Monday, June 3, 2013

Run Through the Jungle (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Over the years on my job I have had a great many adventures. So much so I wrote a book about them. Since finding out my adopted MIA got buried in Arlington, a coup for him, I have figured perhaps the reason I wore the bracelet as long as I did was that we both had a spirit of adventure. I have been watching lots of Vietnam movies. For instance, I saw this thing on dog fights. My dad used to watch this crap when I was a kid and my mom hated it. Well needless to say I was into it. So much so there were some realizations.

One, I might secretly be a man in a woman's body.

Two, that John James Rambo is my dream man, ear necklace and all.

This morning I found myself in White Plains delivering a chicken. When I do these early morning missions I feel like I am an adventurer. I know how to get lost better than anyone there is. I have hiked across highways and through the forest. Although the government does not know about me, sometimes I feel I am more covert than the CIA when delivering a singing telegram. It was early when I reached my destination.

When I reach a place early I do one of two things.

One, get some Starbucks if there is a such a place.

Second, get my bearings.

This was a beautiful suburban hood and as I walked along, I saw the street sloped down. There was some basic plant life. Some folks had rose bushes. Just then I walked into a parking lot belonging to a set of condos. The rain had stopped and perhaps I could gather my thoughts through a silent meditation practice. Just then I heard this window open. I heard a voice, "HELLO!!!"

I turned around and a toothless woman was peering out. She was like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, but spoke in a very strange accent. I thought it was Spanish or Russian or something in between. Or like the bad guys from many of my recent war flicks, an accent from no where. I looked up in surprise. This was not a private lot.

This is how the exchange went:

Me: Hi

Woman: Can I help you?

Me: No.

Woman: Are you lost?

Me: No, just meeting a friend and I am early.

Woman: Where do you come from?

Ought oh. I can feel the spirit of John James Rambo. When questions like these are posed, it means you have wandered into enemy camp. That is when I did what any smart person would do. I bilked it. This woman had no teeth and an accent from no where. Maybe her house was not made out of candy, but I grew up on the Grimm Brothers. She had a cage and if I was not careful, I would be baked into a cake.

I did my delivery and it went smoothly. With the rain clearing up I decided to hike back to the train station. It was an excuse to get some exercise, fresh air, and not to mention save a few pesos. I ended up getting directions from a hippie type woman who was probably mean to Rambo back in the day. I hiked a bit until I came to a high way. Her directions were strange and there was no way to go without getting killed. So I figured I could risk an adventure or call a cab.

The Amazon Feminist, the part of me that knows men are basically useless, wanted the adventure. I could handle it. In my humble opinion with my wilderness survivor skills plus my sister Skipper's talent as a marksman, if we had to live in the wilderness and fend off fiends we could. But the cars were swerving by and I knew this could be dangerous. Plus I am unsure of whether or not I have health insurance at the moment. And if I do it probably won't cover the majority of my bones getting shattered, or my mother's heart break over her errant child's stupidity.

So I became a woman again and called a cab. Needless to say I felt like a yellow bellied coward. I felt like I could never be Rambo's lady. My POW/MIA would have never surrendered in this fashion. However, they had tactical training. I sing in a chicken suit. There is a big difference. Maybe one day I could make a pipe bomb out of a happy birthday message. Or maybe not.

Either way, I think I did the smarter thing. Maybe I am not equipped for the special forces after all. So much for all those TV specials on dog fights in Vietnam. They taught me nothing about wildness survival. I guess this little chick isnt running through the jungle anytime soon.

My dream man, Rambo. Don't talk about about him or he will shoot you up like Swiss Cheese and wear your ears around his neck

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

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