“WHOA! That’s quite an outfit!” Tall, grey-haired
white guy in golf leisurewear hails me from the sidewalk. I’m in the middle of the street on Clinton. Having given him a wide berth---no mask. What is up with that at this point in the Pandemic? Is he just clueless? Or entitled? Or vaccinated? Though has anyone gotten the vaccine yet? Here in Richmond? I highly doubt it. Yet, here he
is, sans mask, staring at me openly and commenting on my outfit. What’s up with
that?
He’d been
staring at me as we approached each other and then, when I gave him the half-moon wide berth street social distancing, he continued to stare at me. I thought
at first that I knew him. Or he knew me? Lots of my neighbors know me from
walking. And, I might not know them. But this guy? I’ve never seen him before.
So, what’s
his deal?
“You look
just like Wavy Gravy!” he hollers at me, leering at me stupidly.
“Uh….?” I had
no idea how to respond. I look like Wavy Gravy? Isn’t he some old hippy-dippy
ugly dude from the 70s? I seem to recall that he was famous back then. For what
I don’t know. And I did always wonder why he was called Wavy Gravy. Was it a
dance? Or was he just a big vat of gravy with waves coming off him?
In any
case, hell, it’s not a compliment to call some little old lady on her Pandemic
Pacings Wavy Gravy! And, what’s wrong with my outfit?
I look down
at it as he passes and I hurry on.
I’ve got on
my blue hat with red earmuffs. Did Wavy Gravy wear hats and earmuffs? And then,
I’ve just got on my orange sweater with my blue shirt underneath and my big beige
jacket tied around my waist, covering up my non-descript black pants. And then
my pink tennis shoes.
Maybe I’m
colorful? Or disheveled?
I dunno. It’s
a weird thing to say to someone you’ve never seen before. Maybe he thought he was
making a joke. Ha ha ha! Dude! You are so damn funny!
And who is he to cast aspersions at my outfit? Sure, he looked clean-cut and tidy with his maroon golf shirt and khaki slacks, but he was wearing NO mask! This in and of itself makes him doubly abhorrent. Who does he think he is?
I wonder. Is
it just white privilege? This is a term that is so bandied about that it has
started to lose its meaning. Until it doesn’t. In this case, it does seem that
way. He’s above wearing a mask. He’s entitled to call little old ladies nasty
names when they are just out on their pandemic walks, trying to maintain some
semblance of sanity.
His comment
doesn’t help my sanity. And in fact, it pisses me off. But what can I do? I can’t
run after him and hurl insults, can I? No. first off, this would take way too
much energy. And second off, I’m a small old woman and he’s a big old man.
(Yes, he is old ---the grey hair gives this away) Also, what would I say? I
could scold him for not wearing a mask. Ask him what he thinks about infecting any
and all passersby with COVID even if he doesn’t have any symptoms.
Like he
would care! He just seems like the type to not give a shit about anyone else.
See how
many judgments I can make when someone insults me.
I walk on,
down Roosevelt and turn at the first street, 34th, to get away from
him. Glance behind me. He’s long gone. I start to breathe easier as I head down
the street, feeling the chill of the evening as the sun has set a few minutes
ago.
Another
day. Gone. It’s all so strange. What would Wavy Gravy say about the Pandemic?
About Leisure suit man?
“Groovy,
man. Let’s dance and smoke some pot, forget the world and live in the moment.”
Hell, I have
no idea. But as I turn up Roosevelt for the final block, I think how I have to
do some research on Wavy Gravy. Maybe it’s not an insult at all. Maybe Wavy
Gravy is a good looking smart colorfully dressed man who…
Well, hell,
he’s a man. Right there it’s insulting!
I march up
my street, wave to Rosa who’s taking Buddy out for his walk, and wonder if she’s
been called Wavy Gravy too. What’s Spanish for Wavy Gravy?
Here let me look it up: Salsa ondulada! That’s so much better! Everything sounds better in Spanish!
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