May 28, 2006

• The Incident at Houston's

  Lots of thoughts are running through my head now.  Suddenly I went from having nothing to write about to having too much to write about: shame, depression, guilt, regret.  Pride, and self-respect, but also shame, depression, guilt, regret.

  Yesterday was my one day off.  I’ve been working weekends and holidays lately, partly because there is a lot of work, but more so because of the house we are buying and the “associated” expenses. 

  Shame: 

  I made a scene at Houston’s.  But that’s jumping to the end of the story.  I was already depressed and regretful.  I might not even feel shame if I wasn’t worried about what other people thought.  See, I took my frustrations out on the manager of Houston’s rather than on my wife and kids and that’s good at least.  Except that my wife didn’t get to eat at one of her favorite restaurants, and was embarrassed by me, so maybe she feels she get the brunt of it, but I didn’t yell at the kids and that’s how these days usually end.   

  Depression. 

  I don’t want to see my house anymore until the addition is done and we can go ahead and live there.  I love the location; that is this move’s greatest promise.  But I can’t help second guessing our choices and being disappointed, or wishing we were getting more for the money.  At least once it’s done, I can enjoy the location and quantify our financial situation which right now is unknowable.  Of course in the meantime we still have to plan to spend money, which probably, more than anything else, sends me into a tail spin of depression.  

  Guilt. 

  We started the day yesterday, my one day off (I’m at work, so let me be brief), deciding not to take the kids to the pool, my wife would do that herself tomorrow (today) while I was at work, because we needed to look at rugs for our new "old" house.  My wife offered to do that herself too, but I do want to have a say, because as we confirmed while we were out all day we don’t like the same things.  We have hardwoods throughout, so we need rugs (right? – I don’t know).  The rugs we looked at first were of a Pakistani/Indian  style.  For some reason (maybe stemming from a prior life), I don’t really like Indian nor Oriental styles.  We found two I could like, good quality rugs, but they also cost $2,000 - $4,000 a piece.  I''m talking about guilt, right?  OK, so we spent the whole day looking, and the kids were trying hard to behave so that they could go swimming tomorrow (today) and maybe spend a little time with their dad, playing Yahtsee (I kept saying Nazi by accident), and watching a movie that they weren’t allowed to watch the night before (because they didn’t behave).  ReyRey (10YO) did get her gameboy taken away for being mean to her sister, but other than that, they managed about as well, or better (Houston’s) than I did.  But when I was leaving for work this morning ReyRey said, “you’re not coming swimming with us?!?”  Ow.

  Regret:

  We drove by a house that we dismissed out of hand when we were looking, mainly because it was unrenovated, but cost as much as the renovated house we bought.  We drove by it, I think, for vindication, to see that it hadn’t yet been sold, but it had.  It always looked good from the outside.  And then I looked it up in our "book of houses" and reminded myself that it had 4 bedrooms, a large screened in porch on the back, an attic room, like I love and a fence.  It was all brick, and it had a nice front porch.  Yes, it was unrenovated, and cost just as much, but then we are spending quite a lot of money to add a fourth bedroom, which it had, and a fence, which it had, and we could have spent that money on any house, except that I have, and I think almost everyone else in the world has, trouble visualizing what a house can be, and that’s why we buy the renovated ones.  OK, yes, ours is going to have a nicer kitchen when we’re done with it, and a nice living room on the back of the house, where I like it, and a front room for the piano (a piano room), and more bathrooms, and a basement that we can renovate and storage in the attic and we’re on a dead end street with a lot of kids.  I know that, and I’m trying to keep telling myself that, I just can’t help thinking about all the things I don’t like and wondering why we always have to decide so fast, and mostly how much money we are going to end up spending and how many more weekends I am going to have to work and that makes me depressed, I mean guilty, um… regretful.  

  But then there is pride and self respect too: 

  We did get home and play Nazi (I mean Yahtsee – I don’t know how to play Nazi, honestly), and we did stay up late to fulfill my promise that we would watch the movie, and I watched it with them, like they wanted me too, and two of them sat on my lap, and after if was over I carried them all up to bed (one by one).  At the beginning at the day I told ReyRey and Nini (7YO) that I was not going to yell at them, might punish, but not yell, ‘cause I wanted to set a good example (they most often get punished for raising their own voices, after all).  They started out beautifully.  But as the day went on it became harder for them and me.  At some point as plans were being made to take a break and then hit another store, I pointed out that I was going to lose it, and that I had promised the kids that we would play “Yahtsee” and watch a movie, and I knew what was going to happen if we stayed out much longer (my name is forethought).  A noble effort would be in vain.  So we decided we would get dinner and go home.  Houston’s was nearby, one of my wife’s favorite restaurants.  I was in denim shorts old shoes without socks, a t-shirt and a baseball hat (with my client’s logo on it).  I walked in while the car was being parked and the hostess asked me to take my hat off.  I took it off to show them my matted sweaty hair underneath, and said “you think this looks better.”  “It’s policy” the girl told me.  “ok.” I said.  When the family caught up to me, Nini took one look at my hair and laughed at it.  So I went back to the table and decided to put my hat back on.  The waiter came over and took our drink order, and the next thing you know the manager is coming over to ask me to take my hat off again.  I told him that I’d rather not.  I said, I’ve been wearing it all day and my hair was messy and sweaty underneath.  I told him that I had to wear a hat when I was out, otherwise I would get burned on my baldspot, but once I had worn it all day, it embarrassed me to take it off.  I also told him that it was not intended as a sign of disrespect, and that whether it is viewed that way depends a lot on cultural norms, how in my heritage, (the Jewish heritage, that I don’t per se, follow) it is considered disrespectful to God, to not wear something on the top of your head (hence the Yarmulke).  He said he couldn’t let me wear a hat, since he had asked other gentlemen not to wear theirs (I couldn’t help noticing that the predominantly black clientele of this restaurant usually has either very short hair or shaved heads).  His only other (non) reason why I must do this, is that it’s a company rule.  I told him it was a stupid rule.  That’s when my wife got scared that they would spit in our food, so I said, "fine, lets leave," adding “they have no RIGHT to tell me I can't wear my hat.” 

  I bubbled over.

  But if the manager didn’t receive my wrath, the kids would have and all in all, I am happy about that.  Plus it probably saved us money as we picked up a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store and ate it at home.  My wife didn’t talk to me much after that and I don’t know how mad she is or how long it will last, but I do have a feeling that the family will still be talking about the “incident at Houston’s” for many years to come.
  

  • 11:26 am
  • 7 Comments