Making a Short Story Long

Once again my wife is visiting my daughter’s domicile. This means that the main television stays tuned to news or talk shows during most of the day. Of course there are exceptions; American Idol, Soap Operas and Hollywood gossip programming. This doesn’t bother me because I have my own television in my office (AKA “The Shed”).

Yesterday on one of my frequent trips to the bathroom I noticed that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was on the television talking about Mexico. The day before I had read some of her comments and just shook my head in disbelief. She was blaming the American’s “insatiable appetite for drugs” for problems that the Mexican Government is currently facing.

Being the idiot that I am, I couldn’t resist making a comment as I was heading out of the room to go back to the shed. I should have known better than to open the flood gates of repartee with the wife. We occasionally exchange pleasantries and talk about our children, but other than that I usually refrain from having more than a two minute conversation with her.

My comment was that I couldn’t stand Hillary years ago and that I like her even less today (actually the words I spoke were not that nice, therefore no quotation marks).

The wife asked if I knew her when I was still living in Maryland. I curtly answered no, attempting to end the conversation. She quickly asks (before I could get out of the door) me, how did I know her years ago. Now I’m trapped. I have to relate the story of my meeting Hillary Rodham (Clinton) when I was a teen in Chicago.

The story should have taken 2 to 4 minutes to tell. But nooooo! Telling a story to my wife is like being interviewed by Mike Wallace; many questions in between each uttered passage.

Now here’s the story. In parenthesis are the wife’s interrogatives followed by a hyphen and then my answers to her questions.

I met her in November 1960 (Did she go to your school? – No she lived on the North side), (How did you know that she lived on the North Side? – By the way she was dressed), (How was she dressed? – She was wearing a Parka and Ski Pants), (What color was the Parka? - I believe that it was light blue), (But what made you think that she was from the North side? – Girls in our neighborhood wore regular winter coats, skirts and leggings, may I please finish the story).

It was a Saturday (How do you remember that it was a Saturday? – I was not in school at eleven in the morning and answered the door), (Well then, it could have been a Sunday – No my sister would have been in Church at 11am and she was home watching cartoons on the television), (Are you sure about the time? – Yes, give or take 10 minutes, I was eating lunch at the time; now can I continue the story).

There was a knock at the door, I answered and there stood this young girl with a clip board in her hand. (How old was she? – Hell I don’t know, a few years younger than me). She asked me if my parents were at home. I answered that my mom was home and that my dad would be home in about 45 minutes. I closed the door (That was rude, why didn’t you invite her in? – She wasn’t sexually attractive, she looked like a frumpy wingless Cherub), (I wonder what she thought about you? – I didn’t care).

Without taking a breath I continued my story.

I sat back down and continued to eat my lunch. The knock came again and this time my mother answered the door. The girl told her that she was canvassing the area about the last Presidential Election (Kennedy/Nixon). There seemed to be some concern that Chicago Mayor Richard J Daley had rigged the election (How can a Mayor rig an election? – The same way that Bush won Florida). That shut her (the wife) up.

Our Ward (Chicago’s 22nd) as well as our precinct was falling under close scrutiny by the Cook County Republican Organization. (Why? – Because there were only 8 votes for Nixon in our Precinct and Kennedy carried the Ward by 94%), (I can see why they were concerned – Not if you knew the neighborhood; predominately Catholic and Democrats, we didn’t even have a Republican Precinct Captain).

That’s when I first met Hillary Clinton and decided that I didn’t like her (How did you know that it was Hillary that knocked on your door? – As you well know, I never forget faces, names maybe, but never faces), (When did you realize that it was her? – When Bill Clinton was running for President and I saw her on television; I was watching the news with the then current “love of my life” and exclaimed “I know that broad”), (You’re crass – Thank you, I going to the shed).

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

The Beach Bum