Three's Company

ONE

I walked past the downtown McDonalds on 2nd and Pine. The scene in front of me unfolded in fury. A man was yelling at a woman.

"Give me back my daughter! Bitch!"

The woman... "No you &*$#(*&" [too crass for this blog]

"I don't want your white boy taking care of my daughter bitch!! Give me back my daughter!!"

And the woman and man tried to get at each other. Hurt and anger poured on the sidewalk around them. Their respective friends tried, without success, to restrain them. And when the seattle cops came and broke up the scene, I felt myself wondering... who is this daughter? Who is this "white man" and why is he now in the picture? And why can't the real father see his daughter? Why is life so hard for some people and so easy for others? It just doesn't seem fair.

TWO

I don't profess to be a great cook and its a good thing I don't. You see, I put my leftover quesadilla in the toaster oven at my work. I turned it on to bake at 350 and returned to my office to complete an email. Literally like 6 minutes later, I walked down to get my quesadilla and my coworker is there panting. Apparently moments ago my quesadilla caused the toaster over to explode in flames and started a fire. She was walking by and quickly started dousing it out with water and reached success moments before I reached her. Black smoke billowed everywhere. I am SO thankful that the fire alarm didn't go off... even though our office and loby (six floors below) smelled like burnt grease for the rest of the day... and the next morning. Blah. Sooooo embarrassing. I have NO idea what happened. I'm claiming fault on the toaster oven... its got to have some issues. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

THREE

Halloween. Cowboy boots. Cowboy hat. Cap gun. Bandana. Stick horse. Leather vest. Money bag. Bandit running from the sheriff.

If that isn't awesome, I don't know what is.

All it takes is one hang up and the will not to call back

I saw a woman bawling on the bus this morning. She was in utter despair, talking to some guy on the phone. Snot dripped out of her nose, tears streaked mascara down her cheeks. Her bony frame revealed she was too skinny. And then I heard "cat food." And something about a "lost wallet."

As it went, the woman somehow lost her wallet and didn't have money to buy cat food. And the man on the other line screamed at her. Called her terrible names. Belittled her ability to do anything right.

And her emotions ran rampant, unleashing a flood of tears as the lie of her unloveliness drew deeper and deeper into her heart.

She called him a jerk. Hung up on him. Called him back. Said sorry. Called him a jerk again. Hung up on him again. And called him back again. The cycle persisted.

All because of a lost wallet and cat food.