Take my antagonizer, please (really… what would you do?)

In the classic Star Trek episode ‘Mirror Mirror’, Captain Kirk and his officers are on a planet, beaming up to their ship when their transporter beam is caught in an ion storm.  Their atoms are pulled into a parallel universe where they materialize on another Enterprise.

How do they know they aren’t where they’re supposed to be?  Well, for starters they’re greeted by a pretty sinister looking Mr. Spock, who’s sporting a goatee and instructing the transporter chief to hand over his personal agonizer.  “No Mister Spock—it wasn’t my fault!  Aargh!!”

(On this parallel Enterprise, the crew are forced to carry their own torture devices—yikes.)  Anyway, this “agonizer” episode has been coming to mind a lot lately, namely whenever I encounter Betty, a resident in my apartment building.  She’s MY personal agonizer—well, more like antagonizer—and right now I’m wondering what to do about her.  Help her or kill her.

Okay, I made a promise to myself (and to people who read my blog) a year ago that I wouldn’t talk maliciously of my neighbors… I just can’t believe how much one of them is getting to me and NOT IN A GOOD WAY.

This all began a couple years ago.  While the younger residents in my building keep to themselves, the older ones want to know you, especially if you’re of the retired type.  I was befriended by one--Betty (a widow, 70 years old) who somehow got it into her head I was a widower like her, Catholic, and a conservative. 

It took me awhile to learn this though, and once I set the record straight I was none of those things (and only went to Assumption Catholic Church on Fridays for their fried fish), everything changed.  She couldn’t seem to talk to me without sounding snarky.  This is just in the last week:

MARYLOU:  Doug is it true that management painted an accent wall in your apartment and it didn’t cost you anything?

ME:  Yep, you just have to choose one of their 3 colors:  Honey Mustard, Green Apple or Summer Suede.

BETTY:  Whoa, funny how you remember those fancy names!  Most men just call paint by their color!

Here’s another:

OPAL:  Doug, would you like a pumpkin scented candle?  My daughter got me a real pretty one but it’s making my cat crazy.

ME:  Haha—um, no thanks Opal.  I’m not into scented candles… guess it’s a man thing. (wink)

BETTY:  You have to guess when it comes to man things?  That doesn’t surprise me!

I just shake my head, roll my eyes.   Oh Betty… how I want to throttle you.

Anyway, earlier this week several of us were sitting outside on our building’s stoop getting a little sun & talking about the latest Trump lunacy, when one (Mary Lou) said she wished she could vote in this election, but she wasn’t registered (her husband used to say it was how they tagged you for jury duty).  Another admitted she never registered either, and my friend Mary Bean said she meant to, but it was too late now.  

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I said I was called for jury duty a few years ago, and it was an exciting experience.  (I wrote about it here.)  I added that it wasn’t too late to register, they could do it from home (online) but it takes a couple weeks to get your registration card, so they’d have to do it soon.

I asked “Do you ladies have a computer?”   All three smiled and said no.  Wow.  I said I could help, and both Marys thanked me and said okay. 

Sure enough, word got back to Betty who confronted me downstairs this morning and asked who elected me mayor of the building.  I smiled but didn’t say anything.  She said “Does that offer of yours extend to everybody?  Because I want a mail in ballot.”  I said I guessed so, and she said “Good then you can help me.  But if I were you, I wouldn’t ask who I’m voting for.”  

Aarrgh!!