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A Twilight Zone kinda day

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2004-05-17


It was one of those Twilight Zone type of days: striking resemblances and kindred spirits in the strangest places.

And to think I was just out to get a late lunch, change the oil in my mom’s car, check my mail and get a few groceries. Shortly after I left the house, I saw Elvis turn right onto Parnell Avenue. Well, it looked like him. Incidentally, Elvis was wearing a blue jogging suit top, sunglasses and driving what looked like a white Pontiac.

Then, while waiting to get an oil change at an establishment I’ll call the “Oily Orangutan,”I discovered car care places are the male equivalent of beauty shops, and that men talk as much as women. Sometimes, they are even worth listening to. I couldn’t resist putting my two cents’ in after a while. The topics included war, terrorism, and the possibility of the draft being reinstated. Both men didn’t think we should be in Iraq. The one guy mentioned he heard about the draft possibility on talk radio. He made it clear he didn’t want his young sons to be involved.

Soon, it was just the two of us. “You know who should have run for President?” he asked. “The mayor of New York.”

“Giuliani,” I supplied. A logical choice, with his admirable handling of the crisis that hit his town. But I was to be further surprised.

“You may think I’m nuts,” continued the man, “but you know who should run now? Hilary.” Further conversation revealed he’s a softball coach and excited about the prospect. “I tell the kids they are young ladies first, ballplayers second.”

I gave him a smile and a thumbs up, something I rarely give to men, because let’s face it: there are few men who actually deserve them. You find male feminists in the strangest places.

Then, there was the guy who rang me up after my car was finished. Since I’d never visited this branch of “Oily Orangutan,” he had to enter all my information in the computer. I explained I was trying to maintain my mother’s car and the house and doing a rather half-assed job of it.

“You have to do what you can,” he said. “You probably have a family of your own -- “

”No, no, no,” I said. “Believe me,” I responded, “if you could see the losers I meet, you’d understand why I don’t have kids.”

Bam! Kindred spirits! After I told him about being stalked, and my most recent loss of a friend, he told me HIS story. Married and divorced and remarried to the same woman, he’s now separated. It gets worse: she took off with his best friend. “She’s psycho. I’m scared to date,” he admitted.

I hear ya brother. Ironically, he had the same name as the friend who went psycho on ME.

And then at the mall, after purchasing a treat from a place I’ll call “Dagwood’s Cookies,” who should I see sitting on a bench but Fidel Castro’s twin. He didn’t have the gray hair, but he had the hat.

I bought a lottery ticket after I got my groceries. I figure after seeing Elvis, Fidel, a male feminist and someone who truly understands the scary dating scene all in the same afternoon, it was an omen.

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