Poodle Park by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

My naturally tan, cute, headphone-wearing, beats-to-her-own-drums, laughter-loving, looking-more-like-30-than-40, brown-eyed Filipina wife, Monique (Agent 32), and I (casket-ready, 50-ish, freckle-forearmed Agent 33), somehow found ourselves in a trendy eatery (must have received some coupons in the mail) in a posh, old-money pocket of south Charlotte (NC, USA) on a hot Friday afternoon in late June (2018). The place was hyper-chatty. Once we were seated, I immediately switched on my ultra-sensitive, directional DAR (digital audio recorder), and discreetly aimed the pencil-like condenser microphone at the table directly behind me.

Middle-aged, newly coiffed, bulimia-thin, white female #1: “Oh yes, Pierpont just got accepted to Davidson. [College] We are all so excited for him; we may even throw a party next weekend. The college-admission consultant helped immensely. He guided us through the maze of forms, pointed out advantageous intangibles, and shared invaluable submission strategies. The thirteen-hundred-dollar fee was worth every single penny.” $1,300?! Wow! That was enough for a whole year’s tuition – books included – at UNCC [University of North Carolina at Charlotte] back in 1982.

Middle-aged, newly coiffed, bulimia-thin, white female #2: “Davidson … That’s where Steph Curry went, right, Marcy?” She knew that; every Charlottean knows that. She’s just feigning ignorance – administering a nice dose of downplay.

Marcy: “It most certainly is, Judy. Maybe he will become a [Charlotte] Hornet soon. Oh – .” Fat chance. Not happening.

Marcy suddenly starts to choke on a piece of pork for a few scary seconds. Then stops. ‘Twas almost time to employ the old Heimlich maneuver over there. I bet that I would have accidentally broken a lower rib. And then been sued.

Judy: “Are you ok, dear?” Another six seconds and it would have got really interesting. Just like Lobster X’s ex. [She choked to death in a Blowing Rock (NC) restaurant in 1998.]

Marcy: “I’m fine. I just forgot to chew before swallowing. Oh, has Oliver been accepted anywhere yet?” Drumroll, please. I sense a massive rejoinder in the offing. Spotlight to Judy.

Judy: “Oliver was accepted by Duke [University] last week.” Well, well, well; I bet that Marcy didn’t see that deftly delivered torpedo coming. Pow! Right in the old midsection. I’m sure that one cleared her esophagus. <burp>

Marcy audibly sighs. Yep, she’s in stunned disbelief. Maybe Li’l Oliver was a bit of a partier in 11^th grade. Then she clears her throat. She’s up off the canvas. It aint over, folks.

Marcy: “Oh. Wow. That’s uh, really awesome. I’m so happy for him. Duke is first-tier and internationally renowned.” I’m just so sure that she’s genuinely overjoyed. I can feel the jealousy oozing out. Great first-world stuff.

Judy: “Davidson is, too, Marcy.” Consolation time. Nothing like a condescending pat on the back.

The must-have-been-eavesdropping-too, mid-20-something, dark-haired, smiling Latina waitress unloads an interjection: “Duke and Davidson are both excellent schools. I just registered at CPCC. [Central Piedmont Community College] I will be taking evening classes.” I bet that impressed the hell out of them. Not! If I only had that thought extractor. [mentioned in the ‘Galax_ Galaxy’ short story]

The two Caucasian American ladies ignore her and her comment. Their comparative, competitive, collegiate conversation continues unabated.

Marcy: “Duke is tier-1-triple-A, Judy; Davidson is just tier-1-double-A. I know how all of the schools in the Carolinas stack up. I read dozens of analytical articles, and saw numerous composite rankings. Anyway, big congratulations to your fine son. What was Ollie’s final GPA [grade point average] at Poodle Park, [High School] if I may ask?” Nosy, nosy, nosy. Inquisitive minds must surely know.

Judy: “It was 3.96. And, what was Pierpont’s, if I may be so bold as well?” What are the odds that Ollie’s was higher? A coin toss? 2:3? Oh, the suspense.

Marcy: “3.98. Well, it was actually 3.975, but when you round it up …” Cha-ching! Marcy scores a late, face-saving-though-ultimately-meaningless field goal.

Judy: “Yes, exactly. And, wow. That’s awesome, Marcy. I didn’t know that Pierpont had become so scholastic. He sure came a long way from his sophomore slump. Simply outstanding.” Sophomore slump? Wonder what Little Lord Fauntleroy did in 10^th grade. Was he huffing volatile product in unlocked storage closets?

Marcy: “Well, a 3.96 is essentially the same, Judy.” Essentially … but not exactly. 3.975 tops 3.960 all day long. The smaller the margin, the worse it prickles.

Judy: “Oliver got a B+ in an advanced, freshman-college-level science class. That’s what dragged his GPA under four. I had repeatedly warned him about taking too many accelerated courses, but he wouldn’t listen. His volunteering at the hospital garnered him some extra points, I do believe.”

Marcy: “Oh, I’m sure that it did, Judy.” But, how many points? Gears are turning.

The Latina waitress returns. “Would you ladies care for anything else?” So polite, she is.

Judy: “Just the check.” So curt, she is.

Latina waitress: “No room for dessert?” I bet that she just wants a bigger tip. Yep, I intercepted that low-flying-rotten-fruit thought all by myself.

Marcy: “Not this time. I’ve got a yoga class around the corner in seven minutes.” The mat must be in that double-parked beemer.

Judy: “Maybe next time.” Probably not.

The Latina waitress leaves. A hard-working lass, she is.

Marcy: “Do you think our waitress is legal?” Oh, this is too good. Batteries don’t fail me now.

Judy: “Surely. How else would she be working in this Poodle Park establishment?” The gold-card-thin, non-prejudicial veneer so quickly evaporates.

Marcy: “Well, people like George and Nancy hire known illegals to clean their house and yard.” Scoundrels, I tell ya. Despicable scoundrels!

Judy: “Oh, I’m not surprised – not at all. They’re so cheap, Marcy. They even shop at Walmart. I saw the plastic bags.” Oh, the horror!

Marcy: “Well, I’ve got to be going. It’s been great seeing you again, Judy, and catching up. We’ll have to do this again.” In ten years, when your son is reporting to mine.

Judy: “Likewise, Marcy.” Not really. Would love it if Pierpont flunks out the first semester. Oh, that would be utterly divine. Just too good.

The two ladies then got up and left. Can’t wait to play this recording back, transcribe the dialogue, and add some most-probable thoughts. This one was super-easy – a ‘sitter’ as they say in football/soccer. Well, why unnecessarily make it difficult? Can’t wait to type this up at the office on my Monday lunchbreak. Have to finish those other revisions first, though. Mustn’t forget again. The old brain sure aint what it was.

“You recorded them, didn’t you, 33?” Monique surmised.

“Their conversation was begging for immortality. Did you hear any of that, 32?”

“Just a little. I was mostly listening to the all-male conversation behind me.”

“Oh, what were those three millennial lads talking about, Monique?”

“Girls and dating experiences. It was almost as hysterical as yours, Parkaarismo. [one of Monique’s nicknames for me] One guy claimed that he was so desirable that he was forced to play hard-to-get at work.” Oh, brother.

I shook my head. “Did you want anything else?”

“If I ask for dessert, will our girl get a bigger tip?” Huh?

“Now, how in the world did you intercept that thought, 32?”

“Womantality.” [sic] Monique then giggled.