I’m screening my calls, sifting, straining them through a sieve. The phone service we pay for is no longer friendly; it is now a weapon to beguile us into fraud and scam. And why does a computer-prompt voice want to know at 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening, “Is George there?” We are advised don’t even respond to the ring of our phones, to even answer, to grasp the opportunity to communicate. Gasp. The cell phone was supposed to provide convenience, but when I asked passersby to “Please call 9-1-1!” to help the naked lady in the street they couldn’t be bothered.
The “Broken Window Theory” says that nobody cares when you walk past trashed property. Nobody’s doing anything about it obviously. When I moved in my house a neighbor said to me, “We don’t want gentrification here.” Gentrification was a dirty word. Maintenance and making needed repairs were, too. So were picking up beer cans, fast food wrappers, cardboard and bottles from the street.
P.S. Have you noticed there are no more public clocks, phones, or water fountains.
On my street this week’s dump sampler includes a shattered Remy martini bottle, a mattress, box spring, broken couch, cell phone, anti-freeze jug, clothing, food, grocery cart and a car battery. I’m not the one tossing the dirty diaper, the pizza box and the wasted fast food container in the street. Recent past litter has been a cushion, a cell phone in the street. I thought keeping it neat and clean sent the message that it should stay that way not cluttered with yellow and pink hair extensions and scattered French fries (and beverage) thrown from a fast food franchise bag. Gentrification was interpreted as raising property values and prices. I chose what I could afford. I wanted to fit in, not to stand our; to belong, to be an asset and not a liability; not to shame anybody. Who knew that beauty is the enemy?
In re: Ex-husbands Gee. Even Nixon got a pardon.
In re: Ex -Lovers: I put all my eggs in your basket. You are a stone in my shoe.
Junk mail intends, ‘Walk me to the recycle bin.’ An envelope stamped ‘Important’ are never marked, ‘Don’t bother.’ I’m not the one sticking junk mail in my mail box and walk it right back to the recycle bin. Solicitors use my landline, a landline I pay for. Big billboards blast and bark at me. Stop barking at me. I’m not the one. You told me to Re-use, to Recycle and Reduce my ‘carbon footprint’ by generating less garbage and waste. Now you’re going to penalize me for doing what you told me to do by charging me for garbage service. I did what you said. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not the one. In large letters, ZERO WASTE is plastered across the recycling trucks. I practice that, but the city implemented mandatory garbage collectors on all of us regardless of and punishing all of us who practice zero waste. Go figure.
Getting a Tetanus shot was not voluntary, it was mandatory, [ in re Lockjaw] due to injury from a cut on the sharp edge of a rusty post left in the ground grassy area. Flu immunization is elective; this was not. This was a prophylactic against lock jaw. Consider if a child had fallen and cut their face. I contacted a Parks employee who removed the offending stake with a tool. The cost? Tetanus shot due to injury: $75.00.
In re proposed Student Loan Forgiveness Package: It took me ten years, but I paid back my student loan.
The other day I overheard one young man tell another, “Go ahead. Let them hit you! This is a pedestrian crosswalk.” My personal bike maxim is ‘Avoid main drags of hostility.’ I’ve purchased enough of your product we should’ve got your kids through college by now.
Standing at the corner waiting for the Walk signal, two girls walked up, stared at me and one said, “What you lookin’ at B_tch?” The light changed. We crossed and the one of them turned to me calling me, “B_tch!” over and over again.
And then she spit at me.
Elizabeth’s work is published in Literary Reviews.