A Hole in Her Ear (2)

Two days later, Cassandra was still feeling uncomfortable. The whooshing sound was constant, and she still felt dizzy and nauseous occasionally. Travis had already made an appointment with Dr. Schwartz for Wednesday. On Wednesday, Dr. Schwartz walked into the examining room in his shorts and sneakers; he was semi-retired. Travis told Dr. Schwartz what had happened. Dr. Schwartz listened, and then looked in Cassandra’s ears.

Yep, he said, her left eardrum was punctured. Travis felt like killing himself. “How could this happen?” he asked. “I’ve had lots of girlfriends. They blew in my ears, and I blew in their ears. This never happened before.” Dr. Schwartz said that it was unusual, but that it did happen from time to time. What could be done, they both asked the doctor at almost the same time.

He told them that they had two choices: surgery, or waiting. The surgery would cost about $2,000. Waiting would cost nothing. He suggested that, if Cassandra could bear the discomfort—she must keep that ear dry at all times—for about two months, the eardrum should heal itself. Surgery, he said, might be advisable after two months, but he wouldn’t recommend it now. He could prescribe her some medication to ease her discomfort. They agreed to wait. They thanked Dr. Schwartz, and Travis drove Cassandra to Rite-Aid to pick up the medication. He apologized to her again. She said that they must pray every night for her eardrum to heal.

A Hole in Her Ear (1)

It was Sunday. “Don’t blow in my ear!” Cassandra yelled. “I have very fragile skin. If you blow in my ear, it might break my eardrum.” Travis laughed. He didn’t believe her. He had seen too many movies and read too many books where the guy blew in the girl's ear and the girl ended up marrying the guy.

So he blew in her ear. She cried out in pain. “You're kidding,” he said, startled. But the look on her face said that she wasn’t kidding. Something’s wrong, she told him. He apologized profusely. She put her little finger in her ear; when she pulled it out, there was moisture on her fingertip. She said she could hear a whooshing sound. He felt sick. He couldn’t believe that he had just injured her. This had never happened in any movie or any book. Yet it was happening to her.

She felt dizzy. She ran to the bathroom and threw up. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he told her. Very quietly, she said it was okay. She wanted to go home. He walked her out to his car. She said the whooshing sound was not going away. When they got to her place, she got into her bed and lay down. She asked him to please leave, as she wanted to try to sleep. He apologized again. He got back into his car and returned to his apartment. What a jerk I am, he said over and over. What a jerk.

A Haircut

It was time for a haircut. Lenny didn’t even have to look in the mirror. Even though he was going bald, he knew that he needed to cut his hair every two weeks.

He had a "tongue" of hair on the top of his head. His hair was thinning at the crown. He still had plenty of hair on the sides and back. It was what they call "salt and pepper," a mixture of gray hair and dark brown hair. It was only a few years, he figured, until the salt and pepper became just salt.

He never let his hair grow for more than two weeks. The longer it got, the worse it looked, he thought.

He spread a newspaper over the bathroom sink so that no hair went down the drain. He plugged in the clippers and started cutting his hair. He started at the back of his head, went to the sides, and finished on the top. Every minute or so, he had to clean the hair out of the blades with an old toothbrush.

Finished, he picked up a hand mirror to check out the back of his head. Everything looked okay. He carried the newspaper back out to the kitchen and shook the hair clippings into the trash can.

Then he took a shower.

A Good Sandwich

Gordon was hungry. He opened the refrigerator. There must be something in here to eat, he thought. There was—a single hot dog.

He took it out of its package and put a small frying pan onto the stove’s gas burner. He turned on the heat. Then he poured a little bit of vegetable oil into the pan. He sliced the hot dog in half lengthwise. When the oil got hot, he put the two halves in the pan. About a minute later, he flipped each half over. After another minute, he took the hot dog out of the pan.

Gordon put two slices of bread into the toaster. This was tasty and healthy bread. The first ingredient listed was organic sprouted wheat. The first ingredient in ordinary bread is usually unbleached flour.

When the toast popped up, he put mustard, mayonnaise, and ketchup on one slice. Then he added two slices of onion. On top of the onions, he placed the hot dog. On top of the hot dog, he put a couple of slices of apple. Then he added some bits of hot green chile, and then put the top piece of toast onto the chile bits.

Ahh, what a sandwich, he thought, as he sat down to eat.

A Festival of Books

People joke that no one in Los Angeles reads; everyone watches TV, rents videos, or goes to the movies. The most popular reading material is comic books, movie magazines, and TV guides. City libraries have only 10 percent of the traffic that car washes have. But how do you explain this? An annual book festival in west Los Angeles is “sold out” year after year. People wait half an hour for a parking space to become available.

This outdoor festival, sponsored by a newspaper, occurs every April for one weekend. This year’s attendance was estimated at 70,000 on Saturday and 75,000 on Sunday. The festival featured 280 exhibitors. There were about 90 talks given by authors, with an audience question-and-answer period following each talk. Autograph seekers sought out more than 150 authors. A food court sold all kinds of popular and ethnic foods, from American hamburgers to Hawaiian shave ice drinks. Except for a $7 parking fee, the festival was free. Even so, some people avoided the food court prices by sneaking in their own sandwiches and drinks.

People came from all over California. One couple drove down from San Francisco. “This is our sixth year here now. We love it,” said the husband. “It’s just fantastic to be in the great outdoors, to be among so many books and authors, and to get some very good deals, too.”

The idea for the festival occurred years ago, but nobody knew if it would succeed. Although book festivals were already popular in other US cities, would Los Angeles residents embrace one? “Angelenos are very unpredictable,” said one of the festival founders.

A Factory Worker

Many years ago, some women made a meager living by working in a cigarette factory. It was their job to put 20 cigarettes in each pack, by hand. Their manager was a mean old man. He carried a bamboo rod in his hand. His bodyguard, who accompanied him everywhere, was even meaner. Maura, only 19, was sick. But she knew that if she didn’t go to work, she would lose her job. At the factory that day, she stuffed pack after pack of cigarettes. Sweating and dizzy, she left a cigarette out of one pack. The manager noticed her error immediately. He yelled at her and then hit her sharply across her back with the rod. Then the bodyguard kicked her in the stomach. Maura got up and staggered out of the factory. She died at home the next day. The day after Maura died, her coworkers refused to enter the factory. They stood outside. The manager told them to get to work. He raised his arm as if to strike them, but they stood firm. He told them he was going to get the police. They still didn’t move. The bodyguard went inside and called the police. The police chief came. The women told the police chief what had happened to Maura. He arrested the manager and the bodyguard. He called the owner of the factory. A new manager arrived later that morning. He told the workers that they would all get the equivalent of a nickel per day raise. They went back to work. Before the chief handcuffed the manager and put him in the police car, the manager quietly offered the chief a great deal of money to let him "escape." He told the chief he would leave the country and never return.

A Dream from Beyond (2)

The next day, I called my mom. “Do you remember me walking into the pond and grandpa rescuing me?” “My God! Who told you about that?” “You mean, it really happened?” “Yes, but your father and I never told you about it because grandma swore us to silence. Even though it wasn’t her fault, she felt that she had failed in her responsibility, and never wanted you to know about it. My goodness, that was so long ago. Who told you this?” “Mom, did I go for a walk with grandpa and return with daisies for you and grandma?” “Okay, I get it. You and your dad are playing some kind of prank. Okay, it’s very funny. Now, quit it.” “This is no prank, mom. Grandpa told me this in a dream last night.” “It still sounds like a prank.” “No, I’m serious. He told me that grandma had a reaction to blackberries. He said I was wearing brown and white Buster Brown shoes. He said I gave you and grandma daisies.” “Oh, my God. Your father would never remember all this. It must be Daddy! Did he say anything about visiting his gravesite?” “Yes, that was his problem. He wanted me to visit them. He also said you had not visited since—” “—Since mom’s birthday six years ago?” “Well, not—” “I’ve got to get over there right now!” “Wait for me! I’m coming with you, and I’ve got to bring those daisies. Maybe we’d better start going every year, huh, mom?” “Yes. There’s no telling what grandpa might tell you next time.”

A Dream from Beyond (1)

since October 4 (grandma’s birthday). He told me that, when I was young, I had walked out into a pond and slipped under water. He had rescued me. He said grandma was supposed to be watching me, but that she had gotten sick all of a sudden and was throwing up. It was probably the fresh blackberries they had picked and eaten earlier. Grandma had a bad stomach.

My parents were out on a boat in the pond. They did not know that grandpa had saved me until they got back to shore. I was in a towel and my clothes were drying on bushes. My brown and white Buster Brown shoes were also soaked. I was only three years old, grandpa said. My parents were angry at first, but when they saw that grandma was still feeling sick, they forgave her.

Grandpa told me that we had a picnic after that. The four of us ate some chicken, potato salad, and homemade cookies. We drank lemonade. Then grandpa took me for a walk in the woods (I sat on his shoulders). I saw some daisies, and we picked them. When we returned, I presented three daisies to mom and three to grandma, who was finally feeling better. Grandpa said to bring some daisies to the gravesite. Then I woke up.

A Daytime Robbery

Rod was a manager at House Depot. He worked about 50 hours a week. He loved his job, although the extra hours cut into the time he could spend with his three little girls. One morning he was supposed to go home at 7 a.m. Instead, he stayed on to help out for three more hours. He was just about to leave at 10 a.m. when he heard something. At one of the checkout counters, he saw a man dressed in white painter’s coveralls pointing a gun at the female checker. He had on a yellow cap, a white plastic painter’s mask, and white gloves. Rod hurried over. Times in Los Angeles had changed. All managers now received training on how to respond to armed robberies and hostage-taking. Rod was nervous, but he knew what he was supposed to do. He approached the gunman. “Sir, please don’t point that gun. We will give you all the money you—” The gunman didn’t even wait for Rod to finish his sentence. He shot Rod in the stomach. The checker screamed. The gunman ran out to a white van and hopped in. The van sped off. Rod didn't even make it to surgery. The killing made all the TV news shows. House Depot offered a $100,000 reward.

A Cleaner River (2)

The three brothers went out on the river almost every day, weather permitting. They tied some rowboats behind their boat to use as floating trash cans. They picked up all the trash they could see floating in the river. Friends joined them. Then friends told other friends, and by the end of the first year there were more than 200 volunteers helping the Green Fleet clean up the river. In the first 365 days, the brothers estimated that they had removed more than 10 tons of trash from the river. Their work was creating a cleaner-looking and cleaner-smelling river. Corporations got involved and donated money and materials. By the end of the second year, the Green Fleet had grown to four boats and four barges. The brothers appeared on radio talk shows and on local and national TV shows. Activists throughout the nation began organizing their own Green Fleets. The Green Fleet got bigger and better every year. Five years after its inception, the three brothers were able to go snorkeling on weekends in their river. Unfortunately, a year later, Manny accidentally stuck himself with a hypodermic needle while picking up a dirty plastic bag. He got an infection but didn’t see a doctor until it was too late. At Manny's funeral, his brothers vowed to carry on their volunteer work until they were too sick or old to do it any longer. To honor Manny, the St. James city council voted to rename the city's largest park after him.

A Cleaner River (1)

The three brothers were sitting on their boat, having a few beers and talking about the good old days. As they talked, they watched the trash float by on the St. James River. Their conversation turned to the trash.

“It didn’t use to be like this,” said Manny. “Remember how we used to go swimming in this river? I wouldn’t put my big toe in this river nowadays. There’s no telling what disease you’d catch. Time was when people knew that trash went into trash cans. Nowadays, the streets, the woods, the public parks, and the lakes and rivers are just huge trash cans without lids.”

“Not to mention the freeways—last night on the radio they reported a refrigerator in lane one and a washing machine in the middle of an off-ramp,” said Moe. “And almost every day drivers have to dodge mattresses, ladders, and tires on the freeways. And what about all the graffiti on the freeway signs?”

They all agreed that slobs were making America ugly. Then Jack had an idea. “Look, since we’re all retired and we have the time and energy, why don’t we do something instead of just complaining? We can't clean up everything, but maybe we could clean up our river.” They liked this idea, and talked about it for another couple of weeks. Manny suggested a name for their effort—the Green Fleet, an organization devoted to turning the St. James River blue again.

A Clean Toilet Bowl

Mildred’s sister called. She was going to drop by. And whenever she visited, she usually made at least one trip to the bathroom. That meant one thing—Mildred needed to clean her toilet bowl. This was the household chore that she hated the most. It was so icky! She grabbed the cleanser from beneath the bathroom sink. She sprinkled lots of it into the toilet bowl. Then she got out of her clothes, put on a big T-shirt, and pulled on her long-sleeved rubber gloves. Finally, she put on her goggles, because she didn’t want any toilet water to splash into her eyes. She didn’t know if toilet water could cause an eye infection, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She grabbed the long-handled toilet bowl brush that was beneath the sink. She started scrubbing. She scrubbed under the rim, all around the bowl, and deep into the throat of the bowl. Five minutes later, she figured she was finished. She flushed the toilet and checked the bowl. It was clean as a whistle. Mildred breathed a sigh of relief, because usually she had to scrub the bowl twice to remove all the stains. She removed her goggles, gloves, and T-shirt. Then she hopped into the shower.

A Bird Attacks

Heather loved the freedom of soaring high above the land and sea. She learned how to hang-glide from her boyfriend.

Initially, she was scared to death. The first time he took her up, she hung on for dear life. But by the end of that flight, she was hooked. Half a year later, she bought her own hang-glider.

Almost every weekend, she drove to Torrey Pines and leaped off the cliff. She could soar to La Jolla in less than five minutes. She liked to fly over the town. She would wave at kids pointing and looking up at her, and they would shout and wave back excitedly.

One day she was returning to the launch site when she noticed a red hawk rapidly approaching her. It briefly disappeared. Then she heard its claws ripping the wing’s fabric. It flew off. But the next thing she knew, it was flying straight at her. She turned out of its way, but it dove at her again. She was scared.

She had to evade its attacks four times before she was able to land safely. Even after she landed, it circled overhead, as if daring her to fly again. What did I do to you, she wondered.

As she drove home, she found out that she had been lucky. The radio news reported that in Australia, a hang-glider had been attacked by not one, but two, eagles.

Maybe it was something in the air, Heather thought.

A Bad MRI Experience

“Boy, we just wasted a whole morning,” Roy complained over the phone to his middle-aged son. Roy’s wife had been scheduled for a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) exam, because her shoulder had been bothering her for months. It had gotten to the point where her golf game was suffering—she couldn’t break 120 anymore. Her drives, although still down the middle of the fairway, barely went 90 yards. Without the game of golf and the company of her golfing companions, Pat was a depressed woman.

Her doctor had recommended the MRI exam. For a shoulder exam, the patient lies face up on a flat metal “bed.” The bed slides into the MRI machine, like a DVD sliding into a DVD player. The patient’s nose is barely two inches from the metal ceiling. Many patients who are even slightly claustrophobic become nervous or even hysterical when they are slid into this compartment. The MRI operator has to slide them back out where they can “breathe” again. This happens regularly, even though patients are warned about the tomblike environment.

Pat’s doctor had given her a sedative to take half an hour before the exam. He had also told her to wear a sleep mask, which would cover her eyes so that she wouldn’t see the ceiling just inches from her face. Pat took the sedative and wore the mask. But as soon as she was slid all the way into the machine, she started screaming. The technician pushed the button to slide her back out. She was hyperventilating.

“Oh, my God! I could feel it! It was like I was being buried alive!” she exclaimed to her husband. “You’re such a baby,” Roy told her as they walked out of the MRI room.

48 Homes Burn Down near Malibu (2)

Bill told Jimi to look up at the ridge, near the park. Bill thought he saw flames. Jimi went outside with his binoculars. He could see a suspicious glow. Using the binoculars, he could see flames. “God damn it!” he yelled.

He called Bill back. Then he and Bill started calling one neighbor after another, as they had established a fire warning and evacuation plan years ago. The whole community of 98 homeowners managed to get into their cars with their families and pets and just a few of their material possessions. They all survived the raging fire.

Unfortunately, 48 homes were destroyed and 27 were damaged. The fire engines were just not close enough to the community to get there before the Santa Ana winds, gusting up to 60 mph, ripped through the canyon. The next day, firefighters declared that the fire was a result of “human activity,” although they hadn’t determined if the fire was deliberate or accidental.

Homeowners were allowed to return to their home sites to assess damages. Most homeowners were philosophical about their losses. “We’ve got our families and our friends. That’s far more important than our homes and other possessions,” said Eve Grant.

But Jimi Hendrix was less even-tempered. “Common sense would tell anybody that you don’t set fires in a wooded area when the wind is blowing like crazy. Any idiot would know that. As far as I'm concerned, these bastards ought to be burned at the stake. And I’d grab me a front-row seat.”

48 Homes Burn Down near Malibu (1)

It was only three days after Thanksgiving. The Santa Ana winds had returned to Los Angeles for the weekend. Fire crews were on the alert throughout the county, ready for more fires. Just a month earlier, 20 fires had occurred throughout four southern California counties. Almost half of them were the result of arson or human carelessness. Officials hoped that this weekend would be uneventful.

Near the end of the road that goes into Coral Canyon, which is only a few miles from the Pacific Ocean and Malibu, is a small park. That park is a popular weekend gathering place. People party there until early morning hours. These people do not live in Coral Canyon. They are outsiders. They do not pay any attention to park rules about hours (the park closes at dusk), fires (no fires of any kind are permitted), or littering. But because of a constant lack of funds, no park rangers are ever available to enforce these regulations.

Early Sunday morning, Jimi Hendrix, a resident of Coral Canyon, heard loud rock music as a car drove down out of the park. That car was followed by another vehicle, also playing music loudly. “For crying out loud,” Jimi muttered, “it’s 3:00 a.m. Do these a-holes have any consideration for others?” He tried to go back to sleep. Ten minutes later, his friend Bill Gahr called.

100 $ Deposit

The well-dressed, gray-haired woman was crying her eyes out. She had just been fined $100 by the judge because a month ago her dog made a mess on the front lawn of the courthouse.

“I just got out of the cab and I leashed Poopsie to the light pole. After I paid the fare and gave the driver a dollar tip, I turned around and saw that Poopsie had made a mess. I didn’t have any plastic bags, so I said, ‘Well, Poopsie, let’s go home. There’s nothing I can do about this now.’

“We were just starting home when I heard this voice out of nowhere: ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Is that your dog?’ I turned around. It was an officer of the law. Well, of course, it was my dog. ‘That dog just made an illegal deposit on the courthouse lawn. As its owner, it’s your responsibility to dispose of that deposit. See the sign over there? I’m going to have to write you a citation.’

“I asked him what sign he was talking about. He pointed all the way down to the end of the block. One little sign, a block away! How could anyone see that? I couldn’t see that sign with my best opera glasses. The officer said that I could fight the ticket. He said the judge was a nice old man who owned four dogs. So I said, ‘OK, thank you, I’ll fight the ticket.’

“So when I went to court, I dressed Poopsie up in his prettiest ribbons and made extra sure he did his business first. We were both so excited. I just knew the judge and Poopsie would hit it off.

“But do you know what happened when we got inside? They had a different judge, a judge who is allergic to dogs, and he immediately started sniffling, coughing, sneezing, and looking around. And then he yelled at me to get the dog out of the courtroom. He fined me $100 on the way out without even giving me a chance to talk about Poopsie’s chronic dyspepsia. It was terrible! I’m still upset.”