For various reasons that would make this post (more?) boring to read, The Bambina and I slept over at my parents’condo last night. As you may recall from earlier posts, they live in a “senior community” that our girl Miko creatively dubbed Del Boca Vista after the elder Seinfelds/Costanzas’place in Florida. The DBV nomenclature is hilarious by virtue of its accuracy. There are elderly Jews here living side by side with elderly Italians, playing canasta, mah jongg and 45s like they're goin’out of style. It is its own sitcom waiting to happen if only Larry David and Ray Romano would visit.
Anyway, the ladies have become accustomed to the cute little Asian girl walking around with her “Bumpa” as she calls him, so the ridiculous comments have mercifully ceased. But the wacky senior hijinks mercifully have not!
DBV instituted a new parking policy giving each resident one parking pass. Sounds reasonable enough, right? Wrong. Esther down the hall has two cars and wants a pass for both of them. The office says nay, since there is no Mr. Esther also in the apartment to justify the second parking pass. Marie wants one for her son's car since he comes and takes her to Mass in her own car, necessitating that he park in the lot for the duration. No dice, saith the management; why can't the son drive Marie in HIS car, therefore leaving her car with the parking pass in the lot? None of their g@*&amn business is why, says Marie.
Friends, you have not seen a revolt like the one brewing at DBV since the hippies took over Columbia University. I am predicting a Kent State situation as soon as the first car is towed. You heard it here first; FEMA better hear it second, and GWBush better hear it third: bring the national guard home from both Gulfs because the Esthers and Maries are gonna go Dog Day Afternoon on DBV when their Dodge Reliants and Mercury Cougars are towed off the lot for flouting the parking pass edict. I just hope The Bambina is awake to see the wee ladies get up in the grill of a tow truck…
In further DBV news, I noticed that my parents have products in their home that I did not know were still manufactured after 1979. Signal mouthwash, anyone? Jean Nate Afterbath Splash? Ultra Brite toothpaste? I started laughing so hard that I couldn’t explain my levity for about 5 full minutes because I was gasping so desperately for air. It was such a timewarp moment that I was waiting for my bewildered parents to offer me a hot cup of Postum or Ovaltine to calm me down.
Serious Question: Where do they get this stuff? Serious Answer: “The Dollar Store.” I’m not kidding. My parents—and 89% of the people at DBV—shop at The Dollar Store. Now, whether this is The Dollar Tree or Everything A Buck or Nuthin’ But Washingtons or whatever, I do not know since they all just call it “The Dollar Store.” But what I do know is the large groups of DBV residents descend on this discount store and clear the shelves of all the 1970’s health and beauty aids, not to mention dozens of those little business card sized packets of unsweetened Kool-Aid you remember from 2nd grade.
The best part about revisiting Del Boca Vista is seeing these “little old ladies” who are anything but, and just finding it so humorous that they are ready to declare war because they might have to park their non-parking-passed cars an extra 50 yards from the building, but at the same time they routinely sherpa 72 pounds of junk out of The Dollar Store and up 2 flights of stairs to their apartments so their grandkids can have all the Mary Jane candies and Clark Bars they can eat.
In my wisdom I am not about to point out the obvious irony of their behavior. I'm sure I'd be run out of DBV in a high speed chase with women yelling, "Meshugeh! Chutzpah!" and "Cacasodo!" as they pelted my car with hundreds of Bit o' Honeys and Necco Wafers...