Incognito

This is how my day has gone.  In the morning, I drove out to Elmhurst—in a different county, mind you—to pick up some old brick pavers for landscaping around the yard; there was an ad on craigslist.  Not only did I get an address, I was told to look for the Cub “W” flag flying out front.  Oh yeah, I felt like a winner, alright.  The brick man was hoping his team loses tonight so that way they can clinch the division when he goes tomorrow.

Next, I went to the high-end jewelry story where I’d dropped off my father-in-law’s wristwatch to be fixed.  This is what I mean by “high end”: I collect old watches, like Bulova and Elgin, the kind my father wore those rare times he got all dressed up to go out with my mother.  Some jewelers sell these watches, but not the place I was at.  My asking if they had any went over about as well as passing gas, loudly.  Wait, it gets better.

I swear to God everybody in the place started talking about the Cubs simultaneously.  One counter person was going to the game tonight, another tomorrow.  I was the only person not contributing to the love fest.  I just smiled and shook my head.

My father taught me two things in life—the Bukowskis aren’t Irish on St. Patrick’s Day, and South Siders don’t jump on bandwagons.  He also left me some beautiful watches.