that my parents were good but very strange beasts, too. ♥

Who are You? Who, Who, Who, Who?

In February of this year, the company that laid me off in 2009 hired me back. It seems that my company, not unlike others, had outsourcing remorse, which led them to hire many people back. While I was not keen when they outsourced me, I was glad to see that they tried it but didn’t end up liking it as it applied to some positions within the company, especially mine as a technical writer.

Before I was rehired, the company rehired a few engineers that they had laid off. I remember feeling a bit miffed that people who could write code were being welcomed back before people who could write a complete sentence and remember to put a period after it, but then I reminded myself that this was high technology. As long as the software worked, who cared if no one knew how to use it?!

A few weeks ago, I was in the bathroom washing my hands. I happened to be speaking to someone when a woman rounded the corner from the bathroom stalls. She took one look at me and exclaimed, “Hi, Jean!”

It would have normally been a positive experience; however, I took one look at her, and I had no idea who she was. Now, I’m one of those people who is very good with names and faces; I can directly attribute it to my many hours of CSI and Law & Order TV viewing. I scanned her face again hoping I could channel Lenny Briscoe or Sara Sidle, but alas, I could only channel a tabula, and it was rasa; I had no idea who this woman was!

The situation was made worse by the fact that her “Hi, Jean!” was said with an “I have known you since Kindergarten” type of familiarity. I said, “Hi!!!’ hoping my many exclamation marks would make up for the fact that I could not append a name to “Hi.’ She told me that it was good to see me, and taking her lead, I said the same thing back; right then I should have said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name, “ but she knew me so well, I knew I’d feel like I was in Kindergarten by saying that.

In my previous job, I had worked on the release notes for three major products. On a weekly basis, I interacted with 40 to 50 software engineers; this was almost entirely done by e-mail. It used to amaze me that I worked with one sixth of the employees in my building, who were only a floor away, yet I knew them only by their e-mail addresses.

Between you and me, I had formulated ideas of them. There was “engineer who never responded until the last minute,” “engineer who was most appreciative that I could take something incoherent that he wrote and make it a complete sentence with a period after it,” “engineer who always wrote grumpy replies,” and “engineer who always went out of his way to help me.” I had profiled most of them even if I didn’t know them, and I had Criminal Minds to thank for that!

Occasionally, I might have to call an engineer to actually “talk” about an issue or prod one to review something I wrote two hours before a deadline. I’d access the employee directory to look up a phone number; it was only then that I might get an idea of what the engineer looked like due to the picture in the directory; however, the employee photos were about as good as those FBI mug shots you see in the post office.

You could look at the picture of the fugitive for 5 seconds, walk out of the post office, pass the fugitive on the sidewalk, and never know it was the person in the picture. Like most pictures, they captured you at a moment in time; from perusing some of the photos, people had lost hair, gained weight, and grown older. Though, I was comforted by the fact that when I roamed the hallways at work, the engineers that I didn’t know were only wanted by me most days and not by the FBI.

After two minutes of basic chit-chat, my CSI and Law & Order TV viewing started to kick in. While trying to converse, as if I knew who she was, my Lenny Briscoe voice said, “Try and look at her badge.” Everyone in the company had a badge; you were supposed to wear your badge at all times, and sometimes, according to corporate regulations, it seemed like it was more important to wear your badge than clothes as in “Hey, nice belly button ring, but where the heck is your badge?!”

I hated my badge. I was never one to be a huge rule breaker, but I tried to get away without wearing it as often as I could. Truthfully, I was not James Dean for doing so; frankly, it was just because I felt the badge didn’t go well with any of my outfits! Yes, I admit it; I was transparent when it came to corporate security.

While trying to remain focused on our conversation and share my “I was laid off and hired back too” story, I glanced down at her pants. I saw her 2x4 inch badge dangling from her waist. Unfortunately, it was flipped over showing me only that she was as white as a ghost and I couldn’t even call her Casper!

When the conversation came to its natural conclusion, I skedaddled out the bathroom door with a “Yeah, it is really nice to see you, too!” When the door closed behind me, I walked back to my office wondering who she was. I knew everyone in my life; I even knew people in my life that I didn’t know like the man who serviced the ATM machine at the supermarket and the woman who booked my ferry ticket to Nantucket!

I arrived back at my office and pondered how I had let this person slip through my life. I didn’t know where she sat, so I couldn’t do a “walk by” and read the name plate on her cube. I could try and point her out to someone, but I’d feel rather silly saying, “Hi” to her and then asking a companion, “Who the heck is that?”

With so many other things on my mind, I decided that I’d have to file her away in a cardboard storage box in my mind and watch more episodes of Cold Case. I knew I’d see her again, and I’d still be in that awkward position. For now, I’d just have to settle for my exaggerated “Hi!!!!” until I could figure out the mystery.

Today, my life unfolded as an episode of CSI, Law & Order, Cold Case, and maybe a bit of the Brady Bunch; that would be the Brady Bunch episode where Jan gets a tape recorder and secretly tapes her siblings’ conversations.

I had a chance encounter with the woman who knew me but who I don’t know!

I was leaving the bathroom.

I saw her in the kitchen waiting by the microwave.

I didn’t need to go into the kitchen.

Two steps down the hallway, I said, “Oh, I’ll get some tea.”

I didn’t need tea, but it was an opportunity to try and read her badge once again!

I walked into the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I had just walked by the kitchen and think, “I wonder if Jean’s coming in here to try and read my badge, because she has no clue as to my identity, the poor dumb thing.”

She smiled at me.

I smiled back and said, “Hi!!!!!”

I stood there for too long of a moment, and then I realized, “Oh, yes. I need tea!”

She looked at me, and I know she was thinking, “Jean looks confused. Perhaps I should call Security.”

I got my cup and I glanced over at her pants to see if I could catch a glimpse of her badge.

She flashed an uncomfortable smile, and I know she was thinking, “Jean’s checking me out. Perhaps I should call Human Resources.”

I quickly grabbed a tea bag when I noticed that…

She wasn’t wearing her badge.

Damn!

She took her food out of the microwave and left the kitchen, and I know she was thinking, “Jean’s really strange. Perhaps I should tell the CEO at the next company meeting.”

I came up with a plan, I saw that she was not wearing her badge, and I conquered, well, not much of anything other than proving to her that I might be a tad odd. No matter, I think Lenny Briscoe would be proud of me. I do believe that figuring out who this woman is could be my entertainment for at least the next six months; I suppose I could just be brave and ask her what her name is, but where’s the Law & Order fun in that?! ♥

Brenda: Thanks for help me get my writing groove back and for always inspiring me. ♥