The Teapot Incident

 

 

A couple of months ago, a shelf containing a small collection of teapots I had suddenly came off the wall, sending almost all of the teapots crashing to the floor.

I was there when it happened. In fact, I’d just left the kitchen seconds before the teapots smashed onto the kitchen floor.

I’ve never actually collected teapots, per se, but over the years various people have given them to me, knowing I am an avid tea drinker.

In addition, one was a teapot that had been my mother’s only one. The ledge inside that the lid sat on was chipped, so I no longer used it. I didn’t want the teapot or the lid to break because the lid fell into the pot.

Not all of the pots smashed. One actually remained on the shelf, which fell to the countertop below. That one was undamaged. Another somehow survived the crash, but its lid was in so many tiny pieces, it couldn’t be salvaged, even for show. And the lid of my mother’s pot and that of another, smaller teapot survived, although neither pot survived.

I was devastated. In the immediate crash and its aftermath, I screamed and even briefly cried.

But I didn’t have time to grieve over china and porcelain. I had to go to a volunteer job shortly afterwards, and my husband cleaned up the damage.

When I came home, all of the pieces that weren’t dust were in a cardboard box in the kitchen, and my husband was online trying to replace a couple of the teapots. He found one that looked like my mother’s, and ordered it. He also found one that had a candy-cane-looking handle, exactly like one that had broken.

For several days afterwards, I carefully pieced some of the pots together and glued them, knowing I’d never be able to use them again, but I could at least have them for show. Unfortunately, none of the ones I pieced together were whole. One was missing about a third of its side, so as long as it’s carefully facing its good side out, no one would know.

Some of the ones I tried to glue had parts move just enough to make other pieces not fit.

Eventually, I grew tired of trying to fix the teapots into a semblance of their former selves, and resigned myself to losing a part of my past.

The teapot that was supposed to look like my mother’s had subtle differences that no one but me would notice. But glaringly obvious was that it wasn’t the right shade of blue. Still, it was beautiful, and I actually liked it better. I may have lost my mother’s teapot, but now I had one I could start new memories with.

The candy-cane teapot was exactly like the one I’d lost. And a few days later I found another of the pots that had been broken, a wedding gift, actually, and ordered a replacement.

The lid of my mother’s teapot, the only part to survive, exactly fit the other surviving teapot, whose lid was gone. They didn’t match, but at least I’d be able to use it.

One teapot, a Belleek castle, was listed in several online sites, but was out of stock everywhere except one place that was offering it for over $200. Since I’d managed to glue ¾ of it back together, it could at least sit on a shelf. Perhaps someday I’d find it in stock somewhere for a reasonable price.

But the loss of the pots, especially in such a freak accident (the shelf had been attached to the wall for at least 10 years, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for it to fall), made me realize how easily things can be taken away from us. But the memories don’t go with them.

While all of my friends were supportive, offering suggestions and commiseration, what really touched me was one friend who was particularly supportive.

This friend, as a teenager, lost everything he owned but the clothes on his back when his family’s apartment burned down. How much more devastating must that have been? During the teen years, when catastrophes seem so much worse than they might be to an adult, to lose everything – family photos, musical instruments, favorite items – must have been so much more difficult than my shelf of teapots.

He could’ve said, “Come on, Cath, they’re only teapots.” But he didn’t. And that meant a lot.

Pranksters, Practical Jokers and Other Bullies

 

From this title, it’s obvious I’m not a fan of this behavior. I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of it from vast experience. (I refuse to call myself a victim; I won’t be anyone’s victim.)

Pranks and practical jokes are, in my opinion the lowest form of entertainment – if you can even call it that. It isn’t about laughing with someone, but laughing at someone.

Those who participate in pranks and practical jokes often think the person they’re trying to victimize has too high an opinion of themselves, and needs to be brought down a peg or two.

Actually, the prankster is the one needing to be brought down a peg or two. They think playing a practical joke shows that they’re smarter than the person they’re trying to bring down. It doesn’t. It shows what a bully they are.

When I hear of an actor who enjoys playing practical jokes, I immediately think less of them as a human being, and reconsider paying my hard-earned money to see their films.

Pranksters are those who thrive on adulation as well as the discomfort of others, often those they mistakenly call friends. Who would be friends with someone they can’t trust?

Is it really kinder to play a “joke” on someone than to say, “Hey, Ugly, come here,” and then take their lunch and stomp on it? I think not.

But pranksters don’t just pick on those they consider “above themselves.” They pick on those, just as other bullies do, who are less aware of the situation or who are shy or introverted.

“Hold my beer. Watch this. I bet I can get that person to…”

Yeah, right. What happened to being kind? You have no idea what that person has been through. Perhaps they’ve made some egregious mistake that they feel terrible about. Perhaps their pet or a relative has just died. They may have low self-esteem for a variety of reasons.

Does the prankster consider that? No, they do not; because they’re all about themselves and showing that they have the upper hand.

And why do people think it’s okay to behave this way? Most likely because we have so many TV shows glamorizing pranks and practical jokes. Actors brag about the practical jokes they’ve played on their colleagues.

Candid Camera started out as a sweet show where people sent in videos of their pets or small children doing funny but not embarrassing things. It quickly became acceptable – sometimes preferable – to send in videos of downright embarrassing episodes – the sort that makes any viewer with a conscience cringe – and even set up practical jokes.

From there other TV shows were spawned that ran with the idea, each trying to outdo the other with how obscenely mean they could be. Some even give money to the contestant who can play the biggest practical joke.

But what about the person on the receiving end? Does anyone consider them? They do not. If they don’t laugh, they’re being a poor sport, regardless of how mortifying the prank is.

They’re told they have no sense of humor if they don’t laugh off what may have wounded them deeply.

We hear all the time about people committing an act like Columbine because they were bullied, and sometimes the bullying is in the form of repeated practical jokes. There are also those who commit suicide for “reasons unknown.”

I’d be willing to bet those reasons are very well known. Some kids are very sensitive to teasing, including practical jokes. And the practical jokers get away scot free because the current mindset is that we don’t call people out for acts of viciousness. How dare you shame someone for that?

They were just kidding. It was all meant in fun. Lighten up.

That’s the same excuse given when someone makes a sexual or racist remark, especially as a punchline to a joke.

Probably because I’m an introvert lacking in social skills, I’ve been an easy mark most of my life. And I hate the fact that absolute strangers as well as those who know me and should know better feel entitled to insult me with their pranks.

The first such prank happened when I was four or five. My family was visiting my mother’s uncle and cousin. Her uncle had me sitting on his lap. At one point, he offered me a piece of candy. Now, I’d been taught not to take candy from strangers, and to me he was somewhat of a stranger. I also didn’t take anything from anyone without asking permission from my mother.

She told me I could have it, so I said, “Yes, please.” He immediately put it in his pocket and said, “You can’t have it.”

Who would do something so mean to a little kid? Although I didn’t have those words at that age, I felt humiliated for expressing a desire for something I clearly wasn’t entitled to, embarrassed that others saw the exchange, and betrayed by my mother, who, I thought, must have known he wasn’t going to give it to me.  Why didn’t she intervene? What lesson was she trying to teach me?

I got it loud and clear: Don’t trust people. Even the ones you know will stab you in the back.

I was told by others that he was kindness itself, and would never do anything to hurt anyone.

Perhaps if I’d cried, he might have understood. But more likely, he would have said, “I was just kidding.”

And I didn’t cry. I didn’t want to let on to anyone how humiliated I was. I didn’t want them to know he got to me. Unlike my bolder cousins, who would have gone digging in his pocket for the piece of candy – they were used to that kind of behavior, apparently – I accepted his refusal as a clear indication that I must be a bad person.

I got off his lap, and kept my distance for the rest of the day. Every time he tried to offer me that piece of candy, I said, “No thank you.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Even my so-called friends played pranks on me.

One friend insisted I was invited to her younger brother’s birthday party. I was about 10. I didn’t receive an invitation, and my mother questioned whether or not I was invited. Clearly, to everyone but me, I was not. But my friend told me I was, and I considered my word my bond. I expected no less from others.

So, at my insistence, my mother took me to buy a gift instead of refusing to allow me to attend a party to which I had no invitation. I arrived, gift in hand, to blank stares and his mother’s offhand comment, “What are you doing here?” I immediately knew my mistake, and wanted to run home to hide my shame.

But no. I had a gift. Entre enough. “Oh, that’s who the other chair was for!” came the sudden epiphany even I didn’t believe, and I was ushered in before I could make my escape.

I suppose anyone else would have quickly overcome their embarrassment and enjoyed the party. I could not. The knowledge that I didn’t belong there hovered around me like a cage. It was the worst party I ever attended. The party itself wasn’t bad. I simply had no fun and took the first possible opportunity to leave. I’m sure the others had a good laugh at my faux pas once I was gone.

And I never took that “friend” at her word again. Fool me once.

Even in college people saw me as the butt of jokes. My first roommate made my first extended time away from home a terrible experience by her pranks at my expense.

She took the opportunity of being away from parental guidance as an excuse to be as irresponsible as possible, and I did not. Her assumption that everyone should be that way made her want to teach me a lesson for simply being a civilized human being who went to bed when they were tired.

I’m a non-confrontational individual – being raised as “only a girl” and therefore without the right to speak up for myself or show anger because it wasn’t polite – how could I be expected to behave otherwise? I developed much more passive-aggressive ways of demonstrating my disgust with my roommate, who obviously already didn’t like me for no explicable reason. When she moved out of our dorm room at the end of term, I helped her pack.

There were many other instances. What’s sad is that, when I retell some of them, people often think they’re funny, and ask if I don’t find it amusing in hindsight?

Well, no. Humiliation is never amusing, even years later. Perhaps I have too much empathy both for my younger self and for others. I have ruined more than a few people’s pranks on others in order to save the receivers from embarrassment. I only wish the same had been done for me.

I consider practical jokers the lowest life form. It doesn’t take much intelligence be mean. And the fact that these people are willing to humiliate someone just for a laugh shows a lack of humanity. What next? Torturing animals? I’m sure Ted Bundy would congratulate you and maybe suggest that you didn’t go quite far enough.

 

Nearly Midnight

 

 

            Andy had awakened suddenly, as if by the thundering of a passing subway train, jolted awake by he knew not what. All was quiet outside now, no sounds but the vermin gnawing on the other side of the wall. Not long now, he thought as he listened, until they chew through. He laughed to himself as he realized they could scurry freely down the hall instead of wasting their short lives chewing the plaster.

            He reached out impulsively for the night table lamp, but found none. There would have been no power to light it, anyway. Just where was here anyway, he wondered, lighting his lighter. A rather large rat looked back at him for an instant, then ambled on its way. Andy caught his breath, and jumped off the tattered bed, making his way cautiously into the living room. This had been his apartment, he realized, when he'd lived in New York, although the tattered bits of furniture bore little resemblance to anything he had owned.

            Good Lord, what am I doing here, he asked himself, having no recollection of coming, much less any reason for doing so.  Another blackout, another of those interminable segments of his life when he did something totally unreasonable in a state of semi-consciousness. Don't panic. Bearings. Bearings are essential.

            Name: Andrew Justin Graham. Occupation: Actor. Age: 35. Place of residence: Los Angeles, California. Current place of existence: Manhattan.

            Why? Why had he come here at all? Why now? Did he have a death wish? 

            They had warned him. All of his friends had talked of the vague stories they had heard about some health or environmental problem. Something. Nothing had been more than rumor. He'd even decided not to go, even if it meant not seeing Lisa. Now, standing here in the middle of an abandoned tenement, he wondered if he were dreaming or merely losing his mind.

            Pacing, he tried to get some perspective on this. He'd gone to the airport to get his money back for the ticket, blacked out, and later found himself on the plane bound for New York. With no alternative, he sat back and waited for New York and Lisa. But she'd escaped the week before. No messages but the obvious: she wanted to leave New York while she still could, before the sickness caught up with her.

            The sickness. He'd heard about little else since he landed. When he asked about it, people shook their heads and wondered why an outsider had come when so many of the residents were leaving.

            He left the rats to the apartment, and went outside for a breath of air. Air, that precious commodity. If the stark reality of the situation hadn't hit him in the face when he woke up, the outside certainly would have. The wind blew tattered newspapers around his ankles, making him stagger a few paces into the desolate street. He'd never felt such emptiness, amidst the clutter of abandoned cars and loose garbage. How strange to see Manhattan like this at all, let alone on New Year's Eve.

            He looked at his watch. Eleven-thirty. Too late now for any thing, he thought, as he started toward Times Square. He knew there would be no crowds this year. On his walk toward 42nd Street he passed one lonely, half-dead wino, perhaps one of the few remaining inhabitants. No shelter tonight. Not even a bottle left to make the going easier.

            The nightmare had started Christmas Eve, when Andy arrived in this mysterious hell. He'd been forced to stay until the day after Christmas, the earliest flight available. Then the blizzard hit, the two-and-a-half feet of snow no one had heard forecast because the truth had finally gotten out about what happened, and people only wanted to know what the government would do about New York.  For five days nothing moved. Every time the snow was removed, more would fall to clutter the icy streets and runways. On the 30th, planes started moving, and even die-hard native New Yorkers didn't want to wait to see if the government would change its mind.

            Last night, Andy had been in the airport, waiting for his flight. He knew no more of anything until he woke up in that god-forsaken apartment. Now, too late, he reached 42nd street, and walked toward Times Square. Two young men clung together in a tender embrace, probably their last.

            The island had been mined, scheduled to be wiped off the map at midnight. The government wouldn't risk contaminating the whole country. People who had been evacuated had been carted off to neo-prison camps for quarantine until a determination had been made that they weren't infected. Even now, agents of the government were searching for those, like Lisa, who had escaped before the danger was realized outside the city. These people couldn't be allowed to spread the contamination. Those left behind were probably dying of the sickness, anyway. Really, even they would be better off.

            The last plane out of JFK airport had gone at eleven, leaving Andy to stand alone on Times Square on New Year's Eve. As he reached the square, he noticed that someone had left the marquee running, perhaps the only electricity left on in the whole city.  Eleven fifty-nine. Happy New Year, the marquee flashed to no one but Andy. Even the lovers from 42nd Street weren't there to see it.  Andy Graham stood absolutely alone on Times Square, drifts of dirty snow swirling around him, abandoned taxies everywhere. In the distance he could hear the beginning rumbles of what would end his trip here. All alone in New York with nowhere to go, and nothing to do, he looked at the ball that would not descend in the traditional way this year, and laughed.

 

                                                                          END

                                                                 23 March, 1986