Un-“Welcome to Walgreens”

I have several Walgreens nearby. I suppose even a denizen of Death Valley could say the same. I do appreciate their Geezer Tuesdays and the 10% discounts. I tend to frequent the closest option which is only six blocks away. It can be crowded however, and even though robot calls have burned the pharmacist’s meal break times into our brains, the drive-through is sometimes stacked a dozen cars deep. If I drive just a little farther in the opposite direction, there is a Walgreens that never seems to be busy. Lately, I’m beginning to wonder if that’s because of the weird customers it attracts.

The day I went to have passport photos taken, the woman ahead of me had come to pick up pictures of another sort. She was told they’d already been claimed – by her husband. Before our eyes, she morphed into the Incredible Hulk-ess.

“WHAT?” she shrieked. “Those were MY photos! You had no right to give them to anybody else!”

“Ma’am, your husband had the claim ticket.”

“I’ll just bet he did. So what? That film was left in my name. IS MY HUSBAND ME? Are you a moron?”

By the time several variations on that theme ensued, everyone within hearing distance, (in this case, the entire store), must have wondered what was in those pictures that she didn’t want her husband to see.

“Answer me, you freaking idiot. What’s wrong with you?”

The clerk remained calm and polite, to no avail. Before the woman stormed off, she yelled, “You’re a mother-f-ing (hyphen mine) bitch. You know that.”

It didn’t help that the clerk was black, and the woman white. The clerk took a deep breath and turned to me. “Will you wait here for your photos, or do you want to shop? It’ll be about five minutes.”

“I’ll wait here. I wouldn’t want to miss anything. Is it always like this?”

“More than you’d think.”

“What you must see.”

She nodded and withdrew.

This week’s drama took place at another part of the store – the pharmacy. There was no line, and I’d be done in a moment. As I waited, a hearty voice boomed out, “Morning, girls. How’s it going today?” I turned to see a large man had joined me. He got scant response from the “girls” at the counter, so to ease any embarrassment, I attempted to be sociable. Falling snow was visible through a large window. “Snow in April,” I said.

“Yeah. But don’t say global. Just don’t say global. I’m so sick of that shit. It’s got nothing to do with it. Global, yeah, and another thing, that electric car crap -“

What had I started? And how could I stop it? He was primed to continue. Normally, I’d have just shut up, but that could seem like agreement, or as though I’d been intimidated into silence.

Surprising both of us, I said quietly, “I can say global anytime I want to. Global, global, global.”

Global, global, global.

He backed away and ceased his rant. It made me feel good, until I thought, did I just join the Walgreen Wierdos?

She sang too soon

The fat lady should have waited. She left me no time to tell everyone I know to see Proximity. There were Darlene and I on closing night, marveling at what we’d seen, but too late to encourage others to share our excitement.

A scene from “Proximity.”

I never know what I’m in for with a new opera. It can be cause for celebration, as with Nixon in China. Sometimes, as with The King Listens, I flee at intermission. Mostly, they fall somewhere in between, agreeable enough to sit through without the fidgets, yet not so much so that I need to repeat the experience.

Proximity is that rare bird that I wish were preserved on film. The music was helpful, but I don’t trust myself to do it justice without another hearing. There was so much to watch, so much to take in emotionally, that the music deserves more attention than I had left to give it.

Lyric commissioned an opera that could not be more specific to Chicago at this very moment. It is three operas in one. “The Walkers,” the longest and most dominant, takes as its theme the decentralization of gangs once their leaders are imprisoned, and the murderous chaos and slaughter of innocents that continues in its wake. Guns loom here omnipresently, almost becoming a character.

For the libretto, the talented actress and documentarian, Anna Deavere Smith, interviewed numerous locals impacted by gun violence and loss. Their words provide a most moving and powerful script.

The physical production was dazzling. Singers moved about at times on an enormous map of the city, at times on a dizzying, high speed expressway, and at times amid the stars in the cosmos, to mesmerizing effect. Heartfelt and astonished thanks are due to production designers Jason H. Thompson and Kaitlyn Pietras.

“Four Portraits,” the most poetic of the three operas, deals humorously and somewhat magically with loneliness. It nestles comfortably in this mix as an apt and welcome contrast.

“Night,” the third and shortest opera is quite good enough in itself, but it skews in another direction – climate change. It’s strikingly conceived but would fit better in a different program.

I deeply regret that the run of Proximity is over. I wish that, however much or little, or no, experience of opera you have had, that you could have seen this one.

Mugged

In a few days, a former president of this country will be arrested, fingerprinted, and posed in profile for a mug shot. That mug shot will go viral. Some will have it framed. Others are crying, “Outrage,” and damning both the district attorney and the grand jury.

Personally, I wish one of the other likely indictments had come first. Neither consensual sex commerce nor hush money paid to prevent embarrassment are on my list of high crimes and misdemeanors. Whose business are they really except the parties involved? I’m convinced that Bill Clinton could have done us all a favor if, instead of lying, he’d simply replied, “Nunya.”

That said, we’re entitled to some healthy schadenfreude at the expense of our inciter-in-chief. Comedownance is overdue for this man who has cost our country and its governance so much for so long. His antics have riven democracy and tolerance down the middle and made frightened lemmings of half our representatives.

I would have preferred that one of the stronger, more serious cases had come first: urging riot on January 6th, demanding the vice president falsify the electoral results, or conspiring for fraudulent votes in Georgia. Acquittal in New York would only embolden this demagogue and his dangerous followers.

So, for the moment, let him at least be mugged, and his legacy stained with a permanent asterisk. Let it mirror, in a small way, the larger, darker stain he leaves on America.