almost said that other bad word that you brought into this conversation.”
“Thank you. So we knew that that’s what it meant, so we can’t use it.”
“But the people seeing this wouldn’t know the backstory, so how could that be offensive? They wouldn’t know the code that you broke, right? You had to have the code explained to you. It’s a simple code but ingenious.”
“But we know that ‘Dog On’ means ‘No God’ because she tried that first. We know what it means to her.”
“So, if I tried to get a tile that said, ‘Fuck you’… ?”
“Watch your language. I must hang up.”
“Sorry, but stay with me. So I want a tile that says ‘Fuck you’ and you say no, it’s offensive, so I say I want to change it to ‘happy birthday.’ Then you would now know that ‘happy birthday’ means ‘fuck you.’ Happy birthday.”
“Watch your language.”
“Happy birthday.”
“‘Happy birthday’ would be okay.”
“Happy birthday. But you know what it means, don’t you, happy birthday? Happy birthday, you know what I mean by that. Happy birthday.”
“Yes, you explained.”
“Happy birthday.”
“But others wouldn’t know that.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Stop saying that, or I’m going to hang up.”
“You’ll hang up because I said ‘happy birthday.’”
“I know what you mean.”
“When is your birthday?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well, whenever it is, happy birthday, happy birthday.”
“Cut it out.”
“Don’t send our money back, get a Leave a Legacy plaque that says ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then your name. You’ll know what it means. Happy birthday.”
“No, we’re sending your money back.”
“Happy birthday. Keep the money and use the plaque so the future can see ‘Happy birthday’ with your name. Happy birthday. My legacy to you is happy birthday, and you know that. Listen, just give us ‘dog on’ and be done with it. What do you care? Just tell your boss ‘Happy birthday.’ You remember what that means, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Stop it and we’re not going to—”
“Happy birthday”
“—we’re not going to give you your Leave a Legacy plaque.”
“Happy birthday.”
“We’ll send back the credit card receipt.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Stop it—you will not get a legacy plaque!”
“Because you now know what ‘Dog On’ means to my wife and me?”
“Yes.”
“And you know what happy birthday means to you and me. That’s our personal private little love code: happy birthday. Happy birthday.”
“We are done, sir. Your wife will get your money back.”
“Happy birthday, it’s her money.”
“Her money.”
“Happy birthday.”
“I’m hanging up now, right now. I do not need to take this abuse.”
“You find ‘happy birthday’ offensive?”
“We’re supposed to hang up if there’s any obscenity.”
“And you think ‘Happy birthday’ is obscene—happy birthday.”
“I know what it means. I’m hanging up now.” He was yelling a little.
“
“No”
“Have you calmed down?”
“Yes.”
“Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck you.”
And I hung up. A few months later, our friend went and got this plaque for us.
Happy birthday.
CHIQUITA BANANA WEDNESDAY
I LOVE ASH WEDNESDAY. I like the fact that Catholics run around with dirt on their head for a day. I wish they did it every day. I like people committing to things that announce who they are. I have a couple of good friends who are little people. If I were a little person, I would like the term “little person” much less than “dwarf” or “midget,” but I’m not a little person so I don’t get a vote. I’m fine with the term “big person,” but then again I’m also fine with the term “big fat ugly motherfucker” and “Sasquatch.” That’s the kind of guy I am.
When I was young, I had hair that was too long and I wore eye makeup and capes and all sorts of hippy/glam garb, and I stood out, but I could change my clothes, wash my face, tuck my hair up under my hat and mix in with the farmers in my hometown. I’m tall, but not so tall that people outside rural China point, cower and laugh at me. My friends who are little people have to deal every second with a strong reaction from people, and I wonder if that’s part of the reason my friends are such strong and comfortable people. My little people friends are forced to be Robin Williams, and always be on. They can’t be invisible. They have to face who they are, every time they go out in public. A little person ordering a fish burger at a McDonald’s counter is a comedy bit for some people who live in the center of the height bell curve. My little person friends inspire me to try to be who I am all the time and never back down. I don’t want to have the choice to hide.
I like the drag-priests, and drag-nuns, and turban/beard guys, and yama yama Jews. I like that they dress so that they can’t back down from that part of who they are. Some people walk around in full basketball uniforms and I like that too. I wonder why they just do it for sports and not for firemen.
I’ve known a lot of people, women and men, who are sexually turned on by firemen. Why wouldn’t you want to fuck a hero? One Christmas a girlfriend bought me a fireman’s jacket. It was just a sex aid for her. It was buying your mom a toy truck for her birthday. The jacket didn’t have any insignias on it, but it was rubberized, had a reflective stripe around it and those sexy brass nautical clips to buckle it up. When I wore it in public, it was like I was a woman walking around dressed as a cheerleader, nurse or French maid. A lot of women started conversations with me when I wore that jacket. It wasn’t me—it was the jacket. Once they got to know me just a little, the jacket wasn’t enough to hold their interest in the face of me. I lost the girlfriend, but kept the jacket. I wore it all the time, even though I live in the desert and don’t hang around many hoses. I stopped wearing it on
