Do You Mind

    “Do you mind? I just need to pop in here for a minute. You are welcome to come with me. This won’t take long and I hate to leave you here on the street in the cold while I’m inside where it’s warm. Come along. It won’t take but a minute.”

    I had no interest in entering a confectionary store. I have diabetes and am also susceptible to things that can kill me. I most times avoid the possibility of being tempted beyond my ability to decline, but I’ve been known to slip.

    I’ve been told it is a character flaw, but I don’t know. Most of my family is susceptible to similar temptations and they don’t seem to care. My father was an alcoholic, beer mainly. My mother was, is, a kleptomaniac. My brothers, habitual liars, and they never seem to be concerned with an environment that could cause them to backslide into their self-destructive habits.

    The one thing they warn us about in Redemption Class, that of course is a term I coined myself, is to beware of the causes that pushed us towards our, “ultimate fall.” I’ve always enjoyed Sister Frans choice of words; so colorful and educational. She has a way of making you feel as though your indiscretions are really someone else’s fault. It builds self-esteem.

    “Well, are you coming? I can’t hold the door all day, and besides the man at the counter, the one with the heavy sweater is looking at me like I’m letting all the heat out of the building, which I may be. Hurry now.”

    I hate going shopping with her. I only go because she asks and she is the type person who won’t take no for an answer. I’ve learned that the hard way on more than one occasion. It is best to just go along to get along, get it over with and then hide in case she wants to play one of her confounded board games. I have nothing against board games other than they are boring and I never win, but then I refuse to play.

    “Lady, if you’re comin in, come in. If not, so be it, but shut the door. You ain’t paying for the heat, I am.”

    “Just a moment monsieur, Jerome is deciding.”

    “He don’t need to decide. You ain’t bringing him in here anyway. See the sign in the window? No pets allowed.”

    “He’s not just a pet. He is my friend, and he is I’ll have you know, a seeing eye dog.”

    “You blind? You don’t look blind to me.”

    “No, I’m not blind, and I don’t see what that has to do with anything. He has a legal right to go wherever he pleases. It’s the law!”

    “I have no problem with the intent of the law, but you obviously do. You are not blind, and yet you want me to believe he’s a seeing eye dog. If that is true, which I doubt, what are you doing with a seeing eye dog when you are not blind.”

    “The law gives him the legal right to go anywhere he pleases regardless of whether he is accompanied by a person who happens to be disabled. Don’t you respect the rights of the disabled? You are the type person who can be, and should be, sued for discrimination against blind people, probably all people who are disabled. I’ve run across your kind before.”

    “Lady, I’m not opposed to laws that give equal opportunity to disabled, handicapped, people with special needs, but you are not disabled. You want me to afford the same opportunity to your dog that I provide to disabled patrons?”

     “The law Señor does not discriminate between canine and human co-operation in these matters. The intent of the law is to allow those that aid the handicap are to have the ability to enter an establishment, even an establishment operated by someone who intentionally discriminates against those like Jerome, who only wish to aid those in need of his services. I do not understand your reluctance to honor the law.”

    The entire time, the debate continued to grow in irrational dueling, I was freezing. I forgot my coat, rather she forgot my coat in her hurry to get out of the house. Mr. Empire was to be home soon, and he is not in favor her having a companion like me. He complains constantly about the cost of food, clothing, and my value as a member of the family.  “What good is this…and then he stutters as he does, and then throws something, usually the newspaper, but at times ash trays or lamp shades at the picture she has of me that hangs over the fireplace.

    He has anger issues which has resulted in him spending a night or two in the basement of the courthouse, awaiting his appearance the following morning in court. Her refusal to bail him out adds more stress to an already tense situation. I usually hide when they begin to discuss the ramifications of his lack of control.

    “Lady, shut the door, please!”

    “Did anyone ever tell you that you…well you remind me of that soup Nazi guy on some show about nothing. You even look like him; mustache, attitude, a disrespect for the handicap.”

    I could tell the confectioner was loosing his patience. He began to pace behind the glass case filled with the most luscious tempting morsels, designed to defeat the will of the most steadfast enforcer of diabetes protocol. 

    I began to worry, as I remember the episode of the show about nothing. She, despite her fearless defense of handicap rights, was on the verge of being banned from the establishment for life. Not that it mattered to me. I considered the establishment little more than the Temptress of Bacon Street. 

    I am surprised there aren’t laws against establishments that risk the lives of people, no matter how tasty their temptational tidbits happen to be. But I also see his point. There is no reason to believe I am a seeing eye dog, which I am not. My only claim to fame was coming in second in the Truffle Games, which are held every four years in the Black Forest region of Germany.

. I got a yellow ribbon; I’ve still got it somewhere.

    “Lady, you got to shut the door, or leave, and take your seeing eye dog too, and go, but please shut the door.”

    “Well, I’ve never been treated so badly in all my life. You’ll not see me again.”

    As she turned to slam the door ceremoniously he tossed a chocolate truffle onto the sidewalk. No doubt his way of apologizing for my companions bad behavior and overall lack of couth.

*

    I woke up in the hospital. I heard them talking about sugar shock, which apparently happens when one has not been exposed to sugar for a period of time and then…well, I knew what they were getting at. Sometimes it’s best if you don’t hear certain things.

    I wish I could say I learned my lesson, but I’m not sure I have. I actually enjoy coming to the hospital. It is quiet, here and there are no board games or picture puzzles of alpine valleys.  And they have these chewy things that taste like chocolate. They claim they are completely safe, unless of course, you have heart issues, but then it is Saint Valentines Day. I believe it is against the law, or should be, not to engage in chocolate consumption, within reason of course, on a holy day.