The Arch-Nemesis Returns

I wonder if the Monterey Highway Walmart carries thumb screws. An iron maiden? The rack? And which department? Lord knows I won't be able to find a clerk to direct me. These were my thoughts as I sat in the Ralston Hall parlor during Jackie's poetry reading on Monday and fought valiantly to ignore the long, grizzled ponytail adorned with gaudy, plastic tropical flower, the requisite "right on" head bobbing. In other words, Mary. Just when I thought we'd never meet again, lulled into a false sense of peace, listening to Jackie's amazing poetic compositions, I heard a commotion behind me ... and, somehow, I just knew. Was it the heavy stomping on ancient hardwood floors? The rustle of several large canvas bags slung over a meaty shoulder? The multitude of key chains tinkling against one another? Whatever it was, I recognized that commotion without ever turning around. And I froze in horror. God, if you can hear me, I prayed, please don't let that be Mary. But my prayers were in vain. Jackie, slightly irritated by the interruption, asked the late-comer to have a seat up front, and I could no longer deny what my heart knew to be true. And the worst part of all: Katie was nowhere to be found. I was left completely, utterly alone to face this human nightmare. Because Katie and I had agreed to meet and attend the reading together, I pondered medieval torture devices with which to punish her. Now that I think about it, thumb screws are too kind.

But, if I'm honest, I've never had all that much trouble avoiding Mary, even at events like this. Being trapped in a classroom with her, well, that's one thing. But this should have been a piece of cake. It should have been. A little more than halfway through the presentation, I looked behind me and spotted Katie sneaking in. Thank God! I caught her eye, squinted, curled my lip (Elvis-style), and nodded my head in my arch-nemesis's direction. She just raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Good Lord, Katie, how could you miss her? Especially when, as per her usual routine, her cellphone began to play the Beatles' "Imagine" at top volume? Jackie really appreciated that! But come on, she should have been expecting it. I was.

Jackie's performance was amazing, and it was certainly reason enough for me to travel 40 miles, risk a parking ticket, and navigate that steep switchback trail topped with a 90-step, vertical, rickety wooden staircase in the wilderness before emerging at the top -- completely out of breath with stinging leg muscles -- in the packed school parking lot. One long trek across campus brought me to the mansion and the parlor ... just in time to wait 25 minutes for Jackie to begin late. Where the hell was Katie?! I'll tell you where she was; she was in the wrong building. But I only learned that later. After the reading, I ran to Katie, we embraced, and I asked her (quite perplexed), "Where's Robin?" After all, even though I enjoyed seeing Jackie, my main reason for showing up was to meet Katie's fiance.

"Oh, I left him out on the grass with the puppy," she said. "I was afraid he might make some noise and get us kicked out." (The puppy, not Robin). Hmm ... I wish Mary had been as considerate. But poor Robin, exiled to the yard with only a infantile canine for companionship.

"But I thought he's the kind of dog that can't bark," I replied, confused.

"He is, but he sometimes makes other weird noises. Let's go get Robin." And we ran outside into the sunshine to drag him back to the mansion.

No sooner had we re-entered the parlor than Mary cornered me. Desperately, I looked for escape or rescue, but Katie and Robin were occupied introducing the new puppy to a group of friends. And he was, indeed, making some very weird noises. I was on my own.

"Hey, Brooke!" Mary exclaimed, trundling over to me with a huge smile ... and, believe it or not, a lazy eye.

"Hi, Mary," I mumbled in reply, eyes downcast, defeated.

"Where are you working these days?" God, does this woman have no control over the volume of her voice?

"Um ... I'm not working. I'm unemployed, unfortunately."

"You're unemployed?!" she screamed. "Wow! That's too bad. But don't worry; things will pick up. You'll find something." Thanks a bunch, Mary. Naturally, every eye in the room was pointed in my direction at that point, and I'm praying for a hole in the floor to swallow me up. Katie and Robin were seated a few feet away, watching this spectacle with rapt attention. I felt like I was acting out a particularly raunchy sex scene in a soap opera or something. Super uncomfortable, embarrassing as all hell, but I have to play my part.

You know what happened next. I don't even need to tell you. But I will. She started in with the "teenage daughter" stories, the very stories that compromised my sanity for so much of my grad school career. In case you're wondering, said teenage daughter just turned eighteen, and get this: she has a job. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Mary and her drug-addicted, promiscuous teenage daughter are both gainfully employed while I am one step away from the shelter. It's times like this that I want to drive up to the city and throw myself from the Golden Gate. But, with my luck, I'd be one of the few who get blown under the bridge and into the safety net. Or I'd land on a garbage barge or something. Sigh.

Finally, after (I kid you not) at least 15 minutes of torture, Katie finally came to my rescue. She explained to Mary that we were headed off to lunch. And we darted outside to freedom.

Robin asked about my rather strong reaction to Mary. "You don't understand," I explained. "I despise that woman more than anything on Earth. I would rather stick pins in my eyes than even look in her direction."

"You couldn't even tell, though," Katie said. "You seemed like you were having a regular conversation."

"Well, that's good, I guess. Where are we going for lunch?"

"Hola's, of course" she answered. Ah, Katie! You know me too well. The only remedy for a Mary encounter is a large dose of Hola margarita. Or, as was the case so many times in grad school, the effects of two or more Hola margaritas make a future encounter with Mary almost bearable. Class is more fun that way, too! So, one margarita and a plate of nachos later, the rage began to subside. Thank you, Katie!

I like to consider myself a fair person, so, to be fair, I will say that Mary has lost at least 75 pounds since I last saw her. I may hate her guts, but it's nice to see that she has less of them. That couldn't have been easy. And imagine the heartache she must have suffered when she outgrew her collection of tie-dyed t-shirts. At least, she'll always be able to fit into her peace sign Converse sneakers and her long, dangly dream-catcher earrings. And let's not forget that orange and yellow tropical flower hair pin.

Honestly, though, Katie is probably my biggest fan. She's certainly one of my most supportive friends. She's tried, and continues to try, to get me a teaching job at her school -- even though we would technically be competing. She wrote me the most complimentary letter of recommendation you could imagine. It brought a tear to my eye. I suppose I can forgive her for abandoning me to my arch-nemesis for 15 interminable minutes. Just as long as it never happens again. Got it?

B

Pet Peeve of the Day:
People who "forget" to wear green on St. Patrick's Day. What is wrong with you people?! I happen to be wearing seven shades of green today. Yes, all at once. I've got my shiny green shamrock earrings, a lime green shirt, my sparkly green best friends ring from Seattle, a jeweled two-tone green bracelet, green-eyed cat socks, and a flashing green button that says, "Everyone loves an Irish girl." If I can manage all that, what's your excuse? If you're one of these crazy rule-breakers (Katie), consider yourself pinched.