We were having an evening-long conversation last night, as I finished wrapping the gifts for the kids.
It had been a quiet, nice day: our office gave us early dismissal, and all morning I actually Got Some Work Done, and emailed back and forth with colleagues in our Indy office about maps and pagecounts and things like that. I had a nice long talk with a dear friend. I had a steak.
Earlier in the week, we'd had our company holiday party (a bit of a radical statement in these parlous times), and our CFO addressed the assembled troops, assuring us that we would get through the current financial situation "with dignity, class, and honor." And I believed him. On the train the next morning, I talked with a couple of colleagues, and one said she'd been in the business 35 years and had never seen it this bad; she knew people would be getting laid off that day, or come back from Christmas and get laid off.
I went on my last round of errands for the day: at the supermarket, the staff was exchanging secret Santa presents and hugging the firemen who were doing their last-minute shopping. (Engine 126. Yeah!) At the drugstore, everything was marked down 25 to 75% off, so I piled on a few more things for the kids.
When my partner came home from work, she asked if I was interested in going to midnight Mass, and I said not really. That was the start of the evening-long conversation.
Catching up with Top Chef on TV, I packed the bags with presents and assorted toiletries and first aid supplies we'd collected. Then we headed out on the warmish rainy night over to Sylvia's Place. There were people milling around outside the entrance to the MCC over on W. 36th St. Some people bearing packages and trays of food, others looked like musicians (getting ready for a service?) We made our way into the packed room where people of all ages were eating Christmas Eve dinner, and chatting loudly.
We spotted Kate, who runs the place, squeezing between people, and gave her our bags. I told her there were some stocking-stuffers and extra presents, in case they had people show up who hadn't had a Secret Santa. She said she was sure she could use them. A guy coming in shook our hands and introduced himself, and he told us as long as he makes it through one day to the next, he's grateful.
Then we headed back across the bridge. We scoped out a few of the churches in our neighborhood, found one that was having a midnight service, and while I didn't commit to it, said I'd consider going. Then we headed to our favorite restaurant for dinner, and unlike the other 364 nights of the year, it was closed. So we went next door to a bar we also like.
They've spent a lot of money recently fixing the place up, and it looks great. We like this place because they are friendly, the food's decent, and before we had cable, we would go in and ask them to turn one of the TVs to the WNBA game, and they always did. The kitchen was open, and on one tv was football, on another A Christmas Story, and on yet another, It's a Wonderful Life. So we were sort of surrounded by the bounty of the season.
And over dinner, we talked about how we always feel sad when we leave Sylvia's, but also glad we went there. Which led to why one of us wanted to go to midnight Mass, and the other one (that would be me) is feeling pretty abandoned by both organized religion as well as the guy I gave money to and voted for last November.
That doesn't mean there isn't a spiritual hole that needs filling, but I don't particularly trust any mainstream denomination (or political party, and the distance between those two entities seems rather small these days) not to screw me over.
So as Jimmy Stewart raced through town yelling "Merry Christmas" and Ralphie's friend got his tongue stuck to the flagpole, and Notre Dame smashed Hawaii we didn't come to any conclusions.
The woman in the booth behind us was putting on her coat, and her fist through her sleeve connected with the back of my head. Hey, watch it! I told her, and she said sorry, and I nodded and turned back to my conversation. She repeated SORRY louder, then went into a rant about I SAID I WAS SORRY. YOU DON'T HAVE TO LOOK AT ME LIKE A FUCKING WITCH. LIKE I DID SOMETHING WRONG ON PURPOSE.
And she staggered out for a smoke. Her boyfriend, who was wearing an elf t-shirt, trailed her, and about halfway to the door, he turned and gave us a rude gesture. We called for the check.
I wanted to get out of there quickly, because I didn't like the idea of being trapped in the booth when she came back. So we got our coats on and headed out. We were at the door when she came back in, and we both took a step back to let her pass. She didn't want to pass. WHAT THE FUCK'S THE MATTER WITH YOU? she started, and her boyfriend came up from behind and tried to pull her away. And I said: what's with YOU? You punched me in the head, then won't let it go...you're trying to pick a fight with us? Why?
I'M A MOTHERFUCKING LIBERAL she yelled, BUT YOU MAKE ME SICK! She lunged for us, and her boyfriend was really working hard to keep her back. Unless she had a real hatred for Buffalo chicken salad and margaritas, I could only assume that seeing me and my partner together was what made her sick.
HELP! I yelled, GET AWAY FROM US, because I am a great big wuss. So everyone in the bar was watching, and my partner had her keys in her fist, and the boyfriend pulled the drunken woman away, and we dashed out the door, with her spitting and cursing behind us.
We did not go to midnight Mass. I didn't even watch it on TV. Though we did did turn on a show that had a choir singing, accompanied by strings, and my partner said: "Look! There's Jorge!" And it was...a friend of ours was playing his violin on Christmas Eve night as people sang Hallelujah. Last Sunday we were at their house, and they made us ham and we sang Christmas carols, and pulled crackers and wore paper crowns.
Now we're going to brunch with more people we love.
Happy Birthday, Jesus.
