Here is a partial list of places I have been thrown out of in my life:
1) When I was three, my father had a fight with my grandmother over her spanking me for 'wasting toilet paper' - something I had no concept of - ironically, my father also spanked me before we got very far down the road, for yelling at my sister. I was yelling at her to please don't stab me with the knife she assured me she had and which she swore she would stab me with as we went under the next overpass. "Why?", I asked. "Because I was 'bad' and that is why we had to leave our mumsy's house" she said. I begged, I whimpered. I was terrified. As the overpass neared, she pretended to raise the knife. Heck, you would yell too, wouldn't you? At any rate, eventually, my father rented a room in a boarding house in a town in New Mexico and placed my sister and me in a home in the country with two nice-ish people who made their own fly swatters. I wasted no toilet paper there, since there was no toilet paper. We used pages torn from the Sears catalog and tossed them into the outhouse. Apparently, there was also no bathtub because one day my father came and got us and sneaked us into the boarding house where we took a bath together in the huge clawfoot tub. Daddy said to be very quiet so we would not bother the landlady. We tried. But as we came down the stairs to leave, there she was, and was she mad! She yelled at Daddy for bringing us filthy little creatures into her nice clean home and for breaking her rules of no children allowed, all the while, glowering at us with disgust. She assured my father it would be no small task to clean that tub after we had bathed in it. She ordered him to get us out of there right now.
2) When I was 16, I was staying at my sister's house in San Francisco. She was 17 and just starting college. She came home one day with a new boyfriend and a friend of his. Her boyfriend had a huge attitude. He was bossing her around and belittling her horribly, then it began to get physical. Finally, I could not take any more and I stood up for her. He got really mad and mean toward me and told her "bitch, I don't have to put up with this shit" and left. After he left, she said I was just jealous that she had a boyfriend (what? Did I mention my boyfriend was there with us?) and trying to ruin her life. I said no, that I loved her more than anything and that I could not bear to see her treated that way. She disowned me and ordered me to leave. I said "Look, Elizabeth, I am leaving anyway." (We were actually heading to Maine that day). "Please - I am moving across the country and who knows when we will see each other again. I cannot bear to part like this." Nope, get out, sed she, and so I did.
3) When I was still 16, my other sister Myrna told me my mother really wanted to see me (she had left twice... once when I was two, returning when I was oh, maybe 6 or 7 and leaving again when I was 8. Once she had called my aunt's ('mom's') house where I was living. I answered the phone, recognized her voice but she did not want to talk to me. You can see it is fair to say that I had some resentment, but I went to see her - with the same boyfriend I had in episode #2 above). Ok, so we visited. She took us (we went in my boyfriend's car) to see my great grandmother and great uncle. My mother and boyfriend and great uncle all got shitfaced drunk and I became increasingly the uncool asshole to be scorned and ridiculed. When my mother put her arm around Steve's shoulder and said "Me and Steve can go in that back room and fuck each others brains out if we want to and there's nothing you can do about it., right, Steve?" And when he answered "Yeah!" and crossed his arms and glared at me, I said "That's fine. Just go for it. You deserve each other - and I left. I hitch-hiked about 230 miles back to my mother's house to get my things. Steve, unbeknownst to me, followed right on my heels and got there almost the exact same time I did (I had gotten a ride immediately). Boy, was he sorry. He said he was just drunk and being an ass. Ok, sez I. We could not get into the house. The door was locked and Jim, my mother's husband, would not answer the door. We tried to get in through the back door and could not so we sat in the car and waited for Jim to get up in the morning. Well, when morning came along, so did my mother. She went in her house and took all our things and piled them into the front yard and told us to get the fuck off her property - how dare me come there and try to tell her husband lies about her (I had already decided not to say anything to Jim).
4) When I was 17, I went to a Grateful Dead concert at the LA Coliseum with, you guessed it, the same boyfriend mentioned in episodes 2 and 3 above. It was the first time I tried tequila. Uh... and Jack Daniels. Some people were jumping on the stage, which seemed like a hell of a good idea to me for some reason :P So we did. They threw us off - so we jumped on again. They hauled us out to the lawn and tossed us. Steve was trying to talk sense into me (I vaguely recall through the roar of courage in which I was ensconced), but I was having none of it. Back we went, for the third time. That time a bouncer picked each of us up, one under each arm, and hauled us out of the Coliseum again and hurled us roughly onto the lawn (which, of course did not hurt). But I was too drunk at that point to get up and go back in so we laid there till the concert was over and our friends found us and hauled us home, stopping here and there for me to throw up. At least once, I actually managed to vomit outside of the car.
5) When Steve and I returned to Maine (where he was from, and where we had met), we briefly stayed at his parents' house. Steve had a pair of jeans that were patched everywhere and one day he asked me to sew a new patch on. They already had every sort of patch and embroidery on them and he loved to wear them with his red white and blue satin star tee shirt. So I got out my fabric scraps, looking for a new patch design and decided on a white fabric with kind of large red dots. When Steve's dad saw that fabric, he saw red. I guess the other 25 prints and velvets and stripes and such were fine, but red dots on white was just NOT ok. He ordered me not to sew that patch on. I asked him what difference it made. He was livid. He said it smacked of communism. I probably, knowing me, pointed out that 1) it was just a piece of fabric and 2) Communism ain't so bad anyway. Now he was yelling at me and calling me names and this escalated into "Get out of my house, you communist whore!" Steve, (yeah, the same boyfriend as in 2, 3 and 4 above) went with. I did sew the patch on. Looking back, I regret that decision.
6) When I was 23, I met Lou. We started living together and before too long, due to a defect in my (soon to be recalled) diaphragm, I got pregnant. We were homeless at that point, and Lou's mom insisted we stay with them. They lived in a rented place on the river in northern california. Lou's dad, Ken had not been overly fond of me in the first place, and 'trapping Lou' by becoming pregnant really increased the animosity level. Various things had added to my persona non grata status, including the day that I had bought comic books for my son Chris and for Lou's brother Jason at a yard sale. Ken was certain I had bought those comics in a deliberate effort to corrupt Jason. When Jason got to an ad on the back page for real live sea horses, Ken had gone off on me, ranting and trembling and wagging his hand in my face. Later, Ken needed a ride to town, and being the mad genius he was, neither of his vehicles could be driven - they were busy being retrofitted into classic works of art hippie mobiles - truly. So Nancy informed Ken that I would be happy to drive him to town. Uh, not really, since 1) He hated me and 2) I had fairly little driving experience, was quite insecure about it and the roads were windy as hell. I was sure he would take issue with my maneuvering. Sure enough, on the way to town, Ken told me I was too far over to the middle and that I needed to drive closer to the right edge (and the sheer cliff). I told him I was driving as far over as I dared but that I was afraid of sliding off the edge. (I admit I was not completely trusting of Ken's guidance, since he only had one eye. I wondered if that affected the accuracy of his calculations. I am not sure but I may have actually blurted that out). He said some mean and angry stuff about my attitude, of course. On the way back, determined to try and make peace and show my respect, I endeavored to edge the car closer to the edge of the road. I asked Ken "Is this better? Am I close enough to the edge now?" He started yelling at me that I was a total wise ass - had no respect, and no sense. That I just had to be a trouble maker, didn't I. He said that no one in his family was to ever ride with me again. Pretty soon that was not harsh enough and now I was not ever welcome at his house again, and I could just get out as soon as we got back. And so I did (with my son). Lou went with us, of course, and his dad assured him that as soon as he got rid of me, they would do anything in the world for him. A few days later, I was sitting in front of a little shopping mall in the sun, playing my guitar and Nancy, Lou's mom came up and danced to my music and sang with me. Then she asked me for a ride home. I said I was forbidden to give anyone in her family a ride. "Nonsense!" she cried. "You are my family! You have my blood in your belly." I drove her home. Then we stayed for dinner...
7) When I was oh, about 30, my sister invited us to her house for Christmas. She also invited my father and his wife. The moment we arrived, my sister was riding me about everything. We were told to go stay at a nearby motel so we did. When we came back in the morning, my brother in law, father , and step mother were already drinking. (my father and his wife always drank first thing so that was no surprise). Everyone but me was eating a big pile of donuts on the table. Elizabeth was not drinking because she was pregnant. It was the "We are all cool but Rita is an asshole" show - a common theme with Elizabeth if anyone to impress was around. Oh, heck, who am I kidding.. just a common theme, period. I said to Elizabeth that maybe we should cook breakfast cause donuts and booze and coffee was not gonna make for a warm and fuzzy gathering. She ordered me to help her and no matter what I did it was the wrong thing and I was just stupid, lazy and worthless... somehow, despite my total ineptitude, she managed to serve a meal, so we all sat down. At the table, I asked my sister if she was going to have natural childbirth and she went off, ranting about what a stupid hippie I was and that she was going to be knocked out and that she would not be subjecting her baby to the dangers that idiots like me condoned. My stepmother was sipping her drink and spitting her snuff juice into her handy dandy folgers instant coffee jar that she kept in her purse, nodding and muttering encouragement whenever Elizabeth made a point about how stupid natural childbirth was. I said that actually, in the US, we had the highest C section rate in the world as well as the highest infant mortality rate and that studies showed that knocking mothers out at birth was, in fact, more dangerous... well, that was about how far I got before my brother in law leaped up, roaring at me to come with him. I said that I would go talk to him, not because he was ordering me to, but because I was willing to have a little chat. We went into his room and he said that this was his house, by God and I was going to respect him and not talk my crazy hippy bullshit in there. I forget what all he said. I was very calm, I remember, and he was roaring drunk and furious. I said that I would be happy to leave - that is fine - that I was not sure who he thought he was or who I was but that no, he could not talk to me like that. I went to get my family and leave but my father followed me out and cried and begged me not to go. He said who knew when we would all be together again (turns out, never, unless his funeral counts) and could I please try to salvage the situation. It was a moment when time stood still. I said I would take my family and go to the beach for an hour or so and cool down and we would come back and we could all start over. So we did. It was a beautiful day. We all had a lovely walk, some fresh air, and headed back with renewed hope for family love and stuff like that. We got about halfway through the house when my brother in law grabbed me and literally gave me the bums rush out the door, and hurled me violently onto the lawn. He went back and got my husband, Lou and gave him the same treatment. That moment is pretty high in my list of things I wish my children had never seen. My father came out crying and begging them to reconsider. I said goodbye to him and told him it was simply no use, that we had honestly tried. Of course, we left.
8) When I was also about 30, we had some friends, Kevin and Gretchen,who had recently rented a farmhouse on a big ranch out a dirt road. We lived out a different dirt road and were in the process of building a house - one board at a time. Altho we had bought a couple of different hot water heating systems (actually, three), and Lou had endeavored to hook them up, so far, nothing had come together. The kids and I bathed in a wash tub and Lou showered at his brother's house in town. One night, Kevin and Gretchen invited us to go and spend the night at their house and play word games (boggle and scrabble). Kevin was extremely annoying but reluctantly, I agreed. Lou had gone earlier and I drove out that evening with the kids. There was a huge pothole in the road, really much bigger than a pothole. It was necessary to skirt the edge or the car could get stuck in the mud there. Kevin called the spot 'John's pond' after the guy he blamed for getting stuck there originally and messing up the road. Nothing had ever been done to repair it and we were in the middle of a very wet winter - over 80 inches of rain. I had successfully maneuvered through this bog before but at dusk, with getting stuck my greatest fear, and when I arrived at that spot in the road and realized the 'pond' had tripled in size, I panicked a bit and failed to perfectly skirt the edge and yes, got stuck. I was terrified of the mountain lion said to be living in that area and so I left the kids in the car where I thought they would be safer, and walked in the near darkness about a mile to the house. At one point, the road passed by a towering rock and I was sure that mountain lion was lying atop, just waiting to drop down on me, so I gave the outcropping a wide berth and stayed as far to the other edge of the road as possible - until I thought "Oh, my God! What if the lion expects me to do this and so is actually waiting in the bushes over here?" I nearly had a heart attack. But finally I made it to the house where I was belittled by Kevin for being an idiot and where, after the kids had been safely fetched, and our car was towed out with the resident tractor, I received the dubious honor of having the road mess renamed "Lake Rita" - a title it maintained for a while, I understand. Gretchen, a kinder soul, suggested I take advantage of their nice facilities and enjoy a bath. She insisted so I went into the bathroom, only to discover 1) the tub had a thick brown residue of rust and grime in it and 2) the only towels were damp and hanging there. Still - a bath! In a real tub! I was a bit mud caked from getting through Lake Rita, and sweat stained from my imaginary ordeal with the mountain lion, and so, despite my dread, I decided to go for it. First, I scrubbed that tub endlessly. I used as much of their comet cleanser as I dared and just about wore out my arm trying to remove countless years of caked on buildup. When I got the tub as clean as I possibly could, I took a bath and then rinsed the tub out with a soapy rag and - ugh - dried off with a damp towel with an unknown history. I emerged, somewhat happier to rejoin the group and to face yet more ridicule for my driving disaster. Things were overall pleasantish. Yeah. That is, until Kevin went to the bathroom. He came out livid. He started yelling at me for leaving the tub dirty. I tried to assure him I had not done that - that in fact, I had scrubbed it before and after my bath. I guess the scrubbing had left patchy discoloration, whereas, non scrubbing afforded a nice even, brownish patina and Kevin apparently did not have the discerning eye with which to tell the difference. Or perhaps he was just a drunken ass. At any rate, despite Gretchen's feeble attempts to intervene, pretty soon Kevin bellowed "Get out of my house right now, you fucking pig!" We left. A week later I was in town and Kevin approached me with a friendly look on his face. In a soft tone, he began to apologize for throwing me out of his house. It went like this: "Rita, I am sorry I threw you out of my house. I know that was painful. But sometimes people just need to be taught a lesson..." I am not sure about the rest because at that point I walked away.
9) Yesterday, my husband, Kevin (no, not the Kevin in episode 8) had a rough day and used crutches or sat in his chair all day, suffering through twinges and generally handling it like the master he is. Today he felt better and, it being Valentines Day and all, agreed to go on a little bike ride to town with me. We stopped at the local Teen Challenge thrift store which is a Christian place that makes a lot of money rehabilitating drug addicts and such and of course, bringing them to religion. They play super loud Christian music all the time, which is just annoying as hell, I don't care what your beliefs are!. - a little background - about 5 months ago, we went in and they had rearranged. I asked about something behind the newly relocated counter and they invited me to go back and see it so I did. I got distracted by a jewelry display as I walked out and did not remember there was a strange little step as you left the counter area - a step, which as it happens, did not go all the way across the opening. There was no sign to warn you. As I turned to finish exiting the back counter area, my very next step was off the edge of that step - and just where it ended, so that I rolled kind of diagonally on my foot, sliding around a display case, twisting my knee badly, and falling to the floor. The manager stood right next to me as I walked off that step. I could not get up at first because of the knee injury and that knee was really bad for a couple of months after that, along with some back and hip issues. But I did not chastise them for not warning me or having a sign. The clerk cracked a little joke about why did the manager push me and I joked back, which the manager took completely wrong, and I did not bother to try to straighten that out with him. - ok, we are back to today now - Today we were there and my husband suddenly had to go to the bathroom. He has a condition that makes finding a bathroom forthwith imperative. What condition is that, you might ask? I will be happy to tell you: His sphincter muscle is paralyzed and so he can not hold back from pooping. Today, they would not let him use the bathroom, something he can usually finesse his way past without admitting he is handicapped. But no, not today. So I went to the manager, the one who had stood by while I fell, and said "Look, I know you have a no public bathroom policy but my husband has a physical disability and it is important for him to be allowed to use it. You guys have usually let him use it (for 8 years they have, thanks to the real manager who was not there today) and now he really needs to." He started giving me a big blah blah rap about rules and laws...blah blah. I said "Yeah, well some things just are not about rules and laws. Sometimes it is about human beings and doing the kind thing." He said "Look, I understand how it is with your husband" I said "No, actually, you do not understand" By now, for all I know, my husband had already pooped in his pants, but if so, he was handling it well - years of practice of maintaining his dignity - or maybe the urge was in a holding pattern, I really did not ask him. It just is what it is - we all have our issues, I guess. How much easier his would be if people treated each other with kindness. So then the guy said "It's not about people or kindness, it's just about the rules and the law." I said "Then I guess I should have sued you when I fell over there." (since it is just rules and law and such) and we walked away from the counter to put our things down so my husband could go find a bathroom. The manager said "And I guess I could ask you to leave." To which I said "I don't think you would do that". He said "What did you say to me?" I said "I said I don't think you would ask us to leave. I really don't think it needs to come to that". He said "You can just put your things down and leave" which my husband thought was him saying they would watch our stuff while we looked for a bathroom or went home to the bathroom and came back. The manager said "Do I have to ask someone to come and escort you out and call the authorities?" My husband, shocked, said. "What? You are asking her to leave? She was just kidding!" (I was not kidding. I was trying to make a point - that we don't always have to go by all the rules and laws). The guy sneered and said "I know her" (He does? Wow. Really, not so much) My husband bellowed at him "FUCK YOU" and as we walked out the door, turned and said "Praise the Lord!"
I have known Kevin about 30 years. That was the first time that I have ever seen him go off on anyone in public.
