Another SOC challenge from Linda

Today’s odd prompt was not a word or words. It was 2 letters. ‘O’and’C’.

This is a true story. It really happened. I swear. If you don’t believe me then go see for yourself. I think it happens every day.

I was staying at Newport beach a little while ago with some time on my hands and I wanted to investigate a new Bose sound system and pretend that I could afford to buy it. Newport Beach is located in Orange County, California, within the United States of America.

Orange County. The OC.

I wandered across the road from where I was staying to a smallish ( by Californian standards) shopping mall to investigate. The shopping mall was called Fashion Island. That name alone should have alerted me to the fact that I was venturing into foreign territory.

As I entered I discovered a large sign upon which was a list of the various shops within the complex together with grid-referenced information so that one could then discover the location of any shop relative to the position of the sign.

I couldn’t find the Bose store but as I was scanning the sign I noticed beside me an attractive middle-aged woman who was in similar difficulty. The two of us must have looked like a couple of aliens from different sides of the galaxy who had arrived simultaneously at the same bus depot and were wondering what to do next.

Just then a police officer appeared beside us. “Can I do anything for either of you lovely people?” he asked.

It was not the sort of question that I am accustomed to hearing from officers of the law and I was a little taken back, but the opportunity was there for me to allow the woman to speak first. So I did.

“Ah, yes,” she murmured, “Can you direct me to Victoria’s Secret?”.

I know it is juvenile, but any mention of shops entirely dedicated to women’s underwear bring upon me feelings mixed with mysterious excitement and embarrassment. I avoided eye contact with her. Why, I wondered, amongst all these shops, on this day, standing beside me, did she have to ask about that one? But then I glanced over to sneak a look at her and realised that, in this strange new universe, she was preordained to ask for that very shop.. Nevertheless I wondered if the two of them may have been speaking in code.

The police officer smiled and took one step forward to where he could point directly at the lingerie displayed in a nearby window. “Why, ma’am”, he announced triumphantly, “it’s just there.”

She turned her head and looked at it. “Ahhh,”she said, “yes,” and then pointed in the opposite direction, “but my car is over there.”

“In the car park?”
“Yes. In the car park.”
“Well,” the police officer continued helpfully, “you could walk over to Victoria’s Secret, get what you need and then walk back to your car.”
“Yes, but my car is over there.”
“And Victoria’s Secret”, he pointed again, “Is over there, fifty feet away.”
“Can you drive there?”

If the police officer was frustrated at all then he wasn’t showing it. He thought about her question. “Well,” he offered, “you could go back to your car, drive out of the car park, turn right, join the highway, keep following it till you see a 7-Eleven where you turn right again, and that will bring you into another car park around behind us here and if you go right over to the west side of that car park and go as far forward as you can then you should be able to see the back of Victoria’s Secret. Which, as I say, is just over ….”

“Good,” she said, “thank you. I think I’ll drive.” And she was gone.

When he turned to me I expected us to share a moment of misogynistic mirth, but his face was unchanged. I wondered, for a moment, if I may have been in the company of an android.

“And what can I do for you, Sir?” he smiled.
“I’m looking for the Bose shop.”
“Well, Sir. That’s a bit trickier. It’s on a different level altogether and I think it might be best if we take the escalator just over here to our left. I’ll walk you there.”

And he did.

As we were nearing our destination I turned to him. “Let me get this straight,” I said, “you’re a police officer, right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“With a gun.”
“Yes, Sir. A generation 4 .45 caliber Glock 21.”
“Don’t you have anything more important to do than guide silly old men around shopping malls?”

He smiled at me again. “Sir,” he explained, “this is the OC. This is Orange County. If we see a car on the road here that’s more than 4 years old we pull it over. Apart from that it’s quiet. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

 

Not only am I a few days late for this (how have I not noticed it before?) but I intend to cheat from the very first word (the 6th actually). It is for Linda’s SOC prompt (Though not the current one, it would seem) in which we are challenged to write something (anything) based on the sixth, seventh and eight words of a random document. I walked into my little library and closed my eyes before randomly selecting a book and opening it at page 1. That’s when I cheated.

So …..

May I skip a word? The seventh, eighth and ninth words in One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez are ‘THE FIRING SQUAD’.

The book, if you haven’t read it, has very little to do with capital punishment. I think it has something to do with a community living in isolation whose understanding of a shared reality is different to those of us who don’t live in such isolation and have, therefore, a different shared reality and a different understanding. But not a more valid one.

It’s probably best to quote the whole sentence. “Many years later, as he faced THE FIRING SQUAD, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice,” it says, and I think that gives you a good idea of what is to come. Though the book does not have a lot to say about ice, either.

But today we need to focus on words seven, eight and nine.. THE FIRING SQUAD. Those three words, I think, say some fairly horrible things about humanity. I think they describe humanity’s inability to deal with itself. Humanity has come up with some fairly reasonable ideas about how to deal with itself over the years. But I don’t think THE FIRING SQUAD is one of them.

The ‘death penalty’ is, after all, a nonsensical term. I remember reading of a man who was strapped to the electric chair. He had done something very horrible, no doubt. The authorities asked him if he had any final words to share with the world before they flicked the switch. “Well,” he is reported as having said, “this certainly should teach me a lesson.”

I suddenly remember an essay by Henry Miller. ‘Murder the Murderer’, it is called. Mr Miller doesn’t think THE FIRING SQUAD is much of an idea, either. So I am in good company.

During One Hundred Years of Solitude we discover that Colonel Aureliano Buendia is just as confused about life as the rest of us although, in the end, he sees “a century of daily episodes, in such a way that they coexisted in one instant”. I don’t really know what that line has to do with anything or if it gives us any insight into life or, indeed, into death. I mention it because I notice today that I underlined each word about One Hundred years ago, the first time I read them.

Song Lyric Sunday
I came across a recent reference to mashed potato and song lyrics Here and was reminded of a release from the distant past of a single by ‘Billie Thorpe and the Aztecs’ of that very title. The lyrics were as follows:

“Mashed Potato,
Yeah.”

That’s it – that’s the entire song (though repeated over and over again). I’m not sure that anyone actually makes any claim to having written those inspired lyrics. I dare say I could claim them as my own and nobody would dispute it.

OK … I grant you that it was not a high point in Australian art. Nevertheless I do have fond (though by nature of the events themselves, somewhat vague) memories of the Aztecs and Billy Thorpe in particular.

Sadly, Billy is no longer with us. so he can be mentioned in the same sentence as Dolores. In terms of a lifetime poetic contribution he may not belong on the same page but …. geee …. he did have a certain raw energy and lust for life that you don’t come across every day.

So … for what it’s worth here he is

I was walking the streets of Vancouver yesterday. It was windy. It was wet. It was cold. All in all, not a great day to be walking the streets of Vancouver. But I was not alone. There was a protest taking place. A march. And so I walked beside them, just to taste a little of their anger and see if it was a flavour that I recognised. As it turns out though, they were, as far as protesters go, a strangely cheerful bunch. It seemed to me that it was not an anger that they were there to express, but a unity. Good for them. It warmed me just to be along side.

It was mainly women in the group. But a lot of men were there too. I’m a man. The people were smiling and talking and sharing the cover of umbrellas and laughing and holding hands. Nobody held my hand. That would have been a bit weird.

The police were there too. With cars and uniforms and flashing lights. With loaded guns as well, I suppose. But they were not there to break up an angry mob. They were not there to silence opinion. They were there in support. They were there to stop the traffic. To ensure safe passage through the city. Nobody seemed to mind being held up on the way to work or to lunch or to the football or to whatever for a minute or two. People in cars honked their horns and waved at the protesters. The protesters waved back.

Everyone seemed intent on being nice to each other. It was easy.

Here’s what they were on about.

So … as frivolous as it may seem, that was my take on the whole thing. Just be nice to each other. It’s easy.

Note: I thought I’d add this to #JusJoJan at Linda’s Place
although it is, as usual, way off script. It was just a brief and ordinary moment in my long and ordinary life that I felt like keeping a mental record of. Most of all note, dear readers, that I would be horrified if anyone thought I was trivialising something that I actually take very seriously.