A little misunderstanding


On a wing and a prayer.

In the late 1950s, my parents and I lived in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, where I was born. My mother told my father that she would only marry him and come to America if she could visit her family in Mexico every year. My father agreed even though he would never return to Mexico ever again.

About 1957, my mother learned that her father was dying in Mexico. She bought plane tickets to visit her father on his deathbed. My mother took me with her even though I was still a baby. My father drove us to the airport. He always had trouble driving anywhere without getting lost. When he asked for directions, he would only confuse himself even more. Well, my mother and I were supposed to fly to Mexico from Newark. My mother told me this story several times. However, I remember the story became more exciting and compelling every time she told it.

Well, my father asked for directions to the airport in Newark. At that time, neither my father or mother understood English very well and they spoke English even more poorly. So, when my father asked for directions to the airport in Newark, the man misunderstood my father and gave directions to the airport in New York, . Well, my parents and I ended up going to the wrong airport. By the time we arrived at the right airport, they told my mother that our plane had already departed. She began crying because she would not be able to see her father before he died. Someone with a private plane heard her crying and when she told them why, he arranged for us to fly on a charter flight to Texas. From there, we flew to Mexico.

When we arrived at her father’s house in Mexico, my mother saw vigil candles lighted all over the house. When her family answered the door, they started crying even more when they saw us. My mother started crying thinking that she had arrived too late to talk to her father. “Did he die already,” my mother asked. “No,” my aunt answered. “He’s still alive?” my mother asked. “Yes,” my aunt said. “Then why is everyone crying?” my mother asked. “We thought you were dead. Your plane crashed!”

DDR

Politically (in)correct


Riddle Comedy Club, Alsip, Illinois

I haven’t been to a comedy club for a couple of months now, but I keep thinking of one joke in particular that I heard while I was there. You have to remember that comedy clubs are the last bastion of politically incorrect jokes. So, everything goes there. In a way, it’s very refreshing to be able to go back in time a couple of decades or so to when free speech meant exactly that.

Anyway, the joke I keep remembering makes me laugh every time I recall it. I don’t even remember the name of the comedian, but I saw him at Riddles at the open mic night. “Are there any Mexicans here?” he asked, I assumed he asked this because he was not of the Mexican persuasion. No one answered up–not even me. I wanted to say, “I’m Mexican,” but I couldn’t get the nerve to shout it out. Besides, I wanted to hear what he would say if no Mexicans were present.

After a long silent pause, he asked, “How many Mexicans does it take to change a light bulb?” No one answered and after another long pause, he said, “One. They’re just like everyone else!” And everyone laughed, but I think I laughed the loudest.

DDR

Zanies Comedian Party


Dr. D. (AKA DDR) warming up for his comedy debut.

I never actually performed at Zanies Comedy Club, but I did see a few shows there. My favorite night there was quite a surprise that I was even there in the first place. I remember I was at The Clout Club and one of the other comedians told us that Zanies was having a party the next Tuesday for all the Chicago-area comedians. All comedians were invited. I met a lot of people that night at Zanies that I had seen perform in other comedy clubs. There were also some famous and many more not so famous people there whom I don’t remember now.

My sister wanted to go, so I told her to just say that she was a comedian, too. Before she actually showed up, I met Richard Kind who went through Second City and had done some TV commercials. However, I didn’t know who he was at the time because he wasn’t actually famous yet. Richard was very surprised that I didn’t know him. I felt embarrassed not knowing who he was. Finally, he asked me, “You didn’t see my bank commercial where I’m climbing outside the window with suction cups?” I was extremely embarrassed when I told him that I had never seen his commercial because I didn’t watch much television.

When my sister finally showed up, I told her about my encounter with Richard, who was now mingling with everyone at the party. She laughed at me even though she didn’t know who Richard Kind was, either. Eventually, Richard made his way back to my sister and me. “Do you know who I am?” he asked her. “Of course, I do!” she said. “You’re Richard Kind. You did the bank commercial. You’re the guy with suction cups on the window.” “Finally!” Richard said. “Someone who knows my work!” And he was genuinely pleased that he had found someone who had seen his commercial.

DDR

Cell phones


My electronic home monitoring device

I never had a beeper. I never had a brick phone. I never had the latest technological gadgets. But one day I suddenly had a cell phone. My ex-wife gave me one.

I had a cell phone before most people. Some people were really impressed that I had a cell phone. People could reach me wherever I was, which was both good and bad. However, I prefer to communicate via e-mail rather than talk on the telephone. A few people would call me, but mostly my ex would call me to see where I was. She would call and almost immediately ask, “Where are you?” Invariably, I would answer, “I’m at work,” “I’m at school,” or “I’m upstairs. I never left the house.” I felt like a parolee with an electronic home monitoring device.

The cell phone is a wonderful invention that I can live without, and I haven’t had one for years now. With a cell phone you lose all your privacy. I mean, everyone may contact you anytime, anyplace. If you give everyone your cell phone and home phone numbers, they call your cell phone first instinctively. You’re always available to everyone at all hours of the day. With a landline telephone, I would never answer the phone when I was showering, on the toilet, or away from the house. When I first had my cell phone, I always answered no matter where I was. I felt as if I was tethered by an electronic leash.

Once I was at Home Depot, when I unexpectedly had to use the bathroom. Suddenly, I could hear my stomach churning and the noises were traveling down my abdomen. I immediately went to the bathroom. I must admit that it was a remarkably close call and I almost regretted not having a change of underwear in the car. While sitting on the toilet, my cell phone rings, and I instinctively answer it. As I’m talking, my stomach starts churning again. Let’s just say the methane gases within me built up again and took the path of least resistance. Adding to the sound effect were the acoustics of this toilet stall that would rival any concert hall. I tried to control my bodily functions because I was holding a telephone conversation, but all my efforts were in vain. Suddenly, the pent-up gases escaped from my body with a mighty roar despite my most valiant efforts. My friend on the end of the line asks, “What was that?” I was too embarrassed to tell the truth, so I said, “I’m at Home Depot. That was a saw.” My friend said, “But that noise was extremely loud.” “Well, it was a chain saw! There it goes again! See, doesn’t it sound like a chain saw?”

I’ve been living cellphone free and happily for three years now.

DDR

Robin


Great America, Gurnee, Illinois

I have had a few memorable Spanish students since I began teaching, but some are more unforgettable than others. Some I vaguely remember. For example, one female student, I don’t even remember her name. Or anything else about her. I only remember that she was petite, had black hair, caramel-colored skin, and she always sat in the front row, right in front of me. Well, I actually remember two things about her that were quite memorable. Once after class, she told me that the Spanish word for Muslim, “musulmán,” was the same as in her language. However, I don’t even remember what language she told me she spoke. But I remember our conversation quite vividly.

The other incident that I remember occurred on Halloween. I usually bring chocolate for my students on Valentine’s Day and candy on Halloween. I started passing out candy when I noticed that UIC students sometimes wore costumes for Halloween. I enjoy giving them candy. I’m not sure why, but I do.

Anyway, on Halloween, I passed out candy at the beginning of class and put the rest on my desk in case the students wanted more. Everyone was on time, except for the student I’ve been describing. She came about ten minutes late and was about to sit down at her desk right in front of me. Suddenly, she noticed the candy on my desk and stopped to take some–without even asking! She didn’t even greet me, and she was taking my candy! “Buenos días,” I told her. But she still didn’t greet me.

Her back was to the class, so I noticed that she was wearing the red and yellow uniform shirt with a big “R” for Robin, Batman’s crime-fighting partner. Finally, I said, “It’s okay for you to take some candy since you came in costume.” She gave a puzzled look.  “It’s Halloween and you’re wearing a costume,” I said. “This isn’t a costume. I just like wearing this shirt,” she said. Well, the class and I laughed at this. She just stared at me blankly and sat down. And sure enough, she wore her Robin shirt several more times during the rest of the semester.

DDR