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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
ChiA colleague of mine recently lost his mother. I don’t mean that she cannot be found, of course. This evening was the first time I’ve seen him & of course I expressed my condolences. I simply said, “I’m sorry about your mother.” He thanked me, & since we were still standing there awkwardly, I additionally offered, “That sucks.” A smile. “Yes, it does. And I appreciate your saying so.” He paused. “I had wondered what you were supposed to say to someone who lost their mother? I didn’t know, I still don’t. What CAN you say? But that sums it up sufficiently. It DOES suck.” He went on to say no one had said this to him yet (leave it to me) but it was an accurate assessment. So, let this be a lesson to y’all. It may not be the most eloquent phrase that ever comes out of your mouth, but if it is heartfelt & sincere, it will be appreciated, perhaps more than you know. Just speak the truth. Always & for any situation. The truth is always the right thing to say…
There are few places as intimidating to me as the makeup counter. Yes, I am aware of how ridiculous this sounds. But women like me can’t just go to Walgreens & pick out a shade that you think “looks about right” because then you apply a foundation that is two shades darker than your neck & it looks like you’re wearing a mask. And it’s not because you didn’t blend it. And I need a sweat-proof, waterproof, not-coming-off-unless-you-use-a-brillo-pad makeup line. So, that being said, I find myself at the department store makeup counters with the semi-snotty, perfect hair, impeccable makeup, & lab coated models. I beg for their assistance with my clumped mascara & poorly applied eyeliner. They are always eager to come to my rescue. The following is an account of last night’s session at Belk. I beeline straight to Clinique for my foaming face wash that I’ve been out of for some time now. I keep thinking I can find a better makeup remover for cheaper. I cannot. I see one girl working the entire cosmetics department, currently assisting a man at fragrances, so I think I will settle in. What ever happened to those fun springy chairs? This one is all hard and has no bounce. I’d rather stand than partake in this molded-to-look-like-a-chair-but-is…
Mondays suck. It’s just one thing after another. People are crabby because they have to go back to work, I guess. They’re indecisive & needy. But that’s small potatoes. To most of you, this will just look like a good ol’ country baptizing. But to some…oh, it is so much more. This is Miss MacKenzie Henry, being baptized by her papaw (preacher) Danny Henry, & her daddy, Scotty. MacKenzie is a special needs, loving, beautiful child of God. About a month ago, her momma was tucking her in, doing the whole ritual of singing to her & reading a little bit, talking about the upcoming week. “And you know what’s happening Sunday?” Kenzie nodded enthusiastically. Brandi told her again who all was getting baptized. Kenzie nodded more exuberantly & pointed at her chest. “Me!” Brandi was stunned. “You want to be baptized?” “Yes!” Nodding excitedly. She got her point across. Now, we would like to believe that children are protected, until they become the age of accountability, but I could not find any specific verses to support this belief, which is somewhat disturbing. At any rate, MacKenzie had sat through enough Bible School lessons & church services to know that she needed to be saved & it had laid on her heart for knows how long before she was able to communicate her desire. The problem probably stemmed from her fear…
A few days ago a friend posted about being at the vet’s office with her pet. In the waiting room, there was another lady with her pet…and three unruly children. She had shushed them several times as they made a ruckus & eventually took them out to her vehicle to watch a movie while they waited on results . Essentially, bribing them to be good for the duration of the visit, & rewarding them for their already abysmal behavior. These children were reportedly of an age to know how to act. When the vet had to go outside & summon them, the noise from inside the room where they gathered was loud, as the mother continued to shush them to no avail, while she tried to speak with the vet about their dog or whatever. The friend ended by saying she knows what would have happened to her if she’d acted this way- a busted hind end. Same here. The comments on this post were immediate. Mothers weighed in saying they sympathized with the woman having to wrestle with three little ones & a dog in a strange environment. Another said for important chores she enlisted a baby sitter for them. Well. Here’s my theory. And I know my opinion doesn’t matter, because I have no children. But before you get all huffy, hear me out. Children are spoiled. When I was little (and yes, there was only one of me…
“You know, you call a local store hunting a part for a lawnmower, & you expect to get a local person,” Crapbag is saying to me. Co-op, Wayne Blalock’s, & Cash Hardware are all closed today, so I’m not sure who he’s referring to, but I play along. “Oh yeah?” “And guess what I get? A damn Yankee!” He spits. He then chuckles without mirth. (Mirthlessly, it turns out, is not a word.) “I’m not sure he’s ever even laid eyes on a lawnmower, let alone sold a part to one.” The problem is, of course, he can’t wait for me to go to Coop tomorrow & pick up this wheel thingie. Must. Have. It. Now. He goes on to describe the entire conversation. I will spare you the details. Don’t ever say I lack compassion. It involves Home Depot. “So, do they have one or do you not know any more than you did before you called?” “I don’t know any more than I did before I called.” He’s looking online. “Yeah, here it is. And they’ve got one.” “You wanna run by there before we go to the hospital?” He blinks at me. “To Sevierville?” My turn to blink. “Oh, well, check Knoxville.” “Where’s…
I’m going to tell you a story. When my friend and I went to Jonesborough a few weeks ago, we were on our way back to Sevier County but I hadn’t quite satisfied my antique foraging itch. I was keeping my eyes peeled for the places along the road I had noticed on the drive in. I finally spotted the one I wanted–a white, well kept farmhouse. Sometimes with these places you just can’t tell. They look almost abandoned, & like spiders would be crawling just beyond your hand when reaching for something that caught your eye. But not this one. This building set off the divided highway just a bit, just enough to be private, & had a red metal sign –the kind that would creak a bit when there was wind–out by the road proclaiming, simply, “Antiques”. There was no wind that day, & the sign was silent. We traveled up the gravel road, split by a strip of cropped green grass, until we stopped at the end near the house. There was a massive, weathered barn to our left, on a little hill. A knoll. Another “Antiques” sign stood near the gray board barn. A small “Antiques” sign, up against the house, next to an obvious addition. A concrete walkway met us in the driveway that led to the shop. We followed it. Around the door, there were several placards…
I would love to make this long story short, but I don’t want to lose anything in translation, so here goes. It gives you something to do this rainy Wednesday. And it’s not a gripe, although it starts like one. Most of you know about my commitment to Coach bags & accessories. Buy quality, so you don’t have to buy more, is my motto. (Not that that has stopped me from having one….or two…in every color.) Well, I was over at Belk before Christmas & saw this beautiful Fossil bag & matching wallet. It favored Coach, which is probably what drew me in the first place. I have been adamant against Fossil for several years when I had to take back a watch that broke within a week, I had paid cash, but they had to have an inordinate amount of information, such as where I worked & a phone number there. I told them this was an invasion of privacy. I mean, what did it matter? Give me my MONEY back for your crummy product! I got over it, until someone from corporate ACTUALLY CALLED ME AT WORK to talk about it. Wth?! Are they stupid? So I vowed then to never buy anything from them ever again. That lasted about fifteen years. I sorta know how to hold a grudge. Well, technically, I STILL haven’t bought anything, Johnny did. He got me the bag &…
You know how statistics show the best marriages have no secrets? Well, that’s bull. Because if Johnny had just walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes, he would have run for the hills. And not the ones behind the house. The ones in like, Canada. I’ve been subscribed to Ipsy for a year now. They send out these flashy little packages once a month called “Glam Bags” filled with travel sizes of new cosmetics, face care products, & most recently, an eyelash curler. Anyway, I’m not much of a girly girl & all this crap has been piling up under the counter. I decided to put some of it to use tonight. Namely, an exfoliating mask. Harmless enough. I’ve used them before. They’re kinda fun because your face tingles. I pull off the safety seal & squirt some on my index finger to apply. It looks like mud, which is typical. I begin applying it in a circular motion like the directions indicated. It has the consistency of sand. You know, gritty. Then there’s this glob of…stuff that suddenly appears on my chin. By glob I mean something that resembles spinach. I poke at it. Feels like spinach, too. Hmm. I pluck it off, thinking it just didn’t get ground down in the manufacturing process. Then there’s more. And more. It’…
For years, I mistakingly believed that “working a double” meant twelve hours. This naïve opinion stemmed from my early retail experience in Pigeon Forge, where the stores were open 9-9. So if I worked open to close, that was “a double”. When I went to work for 911 dispatch, I learned that was not the case. While 12 hours of demanding tourists is enough to kill anybody, it barely holds a flame to spending 16 hours in a 20×20 room with three people tethered to three computers each and a radio system the size of a refrigerator. You don’t get a 30 minute lunch break reprieve in another room, you eat right there at your console with your headset attached. You can go to the bathroom, but you better make it snappy. And that’s the 8 hour days. You don’t work sixteens every day, just the days when weather catches you & your coworkers unaware. Because if you knew a big snowstorm was coming and you didn’t think you could get back, then the county would put you up for the night in some luxury accommodations–the Landmark Inn. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it was close to work. And if you got stuck at home, well, the Rescue Squad would be sent to retrieve you. IF they got time, that is. The county has a limited few that are…
I’m downstairs folding laundry when I hear my phone ringing. I dash up here because it was the “not assigned to anyone in particular” ringtone. (Dixie, if you’re wondering). Unknown number. “Hello?” “Yes, this is KFC.” Me: “Okay…” Chick: “In Lenoir City….” Me: “Yes?” Thinking maybe I’ve won lunch for ten or something exciting. Maybe a cruise! Never mind I have never set foot in the KFC in Lenoir city. This is just how my mind works. Chick: “We just got your message about the missing chicken in your bag…” Me, disappointed: “Oh, you have the wrong number. I had Chick-fil-a today.” She abruptly hung up. Now I’m wondering if she thinks she had the right number & I pranked her. But I really DID have chick-fil-a. The number 7…
