Benny Jay: A Woeful Weekend

October 12th, 2009

The weekend starts on a downer — we go to a pizza joint on Western Avenue that my wife hates.

She only goes there cause it’s on the way to the movies and we’re hungry, but we only have about an hour before the movie starts. So the plan is — eat here fast and get to the movie. You know how it goes….

They sit us in the back next to a long table filled with a big, loud family. There’s this little kid — maybe three — running around howling.

His mother’s grabbing for him. But she’s too lazy to get out of her chair and she can’t quite get him.

“Come here,” yells the mother.

“No,” howls the kid.

The mother lunges. The kid scrambles. She collars him. The kid wails — a piercing wail. This is all a foot or two from our table.

I can’t take it. We walk out without being served. Then we realize we have nowhere else to eat if we want to eat before the movie.

Trapped!

We take a seat in the front of the restaurant. Right under the stereo. It’s blasting the world’s worst music — `80s rock `n roll. Okay, maybe Muzak’s worse. But you get the idea.

We eat a greasy pizza. I feel all slimy. My wife is talking. I’m distracted by the TV set above her head: Yanks versus Twins. Can’t stand either team. Is if possible for two teams to lose one game?

Go to the movie. District Nine. It’s loud and stupid. Really stupid. I can’t blame my wife for making me see it cause it was my idea to go.

That’s Friday….

Next day my wife wakes up in a tizzy of self flagellation. Here in a nutshell is what she’s saying: “Can’t find an earring. One of my favorite pairs. A gift from my sister. It was in a box on the bed stand. Should have kept the box in a dresser. What happened is I knocked the box over and the earring fell out. Oh, why didn’t I put the box in my dresser? Cause I’m lazy! That’s what happens when I’m lazy….”

And so on and so forth.

It’s driving her crazy. She’s on her knees looking for that earring.

Relax, I tell her. Go about your day. The earring will find itself, as long as you’re not looking for it.

Like I’m the Zen master or something.

That night we go to the Raven Theater on North Clark Street and see “Death of a Salesman.” Unbelievably good performance — one of the best productions I’ve ever seen. Really. Go see it. The acting’s sensational. I can’t say enough.

Only it’s so good it’s depressing. Cause, let’s face it, it’s a depressing play. Too close for comfort in a lot of ways. It’s almost painful to watch. Puts me in a sad mood.

So let’s total it up: my wife can’t find one of her favorite earrings and I have the blues.

And it’s only Saturday. Still got Sunday to go.

Wake up. Earring still lost. Still kinda blue. Drift around, looking for that earring. Decide to see “A Serious Man,” the latest movie by the Coen Brothers.

Bike across town to see it. It’s an updating of the Book of Job. Meaning misery and affliction. I mean it’s a great movie — maybe their best. But I need to sit through the Job saga like I need the proverbial hole in my head. Walk out feeling even bluer than when I went in. Should have seen “Zombieland,” or some other hilarious piece of happy idiocy.

Go home. Eat dinner. Chicken. Good, I love chicken. But then my wife and daughter put on “Desperate Housewives.” God, I had that show. I hate the sound of that show. Gotta get away from that sound.

Go upstairs. Start reading Sherman Alexie’s short stories about alcoholic Indians on a reservation.

No, seriously. This is what I have subjected myself to: The crushed American Dream; a pitiless God; alcoholic Indians. I’m insane.

I hear screaming from the basement. My wife is bounding up the stairs. She’s ecstatic. No, beyond ecstatic. Whatever that is.

“I found it! I found it!” she’s yelling.

Yep, she found her earring. Found it in the bottom of the vacuum cleaner bag. That’s right. She opened up the vacuum cleaner and looked through the bag. At the bottom — amidst the dust, dirt and dog hairs — she found her earring.

She hugs me and tackles me and knocks me on the bed. She jumps up and down.

“I’ll always put it away!” she exclaims. “I’ll never make that mistake again….”

“I told you,” I say.

Even though I’m not sure what exactly I told her. But as long as things are going well, I might as well take the credit.

“Yay!” she’s screaming.

What’s that they say? Oh, yes: All is well that ends well….