I took it as a sign of times to come. I had just finished working 16 days in a row, including several 12+ hour days & I boarded the Max Train at Pioneer Courthouse Square, headed home to a week long vacation. The good Lord in Her generosity, had given a perfect Portland afternoon: low 80s, abundant sunshine & low humidity. I was looking forward to returning to Post Apocalyptic Bohemia for a cocktail & a chance to just be myself.
It seemed to be a sign when I was able to snag my favorite seat, even if it meant brushing aside a morbidly obese teen of indecipherable gender, who didn't seem pleased when I excused myself with: " Excuse me, Precious, coming through!" I settled in & took out my current book- True Stories, a memoir by favorite writer- Felice Picano. Then I heard that voice.
She had the timbre, pitch & octave of a white trash Fran Dresher. Except that within seconds, I deduced that she was not all that bright, but she projected as if she had true theatre training. She was with a buddy. This what I heard as soon as the doors closed & the train started to move:
Tammy: (on her phone) "I need the number for Fred Meyer on North Lombard... no, Lombard. Fuck no, I don't know how to spell it! Just give it to me! Yeah, Lombard. Honey Pie, what is that name again?
Honey Pie: "Vaughn."
Tammy: "How do you spell that?"
Honey Pie: "Fuck, I don't know"
Tammy: " Hello? I need to refill a subscription for Lorazepam. (several seconds pass). Vaughn. No, I don't know hot the fuck to spell it! What the fuck? What do you mean no refills?!? I am in the middle of a fuckin' crisis. Do you know what I mean? I need this refill! My Grandma died & my boyfriend threatened to kill me? You ever have that happen? Fuck! It is Saturday. I can't get a hold of the fuckin' doctor! My life is falling apart, you bitch!
Honey Pie: "Tammy, you can crash with me, baby. "
Tammy: " I need the fuckin' Lorazapam. You have to give it to me! I am having a crisis! Fuck! Lorazapam! Fucker!"
Honey Pie: " Let's try Rite-Aid..."
Tammy & Honey Pie repeat the above dialogue with Rite-Aid.
Tammy: " What the fuck do I have to do to get my Lorazapam?!? I am falling apart here!"
Fellow Passenger: (near by) " What is Lorazapam?"
Tammy: " None of your fuckin' business. This is my private business, You don't need to be listening to my conversation, fucker! This is my life! Are you living my life? Mind your own business, fucker!"
It was all I can do to not say: "Tammy, it is now the business of everyone on the train, We have all heard your sad story. We can't help but to hear you!" I say nothing & keep reading.
Tammy & Honey Pie get off at the often mentioned Lombard stop. My stop- Kenton is next. Compulsive/Obsessive as always, I get up from my seat at the same point as always, just as we pass the Holy Tabernacle Church of Our Lord with it's reader board that reads- "Jesus died for the sins for Stephen the Sodomite of Kenton"
As I prepare to disembark, I stop & chat with the cute hipster couple that were seated in front of Tammy & Honey Pie. Because they had asked Tammy about it, I clued them in:
Stephen: "Lorazepam is a very efficient anti-anxiety drug. I have had a "subscription" given to me by my doctor, the Asian Doogie Howser. I am telling you kids, on Lorazepam I could be gang raped & have dental surgery at the same time & I wouldn't care a teeny tiny bit. No wonder Tammy & Honey Pie were trying to score a bottle full."
Hipsters: "Why are you telling us this? What are you talking about? Why are you bothering us? What did we do to you?"
Stephen: " You didn't ask Tammy what Lorazepam was? You know... the very verbal crazy woman trying to get a prescription filled?
Hipsters: "What? We have no idea what you are saying. You are scaring us!"
Stephen: "Well. before I get off the train, do you have questions about any pharmaceuticals? That is why I am here. I probably have the answers. I am here for you."
I was hoping the entire past 20 minutes were not portentous of my vacation. When I arrived home, I took Junior for a walk because it was such a nice day & Junior loves an outing. I changed into my jeans & went commando (no underwear) because that is my habit; I am still a hippy at heart. I arrived home from our long doggy journey with extremely chafed inner thighs, because it was hot & I am rather "gifted", I took a shower to wash away my 16 day work-athon, Tammy, Honey Pie, the hipsters & the newly acquired rash.
I reached into the Husband's bathroom drawer & grabbed the ant-itch cream from the spot it always resides. I slathered on the ointment over my inner thigh & my balls not knowing that it was actually arthritis medicine. I discovered my error soon enough. Within 30 seconds, I was screaming in red hot pain because of the Post Apocalyptic Bohemian Junk's predicament. I dont' recommend this treatment. I kept thinking that at one point, I was actually feeling sorry for Anthony Wiener.
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