My brother often teases me about my temper.  He says I have a “short wick.”  So did our father. Dad was known to throw golf clubs out on the course and swear like a banshee.  Come to think of it, I swear a lot, too.

I try to avoid losing it. But sometimes when people are really stupid, I can’t help it.  When the person named “Matthew” from Senior Singles—to whom I’d just given my cellphone number—sent me a text that said, Hi, it’s Philip. Is now a good time to call? I started getting mad.

My fingers tapped across the keyboard with an added thump as I wrote my response.

I thought your name is Matthew.

Yes, he replied. This is me.

Well, is your name Matthew or is your name Philip?

His response came swiftly.  Matthew is my middle name. Philip is my first name.  I told you—I’m leery of social media.

So, his photo can be on the website but not his name. Whatever. I chose to let it all go. 

Call anytime Philip Matthew, I wrote.  The phone rang immediately. I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Philip,” he said. “Sorry for all the confusion. Oh—and by the way–I’m 65 not 61.”

For a first conversation, things were pretty casual. We talked about the pandemic, the quarantine, and how difficult it was when restaurants closed. He told me he supported local eateries by ordering take out.  I asked him if he knew how to cook. He said no. 

“So, you’re really not COVID-19’s Robin Hood—you simply have to eat,” I stated.

“Well, me and my two kids. I have two special-needs kids that live with me.”

That stopped me in my tracks. A single dad, age 65, raising two children with learning disabilities. “How old?” I asked.

“My daughter just turned 20. My son is 24. Their mother is not involved in their lives. I also have a 28-year-old son who lives nearby. My wife and I adopted six kids. Then she began using drugs. That was the end.” 

Whoa. That was a lot to process. He emailed a newspaper article about his ex. It was an ugly story. This guy had baggage. A whole steamer trunk full. But I had to give him credit. Others would have put these adult children in a group-home.

Then our talk took an unfortunate right turn. Philip was a Republican. He watched Fox News. For me, that was like worshipping Satan. But he also thought Dr. Fauci was a rock star and admitted he would have voted for Bloomberg. That made him a bit more acceptable. He also watched 60-Minutes, which my brother told me only liberals watched.  So, Philip became a maybe. 

Philip is Catholic. When he asked me if I was having a Seder, I was impressed.

“How do you know about Seders?” I asked.

“I’m in banking,” he told me. “Many of my coworkers are Jewish. I know words like chutzpah, shiksa, L’Chaim….he continued, making me laugh.

“I used to make our family dinners,” I told him. “Now there’s only me and my daughter. I’ll make a small brisket, some matzoh-ball soup and call it a Seder. I have to go to the Kosher market. I always shop there for Jewish holidays.”  I called the market the next day to ask about Corona protocol. I got a recording. We’re not taking any more orders.  So, I drove there. I arrived and went straight for the brisket. The meat case was empty. I rang the bell for the butcher. Out came a masked man in a bloody apron who didn’t appear happy to see me.

“I need a four-pound brisket,” I said.

“You and everyone else,” he replied. “I’m filling orders. First come—first serve.”

Mr. Congeniality.

“Can I put in my order?” I asked.

“We’re not taking any more orders,” he replied.

Obnoxious.

“So I can’t have a brisket for my Seder?” I asked in my best Jewish intonation.

“Come back tomorrow,” he grumbled and walked back into his refrigerated room.

I did what he said. For the next two days I got the same story. Finally, on the third visit, he hands me a 6 ½-pound hunk of meat.

“That’s huge,” I exclaimed. 

“Lady—take it or leave it. It’s what I got.”

I took it. My wick was approaching the gun powder—about to explode.

That evening, Philip called. I needed to vent. So, I did.  After our conversation, he sent a text.

Maybe you could start a COVID-19 support group that would welcome the excess brisket. You could add some constipating matzoh, too. Trump may even mention you in a shout out.  I can just see it now on CNN—Trumptweets @ mimi for brisket donation.

It was so dumb. But it made me laugh. And as long as you can laugh, you can get through almost anything. 

At times, however, Philip’s sophomoric humor got him in a lot of trouble. Soon you’ll understand how.

© Miriam Greenberg, and the blog Love In The Time Of Corona, beginning April 2022 to the Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Miriam Greenberg and Love In The Time Of Corona with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.