Waiting For The World To Wait On You:
The Ever Elusive Ham Sandwich
Dick drums his chubby oil-stained fingers on the aged oak table in the small kitchen. His hands depict a portrait of years of car mechanic work. They do not speak of the numerous afternoons of binge beer drinking, followed by Dick sleeping on the roller tray beneath the cars he claimed he was so diligently fixing. But, if his hands could argue their point Dick would deny any of their accusations and offer up his best insults to discredit them.
Dick’s impatient gray eyes look up at the clock on the microwave again and then back down to the table. He shifts in his chair and adjusts his worn jeans, pulling them up in back and tucking the front under his protruding belly, the bottom of which peaks out from under his white undershirt in an act of rebellion to its host. Dick has been sitting, waiting for almost two hours for his wife to return from her shopping trip.
The closest town is nearly forty-five minutes away from their house and while Dick slept in until the early afternoon, his wife had busied herself cleaning the house, paying the bills for the month, and making sure Dick’s laundry was finished and put away before leaving the house to run errands. Oblivious to her efforts, Dick sees his wife as quite useless. She never seems to be where he needs her to be, or doing what he needs her to be doing! This is not the first time he sat waiting for a sandwich. She should better understand her role in meeting his needs. After all, it isn’t as though she could work outside of the home and make any money to pull her weight. She is just a woman.
Something catches his eye. Dick notices a pinhead size spec of food stuck to the table’s surface. His lips pinch together and multiple wrinkles furrow his forehead as a deep pink blush fills his rounded cheeks and bulbous nose. His image becomes reminiscent of the rosy-cheeked Santa depictions on the Coca-Cola cans in the 1970s, minus the beard and the cheery love of children the Santa character portrayed. One of Dick’s favorite quotes to his children, on the rare occasions when they dared to speak with any differing views from his own, is, “Children are to be seen and not heard." His two children seldom speak to him. He speaks to them when the lawn needs mowed or when he requires one of them to bring him a beer to the garage so he can work.
“When was the last time she cleaned this table?” he mutters to himself, disgusted. “ I want a sandwich. She should be home by now!”
Waging his assault on the food remnant, Dick scratches his fingernail deeply into the table, vigorously etching back and forth, to remove it and then with the back of his hand dismissively sweeps the offending food scrap off the table and onto the tile floor. Now his table is acceptably clean and ready for the sandwich his wife will prepare for him, as soon as she is home. The ingredients of this sandwich are waiting in the fridge for him, a few short steps from his seat. The dishes are clean and prepared. But,he prefers to wait. He believes it is better to wait to be waited upon than to serve himself.
The Ever Elusive Ham Sandwich
Dick drums his chubby oil-stained fingers on the aged oak table in the small kitchen. His hands depict a portrait of years of car mechanic work. They do not speak of the numerous afternoons of binge beer drinking, followed by Dick sleeping on the roller tray beneath the cars he claimed he was so diligently fixing. But, if his hands could argue their point Dick would deny any of their accusations and offer up his best insults to discredit them.
Dick’s impatient gray eyes look up at the clock on the microwave again and then back down to the table. He shifts in his chair and adjusts his worn jeans, pulling them up in back and tucking the front under his protruding belly, the bottom of which peaks out from under his white undershirt in an act of rebellion to its host. Dick has been sitting, waiting for almost two hours for his wife to return from her shopping trip.
The closest town is nearly forty-five minutes away from their house and while Dick slept in until the early afternoon, his wife had busied herself cleaning the house, paying the bills for the month, and making sure Dick’s laundry was finished and put away before leaving the house to run errands. Oblivious to her efforts, Dick sees his wife as quite useless. She never seems to be where he needs her to be, or doing what he needs her to be doing! This is not the first time he sat waiting for a sandwich. She should better understand her role in meeting his needs. After all, it isn’t as though she could work outside of the home and make any money to pull her weight. She is just a woman.
Something catches his eye. Dick notices a pinhead size spec of food stuck to the table’s surface. His lips pinch together and multiple wrinkles furrow his forehead as a deep pink blush fills his rounded cheeks and bulbous nose. His image becomes reminiscent of the rosy-cheeked Santa depictions on the Coca-Cola cans in the 1970s, minus the beard and the cheery love of children the Santa character portrayed. One of Dick’s favorite quotes to his children, on the rare occasions when they dared to speak with any differing views from his own, is, “Children are to be seen and not heard." His two children seldom speak to him. He speaks to them when the lawn needs mowed or when he requires one of them to bring him a beer to the garage so he can work.
“When was the last time she cleaned this table?” he mutters to himself, disgusted. “ I want a sandwich. She should be home by now!”
Waging his assault on the food remnant, Dick scratches his fingernail deeply into the table, vigorously etching back and forth, to remove it and then with the back of his hand dismissively sweeps the offending food scrap off the table and onto the tile floor. Now his table is acceptably clean and ready for the sandwich his wife will prepare for him, as soon as she is home. The ingredients of this sandwich are waiting in the fridge for him, a few short steps from his seat. The dishes are clean and prepared. But,he prefers to wait. He believes it is better to wait to be waited upon than to serve himself.