Mary + Her Mental Health

I’ve become a regular at the 7-Eleven on Tremont and Winter streets here in the lovely downtown Boston area. I only just realized, however, that that’s about to change. This is my last week working in the city. I’m down to just teaching in the afternoons come next Monday. But I don’t really want to talk about that, kay?

I frequent the 7-Eleven, because I am constantly trying to restructure the way I manage my addiction to Diet Coke in a way that won’t cause any permanent upset to kidneys, REM cycles, waste cycles, girly cycles, unicyles, hair growth, habitual vomiting, shortness of breath, health of the nail beds, knuckle sensitivity, minor rashes, saliva production, and other nervous complexes. We want all of that staying exactly as it is, MEANWHILE, getting in our necessary daily intake of Diet Coke. It’s a crafty dance of balance and beauty, really. Quitting the habit altogether would be too easy. No creative thinking behind that choice at all.

The latest way I drink Diet Coke is to take care of it first thing in the day. 44 ounces starting at 9:30. Drink it in an hour or so. No more for the rest of the day. Gluttonous quantities of Diet Coke at 9:30 and then I’m good for the next 24 hours.

So this morning was quite chilly, and I’m without a winter coat. An older black gentleman is leaving as I’m going into 7-Eleven. I smile and hold the door for him. He’s holding two lottery tickets. “Why, thank you sister!” he says to me and smiles. “You’re welcome! Have a wonderful day!” I reply. “You as well, God bless you. God bless you!” And then he leaves.

Can I just say that I felt so good after that? Such a small exchange, but…he called me sister! And the cheesy ridiculous part is…that’s exactly what I felt like to him! Children of God holding doors for each other on a cold Monday morning. I felt honored by him. I remember walking to the fountain drinks hoping he’d scratch into a million dollars today.

I pull my gargantuan red cup from the dispenser, and fill it with ice. Happy smile. Happy day. I press the little Diet Coke button, and out comes….SODA WATER.

“Excuse me, you’re out of Diet Coke.” I say calmly. Guy in red shirt says, “Sorry, it’s too hard to get to the boxes of soda because there’s tons of stuff in front of it.” “So, you can’t fix it?” “I can’t fix it.”

I’m not even out the door before I’ve begun strategizing how I’m going to torch this mother down. I hate humans. Kiss this regular goodbye…

KIDDING.

Not sweating it, I head toward the door and a large white construction guy follows right behind me. I hold the door for him on our way out. “Thanks, sweetie.” He says. “Not a problem.” I reply.

If only the Red Sox could sweep the World Series every weekend…