Brandy, You're A Fine Girl

I am so queasy. I did really well at work and only had half of a Butterfinger from the Customer Appreciation stash. But when I got home the abdomenal onslaught began. I had a Frito chili pie. This is a long-standing Fiacre family tradition which goes way back as far as I can remember - FCPs on Halloween night before you go trick-or-treating. I am constantly dumbstruck by the number of people who don't know what Frito Chili Pie is, by the way, including Southwesterners like my wife and my neighbor. It is not made out of Wolf or Hormel or any other canned chili. You have to make the chili yourself. That canned stuff is gross. It is also not made in a pyrex dish in layers. It's simple. You make chili, you get a little bag of Fritos - you could use a Big Grab bag, but I wouldn't advise it - smash them up, pour a couple of scoops of chili in the bag, throw in onions and cheese, stir it up and dine exquisitely. These are especially good at high school football games when your hands are freezing and the warm chili bag keeps them warm. OK, so I had a FCP. Then a regular serving of chili in a bowl. Then a pack of Smarties from our giveaway candy.

By now Killer and I have hit the road t-o-t'ing. She's a unique version of Cleopatra. A blue dress with gold rickrack, and eyes decorated in the classic Egyptian way. But she's got much yellower hair and eyeglasses which I never saw on Cleo. But it worked for her and it didn't cost anything, so that works for me. Anyway, I had an Island Orange Mounds bar from her bag. I don't know why I ate this. I mean I like dark chocolate and orange, but why I ate this piratey looking thing with coconut, I do not know. I didn't detect any orange flavoring at all. OK, then a little pack of Skittles. After making a run around our block, we had to come back so that SGK could get a drink and we consolidated her booty. At this point YHWH handed me a tankard of hot cider spiked with a generous portion of Napoleon brandy to cut the chill of the night air. Then I took SGK and our neighbor out for another raid and upon our return we found our old neighbors had decided to drop in on us from all the way out in Edmond. They missed sharing our annual Fiacre family tradition Frito Chili Pies. So I had a Shiner Bock beer they brought along with them. Then I had an Oh Henry bar, a dark choclate KitKat, and a Twix - all tiny-size, mind you. Then I had two small bite size dark choclates to cap it all off.

I had to eat those last two things because they were the last of the good candy left and I felt like I had to horde. It was my own fault, really, because I sat each of the four kids in the living room floor and taught them how to bargain for candy they wanted from each other's stashes. That was always my favorite part of Halloween. So I got the kids started on that and then went into the kitchen with the adults (they let me hang with them) and when I peeked in on them a little while later, I saw that SGK had bargained away all of her chocolate for -- taffy. I have failed somewhere along the way. And what the hell are people doing giving out taffy at Halloween in the first place?

I'm going to pay for all this in the morning I fear.

Candy-O, I Need You

Ugh, I hate Halloween at the library. Unfortunately, it coincides with Customer Appreciation Month and a tradition has evolved here which involves leaving bowls of candy at all public service points. I will avoid rumination on the use of the word customer in a library context as I do value my livelihood, but many people (both customer and employee) are often confused about what exactly we appreciate in October. A brightsider might say that we appreciate the tax revenue tossed our way, and we certainly do, but the jaded would counter that the people who use our particular agency don't appear to be contributors to our millage coffers. Then there's the realist who would say that we appreciate your coming in for free internet and candy so that we can have jobs.

But that's all beside the point. The reason I hate Halloween at the library is the agonizing drip, drip, Chinese water totrture of giving out that stupid candy. Budding anthropologists need to come out and study this annual ritual. Normally, there's a mass of about 30 people waiting to get in when we open. The first bowl does not survive this initial ravishing by the sweet-starved locusts. And once it's refilled, the fun begins. Some people come by and grab as much as they can in one dip, supermarket spree-style. Others mill around the desk making small talk or proposing fake queries and for them I kindly turn away under the pretext of getting something out a drawer or dropping a pencil so that they can snatch a nugget of nougat without having to interact with me on the subject. Then there is The Addict, of whom there are many in residence, who cannot stop themselves once they have taken that first chomp on a Butterfinger. They take one and practically inhale it as they walk away. Seconds later, they are back, hands shaking as they try and hurriedly unwrap it. This goes on for several minutes or until we say, "Take a couple - for the road," and they move on. Then there are those, usually women, who very politley ask may they have one piece. And then may they have one for their husband? Son? Daughter? Niece from out of town? Invalid neighbor? I want to scream, "Just take the whole g-d bowl and have done with it!"

I'm not without pity. I know that most of these people live on wholesome, but tasteless, shelter food and what money they panhandle goes to meth and Jack. But it's really sad to watch these base human behaviors - like children - acted out over what I consider to be a trifle. Perspectivizing, I realize that many of them probably never were children or at least had a childhood approaching anything near that of my children. More than being broke, they are what my mom used to call "poor of spirit". I wish I knew how fix that. I really do.