Confessions of a Recovering Pushover

Approximately two months ago, Brady and I walked out of the city hall downtown after paying our water bill.  Thus began a bizarre chain of events, the likes of which have only been seen in really bad Will Ferrell movies, which went like this: 

Brady saw a plane. My child is obsessed with planes.  Whenever he sees one, he starts waving like a crazy person and yelling, "Hi! Hi!"  Is he just excited to see them?  Does he really believe that they can hear him?  I don't know.  I sometimes catch myself forgetting that Brady is three and thinking that he knows more than he really does.  In this situation I would assume that he realizes that they can't hear him but, then again, a few weeks back we had a LONG debate, which centered around Brady INSISTING that girls have a penis.  No, I said, they do not. 

Yes!, he yelled, Yes, they do! 

Not the case, I said

Then he said, Then what do they pee out of?

Just you wait.  You think you're so smart now, but wait until your kid asks you such questions.  On that occasion you will be presented with two important questions:
1. What was that called again? Urethra?

2. Do I really want to teach my kid that word?

Then you'll start doubting yourself, so you'll go online and Google "Women pee out of".

Go ahead, Google that.

Because it's going to make you feel better about yourself.

There are people in the world far, far dumber than you and me.

Number 1search result? "Women don't pee out of their vaginas and other things you might not know"

No. Shit.

Result #3 is even better

And, yes, it was the urethra.

So he's standing on the steps of City Hall, yelling "Hi! Hi!" and then...

A small group of homeless men walk by, directly beneath the path of the airplane.  City Hall is directly across the street from Bronson Park, which is a place where many homeless individuals frequent.  Naturally, this group of people walk by just as Brady is yelling, "Hi! Hi!" at the plane, and they turn and look, and- since yelling hi to a plane doesn't make any damn sense- they think that he's yelling hi  to them.  So they start waving at Brady, yelling "Hi", and walk toward us.  

Don't act like this isn't an awkward situation.

In true Brady style, he plays shy once they get over there, leaving me to carry the conversation.  Luckily, one of the men picks it right up.  

Let's be clear that I have zero problem with tattoos.

In fact, I like tattoos.

I have a tattoo.

I'd like another one.

But there are certain parts of the body that should never be tattooed.

Re: your face

This man has a sprinkling of random tattoos on his face, little symbols, and I am thinking to myself

Do you have the Louis Vuitton pattern tattooed on your face?

I swear to you, that's what it looked like.  

Louis says to Brady, "Hey, what's your mom's name?

I say, "Okay, let's go!"

Louis says, "Hey, what's your Mom's name?"

I say, "...Mary"

Brady says, "YOUR NAME'S NOT MARY!!!" and starts laughing hysterically, like me being named Mary is the best joke ever.

Then I say, "LET'S GO LOOK AT THE PLANE!" and walk the other way.

Granted, the first thing I think of when I hear that story is that Brady sold me out, but the second thing is, Why the hell would you even make up a name?  Why wouldn't you just walk away?

And the answer is Holy shit, I just can't.

Somewhere along the line, someone implanted in me a deep and unwavering fear of confrontation.

What's weird is, it comes and goes.

For example, it's not a problem with students.  I will take you down to Downtown Julie Brown if you try to argue your 6th absence with me.  

But strangers? No.

Most of the time, I want to blame this on being Midwestern, mostly because, when I lived in New York, absolutely no one seemed to have this affliction.  

But it isn't a Midwestern thing.  For instance, have you met my sister?

We grew up in the same house.  Same parents.  Same tv shows.  Same school district.

And yet, last week she walked into parent teacher conferences and more or less read my niece's science teacher the riot act.  I wasn't there, but I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she snapped her fingers as she was walking out.  

Also, there's Sara.  Sara's like the nicest person on earth, but if you try to screw her over?  Bad news.

One year we had really bad neighbors who stole our door mat.  She put this in its place, outside our door:

As far as I go, Homeless Louis is not the first, nor the worst case of this.

One year, when I lived in Ireland, a friend from home came to visit.  She went on a day trip to Galway, which I couldn't go on because I was in class.  While there, she met a boy.  Whom she invited to come back and sleep in my Irish house.  

Because he was from Colorado.

Interestingly enough, the friend neglected to mention that she had invited him.  He showed up at the door one day and said, "Oh! (Friend) invited me to stay!"  Also, "I'm from Colorado!"

In her defense, it was Thanksgiving.  

And really, how dangerous could it be?  It's not like there are any psychopaths in America.

Well.  Besides him.

Oh, yeah.  And him.

And that bath salts face-eating guy, I guess.

And Charles Manson.

I would like to tell you that I said, "No.  Some random guy from Colorado can NOT sleep on my floor, endangering the lives of myself and my roommates".  I did not say that. In my defense, Hostel and Hostel 2 had not yet come out.

What happened was, we all had Thanksgiving dinner together.  Me, my home friend, my American roommate, my four Irish roommates.... and a guy from Colorado.

In a stroke of sheer luck, he didn't eat us afterwards, but that was really a toss-up.

Probably the best example of this situation, though, is the cleaning lady saleswoman.  

It's important to know that this happened QUITE a long time ago and, now that I have a child, I would not do this.  Seriously.  I will shank you if you endanger my child.  Plus, anything you do in your 20s doesn't count.

One night, this lady shows up at my side door and she says "I'm selling cleaning solution! Best cleaning solution you've ever had!"  Then she took half of a green scrubby and sprayed some cleaner on it and set about scrubbing my counter.  Did it work?  Did it not work?

I don't remember

At that point in time, my kitchen was basically an explosion of dirt, so it's safe to say it did something.  

It wasn't as if I didn't know it was a scam.  It's just that, how do you look someone in the eye and say, "YOU.  Are an f'ing liar"?  When they're standing in your kitchen?!  Cleaning your counter?

Most people just do it.

But if you're me?

You don't.  You buy cleaning solution.

I keep this cleaning solution under my sink as a constant shameful reminder that I was once a crazy pushover.  If someone can photocopy a label and tape it to an empty Faygo bottle, and you buy it?

You have an effing problem.

I don't use it to clean things.  Because who knows what the crap is in there.  I called the number on the label.  In a surprise plot twist, they didn't know anything about someone selling door to door.  Didn't see that one coming.

But listen.

I'm recovering.  

Every day, I'm closer and closer to telling someone to eff off.

This summer, a guy was riding his bike around selling books, and when he came up to the door, he started talking really fast and dropping names of all the kids in the neighborhood.

I literally shut the door in his face.

Then I called the cops.

Which, in retrospect, may have been an overreaction.  But you can never be too careful of bookpushers.

Also, I hate literacy.

The number 1 key to my recovery has been this: I don't answer the door when solicitors come anymore.

A few months ago, a girl from Clean Water Somethingorother knocked on my door.  She had a quaint, down-homey Minnesotan accent that made you want to figure out a way to make her say "a-boot" without being obvious.  It was clear that they'd sent in the professionals.  I looked through the glass and saw her standing there, then ducked back down.

She yelled through the door, "I'm from Clean Water!"

I yelled, "GO AWAY!"

The trick is not to make eye contact.