The Avon Lady Returns

Note: The following post makes much more sense if you read the one from November

http://aprettygoodstory.blogspot.com/2011/11/avon-lady.html

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I struggle with Saturdays. Especially when I'm stressed or have deadlines looming in the near future. During the week I tell myself, "Stay calm, keep up the pace, you can always catch up on Saturday." Most of the time this works because--in the moment--I truly believe that I CAN and WILL follow through with this plan. But, with the first hint of sunlight on Saturday morning, the procrastination and justification centers of my brain become extremely active. And before I know it, the day is gone. It's not that I sit around in a semi-vegetative state all day. No. I do plenty . Just not the things that were originally on my list. My guilt is somewhat alleviated by the knowledge that this is a common affliction and perhaps, as some of you read this, you are actually putting off something more important. Ah. I feel better already.

So anyway, this afternoon I remembered that we needed a few things at the store (Yay! Another excuse not to do what I need to do but don't want to do!). I grabbed my keys and my debit card and headed for the front door. But as I turned the handle, I heard a knock. I opened the door to find a familiar face. "Hi there! Would you like some Avon today?" she said with a big smile. It took me a moment to respond, partly because she was not wearing her dentures, and partly because I was trying to think of a way out of this.

"Oh, darn, " I began, "I was just leaving...." but I didn't get to finish my sentence. "This will only take a minute." she said with an even wider grin, revealing that she did have some of her original teeth after all. I silently chastised myself for not having stuck to the plan that would have ensured I was elsewhere at that moment, thereby avoiding this situation entirely. Darn.

Twelve seconds later she was seated on my couch handing me a catalog. "We've got some great stuff in there!" she said, a little louder than necessary. I skimmed through, looking for something I could order quickly....something with a nice round number to avoid the mathematics marathon of her previous sales call. It soon became clear that I would be filling out my own order form again. "I don't have a pen, or my calculator, or my glasses" she reported in an apologetic tone. Then the couch rumbled beneath her. "Excuse me" she said with another Jack-o-lantern smile. Yep. I needed to get this over with as soon as possible.

I found some lip gloss and picked four different shades almost at random . While I was transferring item numbers to the order form, she relayed an unrelated story of her last apartment flooding...then there was another ominous rumble followed by an apology. She then began to ask me a rapid series of questions. "Do you like your apartment? How about this weather? How long have you lived in Logan? Do you ride the bus?" Trying to answer her questions AND focusing on not breathing though my nose AND writing six digit number sequences into tiny boxes AND calculating shipping and tax all at once proved too much for me. I messed up calculating the total and it was in ink. Shoot! This time it was ME that was making this simple transaction take longer than necessary. I told her I had made a mistake and needed to fill out another form. She grinned and assured me, "That's okay, I do it all the time!" Another rumble of the couch motivated me to complete the second form quickly and correctly.. The atmosphere was growing less breathable by the second. "I'll go get my checkbook" I said as I handed her back the form. I walked quickly down the hall to my room and took a deep breath before returning.

"Here you go! Have a great day. I really better be going," I said as I offered a hand to help her off the couch.

"Nice doing business with you!" she said with a final rumble.

I walked her down the stairs and didn't go back to my apartment for a full hour.

Please pass the racism...I mean, the rice...

When Diantha told me her brother, Joel, was bringing his new girlfriend over for dinner, I chuckled and said something like, "Okay...I'll try not to offend this one."

A couple months ago, he and his previous girlfriend came over for dinner. Somehow, the conversation turned to rock climbing and cave diving (two pastimes which I find entirely unnecessary) and she shared a rather tragic story. A friend of hers went cave exploring on a first date . She fell down an unseen crevasse and the impact detached her retina, causing permanent vision loss. I thought, "How sad! One so young, out on what was supposed to be an exciting adventure and now her life is altered forever...awful...just awful."

Unfortunately, there's a mechanism in my brain that activates when I'm confronted with unpleasant facts and emotion. I instantly revert to sarcasm or humor as a means of diffusing and processing the hard stuff. This is fine when it is my own troubles I'm laughing about. But when I react the same way in response to other people's woes, I just appear to be a terribly insensitive person. That is exactly what happened.

After a what seemed to be an endless three seconds of silence, I blurted out, "Well, I guess she won't be seeing that guy anymore." I immediately recognized my error. It made me feel a little better that Joel and Diantha were both choking back laughter. But the look on that girl's face clearly read, "Did you seriously just say that? You are the worst person ever." I tried to apologize, but the look of shock remained. We moved on to dessert and I remember being relieved that she was attending another university several hours away, so I wouldn't encounter her often.

So, that brings us to last night. The four of us--me, Diantha, Joel and his new girlfriend--sat down to the table and began passing dishes and asking the standard getting-to-know-you questions. "You look familiar," I said as I tried to place her face. I thought maybe she worked at the library or the grocery store... one of those places where you see the same people dozens of times but never learn their names. I was not prepared for her response.

"Well, there are a lot of Asians on campus....so...." She trailed off, but I finished it for her in my head...."so, you probably think we all look alike, don't you? You horrible racist!" Was she making a joke? Was I being paranoid? I couldn't tell. But seeing as my stated goal for the evening was not to offend her, I didn't dare open my mouth. My mind flipped into Hyper-Analysis Mode (all females have this setting in their brain) and panic started to set in.

At Joel's request, Diantha had prepared Korean food. Was this girl Korean? I didn't know...and somehow I felt guilty for the fact that I really cannot tell most Asians apart. But this is mainly due to lack of exposure, not some sense of superiority. (Although, I doubt she could have guessed which European nation my ancestors came from, so we're even). If she was Korean, would she be bored with this food? Or--no offense Diantha--what if it was a pathetic American attempt at Korean food? What if she wasn't Korean? What if she viewed this as us saying, "Oh, your family came from a certain geographical region, so you MUST love kimchi! And you probably don't know how to use a fork, either... so, here, have some chopsticks." Ah!

I thought about my Tongan mission companion. Upon meeting her, people felt compelled to tell her that they or someone they knew had a friend from Tonga or Samoa or Tahiti...or went on vacation to Hawaii...or that they really enjoyed pineapple. She was a good sport about it, but in private, she expressed her frustration. "Fool...I don't care if you went on a cruise. I'm from Salt Lake and I'm not here to hula for you!"

The conversation continued and for some reason, kept circling back to ethnic foods. I could have easily contributed but somehow my tales of culinary adventure in Vietnam seemed off limits. So, I kept quiet, which probably made me look less friendly. I looked at Joel as he contentedly scooped up another serving of bulgogi beef. I wondered why he had requested Korean food. Why not Pizza? Enchiladas? Lasagna? Something that wouldn't be causing me to feel awkward every time I asked his girlfriend to pass the rice. Probably because he likes bulgogi beef. That's all. I was making this entire experience waaaaay more uncomfortable than it had initially been after that opening comment. So, I relaxed and began to sing the following song in my head.



And the rest of the evening was fine.