By Carlos Pinho
We were all seated in front of the pharmacy window waiting to be dispensed when the old lady with the walker shuffled up to the window and demanded of the pharmacist, “Can you please get me these two items?”, adding, “I’m in a hurry and late for my ‘physio’ appointment.”
We were all seated in front of the pharmacy window waiting to be dispensed when the old lady with the walker shuffled up to the window and demanded of the pharmacist, “Can you please get me these two items?”, adding, “I’m in a hurry and late for my ‘physio’ appointment.”
A kindly face and peering
over his half-moon spectacles, he indicated in our direction with a sweep of
his eyes. Waving the pen in his right hand at the same for effect, he did a similar sweep
and returned his gaze to her and politely replied.
“These people have been
waiting for their medication for a while already, and we are rather busy this
morning, you may have to wait a while.”
Clearly it was not only
her legs that were giving her trouble, but her eyesight too, since she hadn’t seemed
to notice the row of people sat on benches behind her, the queue snaking around
the corner.
“It’s only two items,”
she shot back.
“As I said Ma’am, these
people have been waiting and were here before you,” he replied again, politely.
Offering to dispense her
later if she left her prescription, he hadn’t even finished his sentence when, with a long and loud “pfffttt” she turned her back and hobbled away as quickly
as her old and spindly legs and walker could carry her. No doubt to her ‘physio’
appointment.
Watching this amusing
human comedy play out in front of me reminded me of an episode which I'd had
some weeks prior in The Village.
Living in a small little
coastal Town, our Village consists mainly of elderly retirees with money, and also
includes a diverse mix of artists, writers, poets, singers, Executives from The
City, and well-heeled and important people, as well as retired Judges and
Politicians. The Town affects it’s own brand of snootiness and cachet, and is
where the Chair’s and CEO’s of The City have weekend country homes which hug the
foothills of the majestic Mountains to the back of them, with uninterrupted
views of the Bay to the front.
I was collecting some
documents from our local Council office when in swept one of the Town’s Fine
Ladies, the type that ‘do’ lunch, tagging behind her two daughters, age’s 6 and
8 at a guess and wearing ballet tutus and tights.
Standing at the counter,
I became aware of the arrival of Fine Lady, dressed in a hand tailored, magnificently
cut suit, best described as Chanel chic. Her honey-blonde hair, streaked with
low / high lights was perfectly groomed.
The freshly polished French
manicure at the end of the finely tapered, well tanned hands, were accentuated by a thin, expensive wristwatch and a very large diamond ring on the wedding
finger, cut in a rectangular shape. Platinum I thought. Around her right wrist
she wore a diamond tennis bracelet, fingers similarly adorned with varying
shapes and sizes of even more expensive jewellery. In this hand she held a little Vuitton clutch.
Her chic suit fitted her
body snugly and had clearly been made for her shape. A tennis player or Pilate’s
sessions judging by the trim, athletic build.
Her long legs were sheathed in ash coloured silk stockings, feet shod in
expensive hand crafted Italian heels, accentuating a taut, well-defined,
shapely calf.
Fine Lady was obviously
the younger trophy wife of one of the Chairs in the City and so common in The
Village. These Wives hunt in packs, spending their days in Spas and “doing”
lunch, in between purchases and pampering. They fetch and carry in 'Mom’s taxi',
attend yoga classes, do pottery or flower arranging, and manage to fit in some
fundraising, a spot of charity work and Committee meetings into their long and
significantly busy days.
Evenings with their
husbands are spent at fancy restaurants or society soirees and the gaps in between are filled with symphony
concerts, gallery openings, poetry and prose readings with a little theatre
thrown in for good measure. Festivals and wine-tastings in adjoining towns and villages,
and some horse riding or Polo on a Sunday, end off a perfect week in the lives
of The Wives Club. This social “significance” raises their profiles in the Town,
and they are often seen in the society pages of the local papers.
The dimwitted clerk
behind the counter was clearly having difficulty understanding what I needed and
I was becoming a little exasperated at that point. With an audible
“hummppphhhh” from behind me, I felt the tailored talon of Fine Lady tapping me
on the right shoulder.
“Excuse me,” she said,
“I’m just here to collect two documents and want to ask ‘him’ something,” she
said, nodding in the direction of the clerk, still wearing her Jackie O’s
though we were indoors.
By then I had had enough.
I’d had enough of the Council, the Town, and the cheek, and wanted only to
retreat to the sanctity and safety of my cave in the Mountain.
Exasperated by now with
the dimwitted clerk, and ticked off at the cheek of this woman, I swiveled on
my heels and hissing in her direction replied in the most even tone I could
muster, “Yes. You can ask him anything you want. When I’m done.”
I got my Council papers
and left. Whether or not she got her documents, or the ballerinas to their
lesson in time, I don’t know and didn’t care. In the car, affectionately
christened Emma, driving through the narrow streets of The Village, and headed
for my cave in the Mountain with my own view of the Bay, I replayed the Fine Lady
episode in my mind, and smiling secretly thought.
"Bloody cheek.”
Copyright © Carlos Pinho 2013
Copyright © Carlos Pinho 2013
