Word Pictures From The Week
Coffeesister pours over a POTTERY BARN catalog with a look of puzzlement, as she sits in the Coffee Bean at the local supermarket.
She never knew there were so many different shades of beige which can be applied to furniture, bedding and lamps. She poignantly points out to RhodesTer that most of the pieces offered are the same shade as the foam on her cappuccino, yet no cappuccino makers are offered in the catalog.
The irony!
Meanwhile, RhodesTer puzzles over the goth bag girl they call Sara, and wonders why she’s bagging broccoli instead of modeling for millions.
Her beyond-pretty face should be shared with the minions, and used to peddle products internationally. If we could just do something with that god-awful hair, she’d be pestered by paparazzi.
A brief chat with her reveals the sad truth – the modeling world would eat her alive. Naivety seems to be her virtue, and she’s as deep as a puddle in a desert pond. Delightfully clueless, she is, which is rather endearing yet unfortunate for her. Of course, money and fame don’t mean a thing, except that you’re rich and famous.
The two young gentlemen are waiting for their car, which the valet attendant has scooted off to fetch for them.
RhodesTer is seated on the bench and wonders if either of them are old enough to drive, just as their middle-aged female chaperon shows up. Oh, it’s HER car! She’s the one driving them around!
Their white dress shirts are loose fitting, and their ties are just a bit skinnier than they are. RhodesTer greets them with a smile, and asks how their evening is going. “Fine sir,” replies the nearest and youngest.
He hesitates before taking the plunge.. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly,” replies RhodesTer, knowing full well what the question will probably be, given the preface.
“Sir, have you ever talked with missionaries like us before?”
RhodesTer ponders the slew of comebacks that bounce around in his brain, dismissing the most inappropriate ones, given that he’s on duty at the hotel and wearing a shirt that indicates such.
He decides to go with the safest.. “Hmm, I’m not sure if they were EXACTLY like you.. maybe a bit taller.. and one of them was possibly Irish.”
The middle-aged female chaperon shoots a dark, darting glance that seems to indicate she finds sarcasm to be inappropriate during the process of proselytizing, while the boys secretly grin.
The other one hands RhodesTer a Mormon tract, which he doesn’t toss into the trashcan next to him until the valet attendant has been tipped and the three are on their way.
Sarcastic, but sensitive.
The weather in Palm Springs gets hotter, as does the still carless RhodesTer as he peddles his bike to and from the hotel. He thinks of friends in other places who are trudging through March snow and braving blustering, biting winds that chill one to the bone.
As they scrape ice from their windshields, RhodesTer considers context as he happily wipes a bit of sweat from his brow and continues on his way.
The happy homeless lady always greets RhodesTer with a smile as he whizzes by, while the gloomy homeless lady ten blocks farther along turns her back on him and society.
They’ve both staked out bus stop benches that look exactly the same, so why is it that the former seems to be a cheery depository of mirth while the other is as dark as the depths of hell?
You can’t tell RhodesTer that human beings don’t have good or bad spirits hanging around them, he won’t believe you.
Palm Springs is in full spring break swing, and so are the noisy girls in the room down on the end.
RhodesTer can hear their party tunes as he approaches – it seems to be an Avril Lavigne song, but he’s not sure. Whatever it is, the girls know it by heart, and shout the lyrics at the top of their lungs as RhodesTer knocks on the door in response to the multiple complaints that have been generated.
His knocks and announcements of “SECURITY!” go unheeded due to the volume level, leaving him with no choice but to open the door with his pass key, whereupon he bears witness to a sight that he hasn’t seen in ever..
A roomful of teen girls dancing and singing in their undies.
It’s a live-action YouTube video, and RhodesTer is glad he took the refresher course in CPR, but wonders how to effectively apply it to himself.
Semi-nudity seems to be the in thing this season – just ask the six year old pantsless autistic boy who was wandering the hallways late at night.
He won’t answer you though, due to the autistic thing, and he didn’t answer RhodesTer either, when asked what room mommy and daddy are sleeping in.
Police were called and time went by, before daddy finally showed up in a panic to claim his clueless little boy, who had no idea how scared mommy and daddy were to awake and find him gone.
Back at the Coffee Bean, the young man they call Glenn asks RhodesTer if the hotel is hiring any valet attendants.
RhodesTer considers Glenn’s girth and lies through his teeth, knowing full well that the plump young fellow would never fit behind the wheel of a Porsche, let alone fetch it quickly enough to please the patrons who are in a hurry.
RhodesTer instead steers him in the direction of “banquet server” and, while giving Glenn his recommendation, he secretly hopes Glenn doesn’t eat his way out of a job – the cakes, cookies and jellyrolls are for guests only.
The construction crews are SO CLOSE to completing the project next door! There’s going to be a new PETCO, and all kinds of other stores within a block, which has coffeesister all excited about shopping for merchandise AND a job, to make money to SPEND on the merchandise.
And so the economic circle spins. As it does, RhodesTer hopes it’s not nearly as noisy as all the construction has been.
RhodesTer and coffeesister still miss TAZZY terribly, and suspect that his fluffy little ghost has finally departed.
His sister, Shadow, is different – in a good way. She played with nothing for a full two weeks and now she suddenly plays with them, which she’s never done before. He left her instructions before leaving her for good.
It’s Sunday, and Easter to boot..
Praise Jesus and pass the cookies, please.
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