Once a month or so I drive my daughter to a deli down road. It is the easiest drive because it only takes 10 steps to walk into the deli counter. Unfortunately, their is a total jerk that works at this deli. We have had an issue with him before when he looked up my name by credit card on his computer to get my contact info to seek me out on social media because he wanted to ask my daughter out. I wrote about that on my blog somewhere. It was months ago. He didn’t get fired. Apparently he must have had an old fashioned talking to though.
So my daughter is feeling up for an outing and we go to the deli. Sure enough, I shall call him the Mr. P (for prick) is walking out the door with hands full of garbage. He had to walk right in front of us and saw us. He was carrying two massive bags of garbage from the deli taking it out to the dumpster. We go in and place our order and the girl tells us that only Mr. P can make the food and he’s taken the garbage out. Well he gets back and stomps past us. I mean stomps. Then I watch him grab gloves out of a box. His garbage hands were on the same part of the gloves that would be making my sandwich!!!! His hands were nasty! Garbage!!!!!! He puts a new garbage bag in the garbage can and proceeds to make our sandwich. He’s having a fit and throwing food on the ground and paper products on the ground. Obviously in a huff that he has to make our food. I stood there wanting to tell him to make me a new sandwich. I wanted to say um wash your hands!!!! I said nothing. It’s the whole intimidation, PTSD, loss of voice thing that gets me every time. I HATE IT. I HATE PTSD. I HATE this stupid muscle disease that makes me going to a little deli cause me so much muscle pain. I HATE that I can’t just be a normal mom that takes her daughter out but NOOO I don’t even have the ability to tell this Mr. P to wash his disgusting hands. Even KNOWING my daughter has zero immune system. I have zero immune system. Still. The PTSD is stronger than all of that. I am frozen. After he make the sandwiches he throws the food at my daughter. And she says in her sweet little voice “thank you,”and he IGNORES her! The blood rushes from my face. I have rage. But I cannot speak.
“Sweet Bethany” as my old bitch friend called me, has no voice. She made a point one day of saying she’d rather have that Bethany than the Bethany now who doesn’t let people use her as a garbage can!!!! What’s so ironic is that I am only one Bethany. I am still sweet Bethany. I just happen to know how to use my anger when necessary and I cuss like a sailor on occasion because well…silence for a lifetime sometimes results in some cussing. And occasionally eating a garbage sandwich while reverting to old ways.
We go to the car and I open my garbage contaminated sandwich knowing I have not eaten all day and I have to eat it or I won’t have the strength to even drive us home and FUCK I can’t go anywhere else to get food!!!!!!!! All of a sudden the way he spoke to my daughter and the fact that she barely leaves our house was just too much. I got out of the car, her following me and open the door to the deli. I find my voice. “YOU DIDN’T WASH YOUR HANDS!” The little girl then says, “ He wore gloves” at which point I say “ HE TOOK OUT GARBAGE> TOUCHED GARBAGE! THEN THINKS ITS OK TO THROW FOOD AT MY DAUGHTER> NOT OK!!!” A hush falls over the other deli customers. They start whispering. But Mr. P just ignores me and acts like I am not speaking words at all at which point my daughter gets protective (she is insanely protective over me as I am over her) and yells at him to listen to me! I put this in quotes because later I find my daughter recorded the entire thing on her cell phone because she knew that Mr. P would lie later and wanted it documented.
Mr. P just had a smirk on his face. That smirk. Mmmmmmmm. That fuckin smirk. I tell my daughter it is time to leave. We get back in the car and then I definitely have to finish my garbage sandwich because the adrenaline made me almost pass out!!!!
So I ate my garbage sandwich, messaged the owner of the deli, then drove us to the prairie to visit the animals because this outing could NOT end on this note. Leaving the house is rare and I would not have it end badly. So we visited the horses. I got to give my favorite horse some kisses. We visited the goats. We saw a beautiful sunset and then sang phantom of the opera songs on the way home, her favorite. Fast forward to today…I slept little…had nightmares all night long and too much pain to really sleep. I had these awful apocalypse nightmares. Anyway, I thought I had avoided illness from garbage sandwich but tonight I developed a low fever and sore throat. Huge triggers for me…being sick on top of what I am already dealing with is just not a good thing. It causes vulnerability another huge trigger! So I loaded up on herbs in hopes I wake up fine. I tell my daughter I had nightmares of the apocalypse and she lovingly says, ” You’ve already shown how badly you can handle the apocalypse so we’re just gonna leave that up to me.” Then she proceeds to show me how I spoke to Mr. P last night. She says, ” Mom do you really think THAT is rage?”I said no honey I had inner rage but that was the only voice that could come out. She assures me she’ll always have my back even in the apocalypse and we call it a day. Gotta love this girl.
Just another day of me…
Photos of me by my daughter…others by me….