"Life and Death, but No Taxes"

Life and Death, but No Taxes

       Went to the Senior Center to have our taxes looked at by AARP. I am a Senior Citizen, but Sandy is not(no way, no how -- still young!) No taxes due. Good. No refundable credits, exemptions, or deductions -- so getting nothing back(so much for that Republican claim that low income people get tons of money back -- on the other hand, where is the money going?) Not altogether bad. I might have got some money back if I were blind or older, but -- thank God -- I’m not. With Food Stamps we have enough to eat(probably too much when my doctor weighs me next month.) With Riverside County Health Care we have medical coverage. Sandy and I are taking a free computer class at the downtown library. Thanks for all three to the generous people of California. We have a nice park down the street and a car that runs. We are truly blessed. I can hear Steve Martin in the movie “Leap of Faith” saying with me, “Thankya, Jesus!”

       P.S., we asked our AARP tax preparer at the Senior Center whether we should submit our 1040A to the IRS or not. He said certainly not, since we make so little it would only annoy them.  Now there‘s an Anarchist slogan: “Screw the IRS -- Be poor, but report it!"



        We went to Flo's, a local restaurant in Riverside, which specializes in traditional American home cooking.  However, the waiter -- who is a fine, hardworking fellow -- has a bit of a Mexican accent, not unusual, even normal in our part of Riverside.  Plus, his idea of spicy salsa and mine don't seem to be compatible.  I was, however, taken aback when, after I had ordered a dinner salad, he looked at me and asked, "Do you need carcass with your salad?"

        Like I say, I often talk to people with Mexican accents(and they talk to people with Texas accents like me, as well), but it took me a couple of seconds of thinking this one through to realize he had asked if I wanted 'crackers'.  I suppose I could have said, "I are one", but I just said no. 

         This was not the first time I ran into trouble with crackers. I remember being in a restaurant in downtown Houston when I was eighteen with my little brother and a Mexican-American friend, Ricky. The restaurant was what was called in those days a “greasy spoon“, specializing in chili. Our friend offered to pay for our lunch, so we ordered chili(what else?) He assured us his mother made better chili at home.

         We were having a good time when, being gringos, we totally embarrassed our friend by crumbling up crackers in the chili. Ricardo practically jumped out of his chair and lectured us for ten minutes on the social ineptitude of a person adding crackers to chili that way. He was probably right and we remain friends to this day, but we were warned how to fake not being gringos right off the turnip truck, when we next visited his mother’s table.
mm