I SHUDDA STOOD IN BED

         Long time ago we used to talk about days when we would eat the bear, and other days when the bear would eat us. I wonder if the digestive system of bears has remained the same, or has a group of Food Police warned Mr. Grizzly off our succulent flesh. If that happened, I wouldn't know it from the fruits of my day.


         Several days ago I, along with all the other names in her address book, was notified of a friend’s new email address. Carol, to call her by name, must be well remembered for past sins of omission and commission, for last night a strange email arrived from someone I did not know, but with her name as the subject and addressed to the same group.

         The writer’s message was brief. He was surprised how many friends she had, or rather how many people would admit to being her friend. This message was followed by a second from another of her 'friends'.

         “What makes you think these people are her friends? They are probably those who owe her money." A flame war was breaking out. The next writer, a woman, opined that Carol had photos and negatives. The war picked up in intensity. Replies began to ask what was so and so doing on the list.

         It did not take long before all these people were participating in some kind of email auto-de-fe. By mid-morning, my Inbox was drowned in this internecine fight. I felt like the soldier who ventured into no-man's land to save his wounded buddy, and was getting fired on from both sides. Amazing what wonderful uses can be found for the Internet.

         Spam was the mildest of my problems. I opened a new jar of peanut butter and suddenly I was back in 1956. There was oil all over the top, just like when I was young. I carefully poured it off to save it for cooking. I looked on the jar for a last date of sale but found none. Maybe it was peanut butter to be sold for exorbitant prices in some health food store. Labels might have been crossed at the factory.

         Oily peanut butter paled compared to my pet's moaning. The dog was complaining because the teller at the drive-in window at the bank forgot her biscuit. All the way to the local convenience store, I heard her bitch, bitch, bitch. I went in to pick up a local paper, a small plastic bottle of milk and some eggnog. It was at this point the day sank to an all-time low.

         The register said $2.50, which was more than the two one-dollar bills I had stuffed in my jacket pocket, so I handed over a twenty. As the manager began to make change, I realized I also had a pocketful of silver and told her to stop. “I think I have exact change".

         I scrounged out the bills, and fiddled in my pocket and came up with the extra fifty cents. I handed my hoard over to this woman, a person I deal with several times a week. I then looked for the twenty and not seeing it, asked had she given it back. She replied in the affirmative. I looked in my wallet, in my pockets, in my newspaper and on the floor, but it was nowhere to be found.

         "Are you sure?" I asked.

         "I think so, dontcha remember I handed it back when you gave me the ones".

         I wondered if I had learned a new trick about palming money and had forgotten that I'd learned it. I gave a glance at the collection box for the local Humane society to see if I had put it in there in a burst of generosity, but I only saw coin and two dollar bills.

         'She's not really doing this to me, is she?'I thought. ‘Times are tough, but stealing my $20 is a hell of a way to fight them.’

         She said, "Tell you what, I go off duty at noon and when I count my drawer, if I am over, I will call you. Give me your name and number."

         At this point, I should have remembered Mr. Sereno, the father of a friend during my teenage days. He was a great pool player, a savvy gambler and all around wise guy. He trusted no one. Someone asked him why he never bought a 50-50 ticket from the local Catholic Church. He replied that he would do so when they used a naked toddler to reach into the pile of tickets to draw the winner.

         I should have brought the dog in, bought a cup of coffee and settled down to wait for High Noon. I had my cell phone on me. If the drawer turned up nothing, I could have called the police to send a matron to take her in the back and strip search her. Instead, Pangloss went home to wait for her call. At least I didn't hold my breath. I do know now that who steals my wallet does not steal trash.

         It is days like this that make me want to retire back to my cave and wait better days. Then again, on such days, there will probably be a bear inside the cave. As for my friend at the convenience store, I know her name; I'll find her email address and add her to the list of Carol's friends.

Valatie 2/2/01