Thursday, December 20, 2007

Christmas Formal.

Drove to Raleigh twice in three days. I-40. Flat, dry. Dockside Dolls, an old strip club a few exits past Elon where some of my students told me they used to cocktail waitress, is still 'temporarily closed for renovations,' but the Tree of Life Church of Holiness or somesuch thing seems to be set up in the parking lot, or right across the parking lot, so one can only guess at what kind of renovation might be going on there.

The Chick-Fil-A in Burlington (or, as my grandfather calls it, the Chicken-Fil-A) was slammed last night. I got off the highway around 8:30 for a little dinner. In line in front of me were eight or ten kids from what could only have been some kind of winter formal, semi-formal, maybe, high school, corsages and red and green and gold dresses and slips showing a little bit and heavy makeup and boys in suits looking uncomfortable and proud and the little girls turning to one another with their shiny hair swinging around and going Y'all, I am not kidding about this, OK? The kids behind the counter also, apparently, went to the same high school, so there was some of that.

Good name for a character in the above scene: Darren.

They're giving us a shot at some rain for this evening. Today is the last day to mail packages via Priority Mail. I'll be at the Friendly Post Office at 4 or so, to stand in line with all the other fools who've waited this long. I love the panic, though, the last minuteness, of this time of year. Plus: There's a guy who works at the Friendly P.O. who loves it as much as I do, greets everyone in line, calls people Darlin' and Sport. Talks about when quittin' time is so he can go get margaritas. Invites people along. Mocks me every year when I overnight Mother's Day Cards. And the big bank of glass windows faces basically west, so if something's coming in, I'll be able to see it. Cool today. Not cold. Slight chance of rain.


Kathryn Frances Walker said...

the guy at the p.o. with the mustache who looks like he lays out with baby oil spread on his face? ralph. not that you really wanted/needed to know his name. he's kind of my torturer. or if someone was going to torture me, he'd be the best person to do it. he knows my folks. he always sends those strawberry candies with me to give to my mom. he asked me, about two weeks after JB & i got married, if i was pregnant yet. when i blushed, said no, looked around me, he said, what's the matter with you??? what'd you get married for??? to have babies, mister postman ralph, and that is all. must get on that.

Drew Perry said...

yeah. ralph. i don't love all of him -- i have basic underlying suspicions of racism and sexism -- but then when i see him, i go soft on him -- or maybe it's just that there's something about that drearyass post office that i still like and he's part of it, i don't know.

anyway, i didn't get to go. had to go to the airport instead, at 7 pm. plus bryant blvd is no longer where it used to be, and i admit to on the way home having spent some time thinking about that basic fact. now the airport seems like that mountain they drove into at the end of war games.

we ain't makin no babies over here, neither. i hear you gotta fed and clothe them, for starters.

the strawberry candies like nonnie (my mom's mom) has in a blue and silver dish? the ones wrapped in strawberry-shaped plastic?

that step off the curb bit at the end of your thing tonight -- that got me.