difficulty of finding a decent roach-free apartment outside the known Chicago move-in months of October and April.
After a small silence, Dad clears his throat and says, “Well, I’ll put your mom on the line.”
“Oh, hi honey,” she says, coming on to the line, sounding breathless. “I’ve got your favorites — cherry pie and strawberry cheesecake.”
This is the great thing about Mom. She’s like a walking Rolodex of all my favorite recipes.
“I’ve got pot roast and mashed potates — the kind you like with sour cream and cheese. Todd’s coming and he’s bringing a girlfriend, and I thought if you wanted to bring someone special you could.”
“Er, I don’t have anyone special right now.” Ron, I know, would come if I asked, but I think I would rather have someone punch me in the throat.
“Oh, well, Kyle is coming,” Mom says quickly. I can tell she’s worried that she may have brought up a sore subject. Mom is under the mistaken impression that I have a crush on Kyle. That I am pining for him. This is based on the fact that when I was three and he was seven, I said I wanted him to be my boyfriend. Explaining to Mom that you can’t be held accountable for things you did or said when you were three (like eating Play-Doh or announcing that you are the smartest person in the world) is an exercise in futility.
“I don’t want to micromanage your dating life. All I’m saying is that Kyle would be a fool not to want to date you. You’re perfect for each other. Not that I’m saying you should like Kyle.”
“Mom — Kyle doesn’t like me. I don’t like him, OK?”
“OK, OK. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Mom is always very concerned about being a bad mom — about falling into the trap so many of her friends do by pressuring their children and making them miserable. Mom feels like the best approach to getting what she wants is to let us believe we’ve chosen it for ourselves.
“Oh — and, honey — I’ve got some news, just so you’re prepared.”
“What news?”
“Well, I’ll tell you at dinner.”
“Mom — what news?” I persist. Now she’s got me curious. She’s being all secretive.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. And I’d rather tell everyone at once.”
“Mom…” I start, thinking I should test the waters about the loan.
“Yes, dear?”
“Well, it’s just, uh…” I’m having a hard time forming the words “I need money.” My tongue feels sticky. I suddenly am struck by the idea that it will be better to ask in person, when I can gauge her real-time reaction.
“Nothing, Mom. I’ll talk to you about it later.”
“OK, sweetie. See you in a bit.”
I suppose there’s a reason they call pride a sin. It gets in the way of you doing practical things like asking your parents for money.
* * *
I open the door to leave, and find Landlord Bob standing on my welcome mat.
I cringe because I doubt he is here to give me a birthday present.
“OKAYS,” he says. “TOMORROW YOU HAVE MY MONEY, YES?”
“I’m going to get it,” I say. Why is it that Bob is the one with the gambling problem, but I feel like the one being shaken down for money?
“OKAYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T HAVE IT TOMORROW, YOU’RE OUT, OKAYS?”
City of Chicago
Parking Enforcement Division
P.O. Box 88292
Chicago, IL 60680-1292
Jane McGregor
3335 Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657
March 8, 2002
Dear Ms. McGregor,
We feel the need to tell you that your resume does not meet our qualifications for a parking enforcement officer. While we are sure that you would be “willfully indifferent to the pleas of civilians” who let their parking meters run out, there is more to being a parking authority officer than being “a trained monkey in polyester pants.”
At the City of Chicago, we pride ourselves on the fair and judicious enforcement of the law, and seek to hire only the best candidates for our positions.
Sincerely,
Marc Seiler
Human Resources Professional
5
T he train ride to my
After a small silence, Dad clears his throat and says, “Well, I’ll put your mom on the line.”
“Oh, hi honey,” she says, coming on to the line, sounding breathless. “I’ve got your favorites — cherry pie and strawberry cheesecake.”
This is the great thing about Mom. She’s like a walking Rolodex of all my favorite recipes.
“I’ve got pot roast and mashed potates — the kind you like with sour cream and cheese. Todd’s coming and he’s bringing a girlfriend, and I thought if you wanted to bring someone special you could.”
“Er, I don’t have anyone special right now.” Ron, I know, would come if I asked, but I think I would rather have someone punch me in the throat.
“Oh, well, Kyle is coming,” Mom says quickly. I can tell she’s worried that she may have brought up a sore subject. Mom is under the mistaken impression that I have a crush on Kyle. That I am pining for him. This is based on the fact that when I was three and he was seven, I said I wanted him to be my boyfriend. Explaining to Mom that you can’t be held accountable for things you did or said when you were three (like eating Play-Doh or announcing that you are the smartest person in the world) is an exercise in futility.
“I don’t want to micromanage your dating life. All I’m saying is that Kyle would be a fool not to want to date you. You’re perfect for each other. Not that I’m saying you should like Kyle.”
“Mom — Kyle doesn’t like me. I don’t like him, OK?”
“OK, OK. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Mom is always very concerned about being a bad mom — about falling into the trap so many of her friends do by pressuring their children and making them miserable. Mom feels like the best approach to getting what she wants is to let us believe we’ve chosen it for ourselves.
“Oh — and, honey — I’ve got some news, just so you’re prepared.”
“What news?”
“Well, I’ll tell you at dinner.”
“Mom — what news?” I persist. Now she’s got me curious. She’s being all secretive.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. And I’d rather tell everyone at once.”
“Mom…” I start, thinking I should test the waters about the loan.
“Yes, dear?”
“Well, it’s just, uh…” I’m having a hard time forming the words “I need money.” My tongue feels sticky. I suddenly am struck by the idea that it will be better to ask in person, when I can gauge her real-time reaction.
“Nothing, Mom. I’ll talk to you about it later.”
“OK, sweetie. See you in a bit.”
I suppose there’s a reason they call pride a sin. It gets in the way of you doing practical things like asking your parents for money.
* * *
I open the door to leave, and find Landlord Bob standing on my welcome mat.
I cringe because I doubt he is here to give me a birthday present.
“OKAYS,” he says. “TOMORROW YOU HAVE MY MONEY, YES?”
“I’m going to get it,” I say. Why is it that Bob is the one with the gambling problem, but I feel like the one being shaken down for money?
“OKAYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T HAVE IT TOMORROW, YOU’RE OUT, OKAYS?”
City of Chicago
Parking Enforcement Division
P.O. Box 88292
Chicago, IL 60680-1292
Jane McGregor
3335 Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657
March 8, 2002
Dear Ms. McGregor,
We feel the need to tell you that your resume does not meet our qualifications for a parking enforcement officer. While we are sure that you would be “willfully indifferent to the pleas of civilians” who let their parking meters run out, there is more to being a parking authority officer than being “a trained monkey in polyester pants.”
At the City of Chicago, we pride ourselves on the fair and judicious enforcement of the law, and seek to hire only the best candidates for our positions.
Sincerely,
Marc Seiler
Human Resources Professional
5
T he train ride to my
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