Posts Tagged story
It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy.
Dear Dollar Tree, Inc.,
Let me tell you a story.
A story about $1 glowsticks.
Back in March, I was planning a non-profit event that required the purchase of large number of non-toxic glowsticks. As I stood in the middle of the isle, baffled by your sea of chemiluminescent of assorted plastic tubes, a kindly store clerk asked me if I needed assistance. What I needed help with was some simple mathematical forecasting. Probably not the best thing to ask from a retail clerk wearing a Spiderman band-aid to cover her eyebrow ring (thus drawing more attention to the eyebrow ring) but I give everyone a shot. And it really was a cool band-aid.
My equation was this:
My quarterly events with $0 cover charge...
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I was about six-years old when my older cousins, Erin and Irina, brought me outside to inspect the “show chicken” cages. A lot of people have a tough time wrapping their brains around the fact that chickens can be kept as pets, let alone the fact that they can be judged on their beauty, but the 4-H Fair has been doing it for about 100 years. Each summer, my entire family attended the Somerset County 4-H fair, where my aunt and cousins brought these chickens to compete for ribbons, trophies, and prizes. These chickens were a source of pride for my family, and my aunt's prized possessions.
Irina opened the coop and an array of birds started to flutter and panic. She handed me a bird with a tiny black face and a giant mane of white feathers.
“Hold onto Silkie tight," Irina said. "We have to be very careful because the area is known for herons and hawks that like to swoop down and grab the birds.”
“It’s true – mom was so mad last month because a raccoon picked the lock and got half of ‘em,” said Erin.
Irina rolled her...
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On the eighth day of
Sexmas, I delivered to mommy….
Richard Gere VHS-ing.
Note: For those of you unfamiliar with the inside joke about the fakanál, click here.
Anyu likes Richard Gere enough that I think she would agree that he qualifies for Mr. August, in addition to
Mr. February. This is a poorly-Photoshopped poster from the film
"Nights of Rodanthe",which has a very special significance to my mother, mostly because she has not yet seen it. Here's why:
"Darn it, I can't find 'Nights of Rodanthe' on VHS for Anyu's birthday," I said, clicking through numerous online home video web pages.
Matt, my partner in crime in all things film-related, raised an eyebrow and pushed his seat back from his workstation. "Now, why would ANYONE still buy anything on VHS?" Matt does a lot of film direction and cinematography, so the idea of paying actual money for a film less than crystal-clear quality makes the man shutter.
"My cousin gave her a DVD player a while back, but she can’t find the cords that plug into the TV. Anytime I try to take a look at the unit, Anyu...
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Every time I visit my mother, I can't help but notice the aging picture on her bedroom door of some random shirtless guy with a mullet. For some weird reason, she tore the photo out from one of those "Sexy Guy" Calendars and scotched taped it to her door, right next to where she used to hang my school report cards. I vaguely remember Anyu getting this calendar as a gift from someone when I was in grade school, so it has to be
over 15 years old.
"Anyu, I think you need to update your calendar photo. Do you want me to take down Rico Suave over here?"
"NO, VAY! I like dat picture! You can't get good sexy guy pictures like dis anymore."
"What are you talking about? They have Sexy Guy Calendars EVERYWHERE around Christmas."
"No no. All dah guys dese are covered dah oils and don't gave a hair on their body. Dey look like GIRLS!"
"Oh, right, I forgot. You like the kind of guy that has chest hair you can braid."
"Dat vas the style in my time. You know vhat, for Christmas, you find me a sexy new man."
"Uh, are...
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Nichole Remmert writes:
Hi there - I love your blog and tweets; I remember bits of my own childhood when I read your stuff.
My own nagymama died before I ever knew her, when my mom was just 14. Her father was always at work (and not Hungarian), and The Uncles (her mother's brothers) saw to it that she would be raised a good little Magyar. My mother was rebellious though, and when The Uncles would tell her she wasn't behaving to their standards, she'd bait them saying that we were, "... nothing but a bunch of gypsies..." THE HORROR! (in reality, the family was nemes - noble - and The Uncles were fiercely proud; so much so that even eating corn was rebellious for my mother, as she'd grown up forbidden to eat such peasant foods).
Funny how people become their parents (or in this case, their Uncles) when they have children of their own. While mom remained a fan of corn, I was always sternly warned that if I wandered off, I'd be captured by wild bands of gypsies, who'd kidnap me...
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It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy. 
