SALESMEN AND SUCKERS

In 1893, at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Clark Stanley, the self-appointed “Rattlesnake King” slit open a rattlesnake, threw it into a vat of boiling water, and after the snake fat rose to the top, he scooped it out and put it into some liniment jars along with some herbs. He sold the product to the crowd as “Snake Oil Treatment,” and became the “Snake Oil Salesman.” In 1917 Federal Investigators discovered that the snake part of Stanley’s “cure all” was left out although it was advertised. However, he sold the stuff for another 24 years.

Now, in 2021 the “snake oil” salesmen use my computer to peddle their fraudulent and weird wares that invariably land in my junk mail. Of course, I never open their messages, but here’s a sample that’s available for gullible folks.

My husband, who died in 1998, was offered a credit card from Master Card (unless he needs to
rebuild his credit). After deleting my husband’s junk mail, I attended to mine.  One message merely said, “Thank You.”  If I had answered that one, I could have typed, “You are welcome. Now take back your worm.”

I’m not sure if another pitch wanted me to shine my teeth or shine my liver, but I am certain that I’d never want a Hearing Aid that would “break the sound barrier.” It would probably blow my head off of my shoulders which would make it impossible to shine my liver. Also, I don’t think that I will ever need to take “Granite Testosterone” even for “Nerve Control.” And, is a “Fungus
Destroyer” considered a “Senior Perk?” And, what in the world are “Funeral Potatoes”? But then, I’ve never heard of Funeral Potato chips either.

Considering snacks, I could have ordered “Brain Candy” from one quack, but then maybe the “Knee Candy” might be a treat for the cartilage in my knees. Also, I do not understand the purpose of a “Flip Fork.” Maybe it is used to “Empty Your Bladder.”  YIKES!

However, after deleting my junk mail, I also have discovered that there are things for sale on the internet that might appeal to the sucker of the moment such as the “Zombie Attack Survival Kit.” Assuming that you have ordered the kit and survived the attack, you could always order a “ghost in a jar.” I guess you’d have to be specific about which ghost you’d like to keep in a jar, and then I wonder where do you keep that jar? It could be very disconcerting to have it in your bedroom.  Maybe the kitchen where you keep your “Wolverine Meat Shredder Claws” would be a good place—just in case the ghost gets out.

The most inventive sales pitch I found was a “Soul For Sale.” The price was not listed. I’m sure the amount is negotiable…It always has been.

Esther Blumenfeld

EXISTENTIAL THOUGHTS

Being able to concentrate on the task at hand is a great gift. I remember as a little girl climbing into my Father’s lap and resting there while he was typing a  philosophical paper. Lost in thought, I’m not sure he knew I was there, but it was very peaceful.

When I began my writing career, I too developed the ability to concentrate and was able to work anywhere. Since my co-author and I lived far apart and had no office, we met at a local McDonalds every morning after dropping our kids at nursery school. We knew we had it made when the hamburger-flipping manager took a phone message for us. When McDonalds changed their taste in music, we dressed up and moved to a remote corner in the lobby of an elegant hotel where no one bothered us.

As I have grown older, I have discovered that concentration and multi-tasking are really not that compatible-- ever since I tried to stir the soup while answering the phone with my TV remote. I am very conscientious about remembering the names of all of my new new neighbors. Sometimes, I have to concentrate on the the whole alphabet to find the trigger for a name. The other day, I found myself staring into my  kitchen cupboard thinking, “Why am I here?” That is not an existential question such as, “Am I really here?” because I knew I was really there, but did not remember exactly “Why?” However, as I began to leave the kitchen it came to me.  I had just finished reading about the Governor of Arizona—-Governor Doug Ducey. How did that name relate to what I was looking for? Then it came to me in an “Ah, Ha” moment. NUTS! I was looking for nuts.

Often it’s difficult to concentrate while watching the evening news on television. There’s just so much bad stuff  repeated over and over.  It can lead to thoughts such as, “What the Hell is going on in this unfathomable universe?” However, before accepting “existential angst” it may be helpful to remember the story about the little boy who was digging a hole, with his  little shovel, in a pile of dung. When asked, “Little Boy, why are you digging that hole in the dung?” The little boy replied, “There’s got to be a pony in there  somewhere!”

As I think about it (which is also a form of concentrating) I think it makes sense to keep digging, so we can make our lives as purposeful and meaningful as possible.  Also, if I think about it long enough perhaps I’ll figure out how my water bottle ended up in my hiking boot. After all, I never lose things, I only misplace them.

Esther Blumenfeld

DIDN'T EXPECT THAT

At 10 p.m. last night I had an unexpected visitor. A big, black cricket on steroids was hopping across my living room rug. Planning to trap it, I spent the next 10 minutes trying to catch that sucker with a drinking glass and a piece of cardboard to slip underneath, but every time I got close, that cricket jumped away from me, and finally disappeared behind a bookcase. At that, I gave up and figured that if I went into the bedroom and closed the door, the Olympic Sprinter would stay in the living room, and I could catch him in the morning.

However, when I entered the bedroom—SURPRISE! That cricket chirped Ha! Ha! as it hopped around my bed. No more Mr. Nice Guy! I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, grabbed the critter and threw it into the toilet—flushing twice just in case he was the Mark Spitz of crickets.

Blame it on climate change, because here in Tucson, Arizona we have an unexpected season of flooding Monsoon rains which have also been a boon for insects.  The Mesquite Moths, ready to lay their larva, have found their way onto our balconies and into our hallways. It just so happens that there is a display of home knitted sweaters in one hall which I suspect will become a moth smorgasbord soon.

The thing is that everyday all of us live with the unexpected. I think it’s called the curve ball of life. Sometimes it’s very good and sometimes not so good and most times you don’t see it coming such as when I was a teenager hosting a slumber party at my home.

The girls arrived before my parents returned from a meeting. Since I didn’t have enough places for all of my friends to sleep, we decided to remove the mattress from my parents’ bed. I thought they’d never really notice since there was an innerspring mattress underneath. I re-made the bed, and we all got snacks from the kitchen and returned to my room. Later that night, we heard a loud bang from my parents’ bedroom when they hit the innerspring. They handled it well. They didn’t kill me. You cannot plan for the unexpected, but it says a lot about you as to how you handle it.

When I was a journalist, I was assigned a downtown interview in Atlanta, Georgia. When going downtown I always wore sneakers on the  commuter train, and once I arrived at the building, where my interview was to take place, I’d always go to the Lady’s Room and change from sneakers to the more acceptable high heeled shoes.

As it so happened this was an attractive glass building with a very fancy Lady’s Loo. I was amazed at the elegant furniture that had been tastefully placed within. I sat in a comfortable leather chair and bent down to change my shoes when I heard one of the stall doors open, and water running in the sink. Then I heard a clink in the crystal dish on the table next to me. I looked up as a woman left the room and saw a used linen towel on the table. She had left me a 25 cent tip. I was offended. She didn’t even say “Thank You!”

I have learned a few things about the unexpected such as all of a sudden I am old. When did that happen? Where did the little girl go? Well, I am the same person—only the facade has changed—A LOT! All I can do is to hope that my next unexpected will be a good one—-and if not—- to meet it as best I can.  But at least next time with a fly swatter!

Esther Blumenfeld

WISH I'D SAID THAT

“At a 25th anniversary of a Fortune 500 company, a division President went to the microphone and said,’On this special occasion, I feel it’s time to be honest with the Chairman of the Board. When I applied for this job 20 years ago, he asked me how much money I was making, and I told him $125 a week.  I guess now it won’t hurt to admit that at the time I was really only making $100 a week. After the laughter subsided, the Chairman of the Board responded, ‘I appreciate your confession, but actually I was prepared to offer you $150.”’ (Humor at Work, c.Blumenfeld and Alpern 1994)

Last week, I asked Mr. Google to pull up some rejoinders and come-backs on my computer. Most of them were sarcastic and hurtful. I guess that sometimes a person has to be put in his place, but generally when I feel the need to knock someone down, I prefer to offer him or her a humorous cushion. Albert Einstein did it well when he said, “There is a major difference between intelligence and stupidity. Intelligence has its limits.”

Years ago, my husband Warren was asked to fill out paperwork at the dentist’s office. The receptionist noticed that he had left one question blank, so she said, “What is your church preference?” Whereupon he replied, “Gothic.” Wish I had said that!

Elbert Hubbard said,”When life give you lemons make lemonade.” When someone says that to me, I usually respond, “That’s a good idea if you can find some sugar.” In the same vein, I can never understand that when one of your body parts is hurting, some fool will remind you that you are better off than the guy who lost his foot. It’s always the poor guy who lost his foot. That rejoinder will never make you feel better…Guilty, Yes!  Better, No!”

When viewing a painting by Toulouse-Lautrec a woman said to him, “Sir, (except in French) your painting is obscene!” And Toulouse-Lautrec responded, “Madame! The obscenity is in your mind, not on my canvas.”

So many times, all of us are confronted by someone who says something that calls for a come back, but we can’t think of it until much later when it’s no longer usable. However, as a playwright, I was offered the opportunity to use a rejoinder through the voice of a character in one of my plays.

A month after my husband died, a friend invited me to join her, on a hike in the mountains along with a woman I did not  know. Naturally, my feelings were still very raw. My friend mentioned to this woman that my husband had recently died, and this stranger said to me, “What did he die of?”—an arrow through my heart.  Five years later this very same exchange appeared in my play, “Here and There” (Detroit Repertory Theatre 2003). When the actor said, “What did he die of?” The reply was, “I shot him!”

Then there was my experience with the “over-under” guy. He was engaged to give a speech to a captive audience of unwilling listeners—including me. I tuned out what he was saying until he said, “You can tell a lot about people by how they put their toilet paper on their toilet paper dispensers. He  continued, “Forward hanging conveys a welcoming attitude. It’s an inviting gesture. Backward rolling shows an unfriendly posture.”

He then asked people to raise their hands if they rolled their toilet paper under.  I raised my hand.  Then he asked people to raise their hand if they were over rollers. Again, I raised my hand. He looked at me accusingly, and said, “You raised your hand twice!” “Yes, I did,” I replied.  “Well!” he said, “Why did you do that?” “Easy!” I replied.  “ I have two bathrooms.”

He found my reasoning uncanny.

Esther Blumenfeld

MISSED THE BOAT

On August 1, 2021 my son, Josh, daughter-in-law, Barbara and I were supposed to start sailing from Reykjavik to Reykjavik on a weeklong circumnavigation of Iceland. However, in March of 2021, the Windstar Cruise Line cancelled the 200+ passenger voyage due to Covid-19. So, instead of enjoying the “action packed” most northerly capital city in the world—on August 1, 2021 I mopped water off my kitchen floor, because I hadn’t closed the freezer drawer in my refrigerator, and now I had to deal with melted ice cubes. That’s as close to ice as I’ll get this year.

In the meantime, Josh and Barbara are taking an action packed vacation themselves. They have packed up every item in their master bedroom, master bathroom and master closet and have traveled into the guest room in their house. Instead of visiting the island of Heimaey,  “the Pompeii of the North,”covered in ash by a devastating 1973 eruption, they will be experiencing their own sis, boom, bah (I’m guessing more sis-boom than bah.) for six weeks.

The weather in Iceland is highly changeable, kind of like a mask-on—mask off—mask on experience in the United States. Granted, I can’t see puffins from my apartment balcony, but I did see one old guy doing some impressive huffing and puffing while hiking up a mountain path near my home.

Also, in 1963 there was another eruption in Iceland, and Surtsey Island became the youngest place on earth. If we are able to sail in 2022, I just may be the oldest seafarer sailing past that kid. However, I’m not sure I want to take a polar flight to Grimsey Island just to stand half in and half out of the Arctic Circle. At 86 I plan to stand all in wherever I go. And, NO! I do not plan to ride an Icelandic horse anywhere even if he was brought to Iceland by the Vikings. That’s an old horse!

The last time I got on a horse was in Argentina.The thick saddle was made of sheep's’ wool, and the cinch was loose. The the leader of our ride slapped my horse’s butt. That filly took off, and I hung on for dear life—slipping from side to side on my saddle. I was lucky that I didn’t end up upside down looking up at her belly.

Of course, in the scheme of things, a delayed trip is not the worst event in one’s life, and hopefully we will be able to sail in August, 2022. In the meantime, I’ll pretend I’m on a cruise when I eat in the Morrow Dining Room in my senior residence. It’s an unusual experience, because I have never eaten in a room with carpeting that offers an optical illusion of moving waves. That’s why one glass of wine will suffice—especially if  a person is prone to sea sickness.

Unfortunately, there is no travel insurance covering navigation out of that dining room.  


 Esther Blumenfeld