just a simple trip to the store

I had two things I my list when I went to the store tonight: bowtie pasta and apples. How is it that I managed to spend a small fortune? Well, ok, it's actually because the store FINALLY got refried beans in (after months of none, ggrrrr) and butter flavored popcorn (as opposed to the always-in-stock chocolate, strawberry, and lemon). They didn't actually have the bowtie pasta, but that's ok. Refried beans more than make up for that. It's little unexpected surprises like those - and also the imported mangoes that found their way in my basket - that can make going to the store worthwhile.

That, and also the taxi rides home. Tonight's contestant was a 27-year old guy who was obviously trying to play the part of joe cool. He had his shiny black hair all spiked up, was dressed like he came from an Adidas catalogue, and had the air about him that this taxi-gig was just "temporary". Anyway, right as we were making the U-turn into my street, he mumbles under his breath, "So, where are you from?"

"America," I answered back, trying to give him an out of the conversation, though it was obvious he wanted to talk...but of course, he couldn't make it look obvious. That disinterested interest, I guess.

"Jordan!" He exclaimed right away. "Aaaaah, Jordan!"

I chuckled quietly and affirmed his answer. He, too, does live in America.

There is a little-known fact about me that, unless you knew me in junior high and high school you'd never guess...but I used to have this thing for basketball. I don't know what happened to me now, but...oh wait, that was two kids that happened to me. When I was a teenager, I followed basketball like my kitchen cockroaches follow the scent of that peice of fajita meat that flew over the skillet a few days ago. Every game, every stat, every team, every record. But every stat, every team, every player paled in comparison to the man himself. Other players' stats existed only to highlight the chasm between good players and once-in-a-lifetime players. I was blinded by his talent, and drawn in by his charisma. Quiet and self-respectable off the court, commanding and overwhelming on the court. (though these were all my feelings before his recent divorce). Anyway, it was pretty insane. But hey, I was 14 and watching basketball instead of doing who-knows-what.

So, one year my family went on vacation to orlando, and it just happened that we were in town when the bulls were playing the orlando magic. This was back when shaq and penny hardaway played and made orlando a title-contender. This was also at a time when the bulls were on the cusp of greatness, and were undefeated for the season. So my dad, being the cunning and resourceful fellow that he is, somehow managed to finagle getting 5th row seats for him, my brother and I. It's weird that I don't actually remember much about the game now, except that I remember being so close to the court, I could see Mr. Jordan's sweat and his eyelashes, and that I was so excited it was hard to actually focus on the game. But, the end of the game was heartbreaking. The bulls lost. I think it's possible I might have cried.

But even in defeat, they still made history. That season, the bulls went 72-10 and set the NBA record for wins in a season. That would make the game we went to one of only ten losses, giving me a secret advantage when it comes to playing trivial pursuit.

Ok, so back to my story. I'm sitting in the taxi with joe cool driver, thinking that he must also be a basketball fanatic, so surely he would see the tragic irony in the fact that the only time I ever saw jordan was in the first loss of a record breaking season. I quickly calculated the mental and linguistic energy it would take to begin a conversation like this, and jumped right in.

"Hey, guess what?" I announced, right after his "Aaaahh, Jordan!" comment.

He shoots me a quizzical look. Most asian people only grunt their responses, so I expected a grunt, but I only got a look.

"What was the name of that team that jordan played for? Chicago something?" I asked for clarification, because I didn't know the asianese word for bulls. He filled in the first missing language peice.

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one. Well, one time when I was a kid I went to go see jordan play and it was so great, but you know it was really sad too because do you remember that one year when..."

and then I stopped. I realized I didn't know the word for wins, losses, record-breaking, or Orlando magic. I didn't know the word for courtside tickets. I certainly didn't know the words for tragic irony.

I stumbled my way through it. It looked something like this:

"What do you call it when you have two teams that play in a match and one team is really great and they are the best, and when one team is not the best?" Ok, got winner and loser down. Now, how to make that into win-loss record...?

"And when no one has ever done something before and you are the first person to do it, do you remember how the bulls were the first team to get this many wins...? Ok, so we got that.

I'll just say that by the time I finished my story, we had been sitting in front of my apartment complex while joe cool driver just sat starting, stupefied, at me. His face was betraying the secret thoughts in his mind: why is this foreigner telling me this? what the heck is she actually saying? is she ever going to pay me so I can end this agony?

In exasperation, I sighed, "Do you understand my meaning?" In his best "joe cool driver shows sympathy for the bumbling idiot" impression, he winced. "Yeah, yeah, right."

Just when I think I'm getting somewhere in this language, I have to open up conversations like this!