I didn't die...

Hey, folks - I had to give it up when I got sick a couple of years ago. Couldn't do my breathing treatments every four hours during a 10- to 12-hour shift. Hope you can enjoy some of the golden oldies herein, though! And visit me on www.MadisonCountyCourier.com for news (literally) from the day job.

Martha

You CAN get lost in Durhamville, New York

Well, it turns out, at least I can. When I tell people this, they just sort of look at me then ask, “How do you get lost in Durhamville?”

I decided recently I needed something to fill my many idle hours, and I thought a little extra cash would be useful, as well.

Try going to a prospective employer and telling them you’re available the second Tuesday of the sixth week of the month under a blue moon and watch his or her expression. I did think of something that might work, though, so I started asking around and found a new boss.

I know it sounds crazy, but I have wanted to drive cab since before I was old enough to drive. I couldn’t wait to get my license and some experience under my belt so I could try my hand at the job. Then my husband said “no” because it was dangerous.

As I now tell my fares, I’m old and cranky, and I don’t care what he says.

Someone who is a tireless driver and who enjoys meeting people, it is the perfect job. I’m only sorry I didn’t do is sooner. As I recently told some friends, it’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on.

Except a couple weeks ago I got lost in Durhamville … which is something akin to getting lost in a one-room schoolhouse, only more embarrassing.

I got to Durhamville OK, but I could not find the Vet’s Club. I found a building with a lot of flags and thought FOR SURE that was it, but when I pulled into the driveway, I discovered it was a private home.

Now, my biggest fears about this new job were 1) metered rides when I don’t know where I’m going; 2) that my new bosses would go back to my references and tell them I am developmentally delayed; and 3) embarrassing myself on the radio.

1. The company uses flat fares.

2. Status unknown, but I’ve got my suspicions.

3. Mission accomplished … and then some.

I got on the radio and asked for directions. Several voices came back with different directions, but pretty soon I was on my way. To Verona. I drove back to Ryan’s General Store, which has been fondly dubbed “the Durhamville Mall,” and radioed base again.

“I didn’t know Durhamville had a mall,” the boss radioed back when I told her where I was. Then she got me where I needed to go.

Cool, calm and collected, Boss No. 2 gets on the radio.

“Martha? Which street did you get lost on?”

As I try to remember, he comes back on.

“The first one, or the second one?”

“If this guy calls back wondering where I am, just tell him I’m new and I’m from a work-release program for the challenged,” I radioed back.

I could hear some laughter in the background, and my face was hot, even under the cover of night.

I find the fare, who is – thank God – occupied on his cell phone. I ask him where he’s heading and get moving. Then it occurs to me I don’t know how much to charge him. I pick up the radio.

“If y’all have picked yourself up off the floor from laughing at me, could someone tell me how much the fare is?”

“You haven’t done anything anyone else didn’t do when they were new,” the boss announced over the radio. “But, yeah, we’re laughing at you.”

And that’s when I passed his road … with a long line of traffic behind me … and nowhere safe to turn around. The blush creeps down to my toes, and I start laughing. I tell the dispatcher what I’ve done, and everyone starts laughing. I say a little prayer of thanks to the god of atheists that this guy is still on his phone and a second one that we don’t have meters in the cars.

A few doors from his destination, he hangs up his phone.

“So … taking the scenic route?” he asks good-naturedly.

I’m pretty sure my face was glowing like Rudolph’s nose at this point. I take his money and tell the dispatcher I’m clear.

“You’re clear,” she returns.

“That’s good,” I replied. “I’m gonna go eat some popcorn … I hear it’s brain food.”

The dispatcher is cracking up. As I pull out onto the street, I flip over the bag of popcorn.

SmartFood Brand.

I nearly died.

I was laughing so hard, tears were running down my face as I called this updated information into dispatch.

When I rendezvoused later with one of the other drivers, he took one look at me and started cracking up.

“I know,” I said, laughing. “I can’t believe I got lost in Durhamville … you know, population 52?”
“Oh,” he said. “They had visitors?”

I started laughing all over again.

“When you got on the radio and said you were eating SmartFood, I was dying to get on there and say, ‘Well, what’re you doing? Eating the DumbFood they keep at the bottom of the bag?’ But it seemed a little mean.”

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.

Anybody seen ‘norm’ lately?

About 20 minutes after our invasion of Iraq, the Bush administration launched a diversionary assault: The obesity crisis. Based on a report from the World Health Organization, overweight was costing the nation a pretty penny.

We couldn’t get any body counts, but there was information-a-plenty about the evils of fat.
The public health warnings went out, and nobody but the New York Times carried anything trying to correct the calculation error in the WHO report that artificially inflated the impact of the problem. Trust me: The actual data was bad enough.

Before anyone accuses me of being in fat-chick denial, let me make it really clear that I am not saying obesity isn’t unhealthy. But, as usual, we’re going about addressing the issue all wrong. I say it’s the rare 5-year-old in this country who does not know it would be unhealthy to eat M&Ms three meals a day. While education is important, familial and cultural circumstances are going to dictate that’s child’s primary diet, and, as a country, we have refused to acknowledge the link between obesity and poverty.

There’s another often-overlooked connection I still am waiting to hear much about.

The victim of sexual assault, not one person put on this earth to protect me as a child did his or her job. Not one. I remember the very day in 1977 when I decided to try and eat myself to death. Minding my own business, walking down Genesee Street near the old Post Office in Syracuse, a man pulled out of traffic and tried to pick me up.

Incredulous, I walked toward the car and squatted down on the sidewalk a safe distance from the vehicle and said, “Do you realize I am 12 years old?”

“Well, you don’t walk like you’re 12,” was his response.

I had, in effect, said, “Go to jail; go directly to jail; do not pass ‘Go,’” and he didn’t care.

I went back to work (another story in itself), and knew how I would solve my man problems. I ordered a large pizza and ate the entire thing during my shift. Only, it didn’t solve the problem, and 30 years later, I am still cleaning up the toxic waste of those experiences and that decision.

While doing victim advocacy work later in life, I was horrified to find the numbers of victims of sexual assault and other forms of abuse who had turned to anorexia, bulimia or compulsive overeating to try and protect themselves. Those lucky enough to have health insurance these days will find mental health benefits sorely lacking, especially in this field of treatment. For those who think of eating disorders as a female issue, think again. The numbers in our boys are rising at an alarming rate.

The anti-tobacco and -alcohol initiatives over the past couple of years have tried to counter those drugs’ high visibility by launching a campaign that they “are not the norms in our society.” By this, they mean that the majority of people don’t regularly use them. The problem is, when something is not “normal,” what does it become? Abnormal. And “abnormal” equals “bad” or “wrong.”

The difference between being addicted to tobacco or alcohol and being over- or underweight is that one of those conditions is immediately, visually identifiable. We are setting up our “non-conforming” children for much bigger problems as the targets of legitimized ostracization and discrimination. Worse, some geniuses now are working to have children’s body mass indices included on school report cards.

There is more and more information on genetic causes of obesity coming to light each day, but it may be too late for this generation’s young people. In a highly publicized case a couple of years ago, a 12-year-old chose suicide to escape the peers who tormented her because of her physical appearance.

It’s open season on smokers and fat people, and suicide is a way out of our problems … whether they light up, pour another drink, devour another slice of pizza or put a bullet in their heads is anybody’s guess.

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.