Knotty pine

In the final scene of the final episode of American Horror Story: Coven, Jessica Lange wakes up in what appears to be some kind of cabin in a swamp.  Slowly she realizes she is dead and this is hell.  She looks at the yellow wooden walls and screams in abject horror, “Knotty pine?!”

I know the feeling.  I am sitting in a trendy Italian restaurant on Capitol Hill, drinking a negroni and eating some crudo Hamachi. The walls of this place are wooden and knotty, but the main reason that I know I am dead and this is hell is that the person sitting at the next table — whose hair is spiked like Medusa with a Bride of Frankenstein skunk streak — is the woman who fired me at Starbucks nearly nine years ago  Her swishy husband and wretched child are in tow, along with some other sad relatives.  I just want to scream, “Knotty pine?! Knotty fucking pine?!”

I honestly cannot believe this is happening.  The possibility of running into her has never occurred to me.  I thought The Mermaid had shipped her off to Florida years ago.  She’s probably crushed more souls under her feet, been promoted, and is back in Seattle to destroy more lives.  

My head is spinning.  Why do they let her have her hair like that? Does she know her husband is gay?  Why would they come to an Italian restaurant and try to order gluten-free food?

Yes, I know I have not moved on from the event.  After spending fifteen years at The Mermaid, getting fired, getting no severance package, being escorted out by security, and not being able to say goodbye still haunts me.  I dream about the building sometimes.  Odd that I care more about the building than the people.  It was pretty shocking who reached out and stayed in touch, and more surprisingly who did not reach out and has not stayed in touch. Not that I am bitter, much.  I do make more money than all of them now.  Fuckers.

So many lifetimes since that day.  Amazon, Boeing, and the Foundation. 

Twenty more trips to Hawaii, three trips to the UK, two trips to France, two trips to Italy, Spain, and now India.  All in business class, thank you. 

Then there was that whole urban family thing that developed and then dissolved. 

It bothers me that seeing her now would be a big deal, but the longer I sit here the more I realize I am not really all that freaked out. I wish I was not so fat, or old, but other than that I don’t think I really care about this all that much.  It could be the second bottle of wine, but it could also be because she and her homo husband are discussing how much they love Starbucks breakfast sandwiches over those of McDonald’s.  The child, with its cold, dead eyes, is shaking its head.  It likes McDonald’s.  Wow.  Now the ‘mo is talking about how much he loves “The Burke.”  This must be some kind of shorthand for the trail that entitled white hooligans in north Seattle use to get around on their bikes.  Even if I didn’t know who they are I would hate these people.  They move on to discuss some disgusting new drinks that Starbucks is coming out with.  I am shocked her life is this banal.  She was pretty cool nine years ago.

Honestly, more than anything I am just sad.  I actually really loved that job.  And I liked working with her.  It still seems crazy that I got fired over this little blog, especially when I didn’t even say anything about The Mermaid at all. 

The more I think about this, the more I am glad this happened tonight.  Maybe I have kind of moved on.  And boy is her hair stupid looking.

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