Four-Letter Word Starting With F

I pride myself in being a nice, polite person.  That’s not to say I don’t have a snide side.  I do…inherited from my dear, sweet, dead mother.

Like a boxer who needs to guard his fists, I keep my sass in check, but every once in a while it escapes from the barn.

It was 6ish on Saturday…my favorite time to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, especially in these last days of summer.

I went to see the John Singer Sargent exhibition for the second time, its beauty beckoning me back.

I felt no pain, having just enjoyed an ice cold vodka on the rocks at a little outdoor bistro dressed in a skirt and silky blouse like I hadn’t a care in the world.  And if you hone the skill of living in the moment, it rings true.  It was cool with no humidity purposely not donning undies to feel the breeze all the way up my legs…freshly polished toes preening in vintage Ferragamo sandals…a cardigan tossed over my arm.  All was well, at least fashion wise…UNTIL…

I tooled into the Met.

There was a short admission line that suddenly wasn’t moving.  I wait, and wait and wait and wait, while the cashier carries on a conversation with a very needy Swedish couple.

“What the fook,” I hear behind me.  I turn to see a guy and his girl with streaked yellow hair and identical nose rings beginning to lose their patience, triggering mine.

I make a gesture to the robust cashier, all of 20, to maybe move it along, who rises from her chair and says, “Can’t you see I’m talking?”

“Yes, and you’re talking much too much.  You’re the the money-taker honey, not Diana Vreeland.”

And as snotty as that may sound, it’s true.  They have an information desk where people are trained to answer all inquiries.

“SO TAKE THE FUCKING MONEY ALREADY.”

She ignored me and the fook twins, who smartly went to the line across the way, inspiring me to follow.

When it’s my turn another girl starts talking to the other girl instead of taking care of me, and that was it…my mother took over.

“Hey, I have been waiting much too long to go see an exhibit for ten lousy minutes.  Your behavior is unacceptable.”

“You will just have to cool your heels Ma’am,” said the other girl while she stared me down a very large nose or schnoz, as my friend Ed would say.  Talk about losing your buzz.

Maybe it was the ma’am that lit my fuse, or just the arrogance of attitude, but I said in my best Courtney Love….“FUCK YOU.”

She gave me a ticket.

As I’m about to walk up the grand staircase I’m stopped by a guard.  “Madam, someone wishes to speak to you.”

I turn and there’s this rather stiff man (in all the wrong places to steal a line from Camille) in a crisp navy suit with authority dripping from every seam.

“Yes?” I say, the hair on the back of my neck rising in defense.

“Was there a problem just now with two of my staff?”

“Problem?  I don’t think so.  Though I was waiting in line while they were having a rather lengthy conversation, so I did ask to please hurry it up.”

“Did you use exceptional language?”

“Excuse me?  I am very well-spoken so I’m sure whatever I said was exceptional.”

LOL

“What I’m asking is, did you say something questionable in the vulgarity department?”

I loved his determination to be verbally correct.  Since I’m also drenched in character and all that’s Connecticut,  I decided to be upstanding as well…by lying.

“I beg your pardon?  Look at me…do I appear to be a woman who would speak rudely to anyone?”

Thank God I was dressed.  That line doesn’t work in shorts and a tank top.

He looked uncomfortable, so I pulled out the ace up my sleeve gently touching his forearm that I know sent tingles down his button-down.  If he ever knew I wasn’t wearing underwear he might have had a stroke.  Believe me, the last time this guy got laid was after midnight by an 800 number named Honey Loo.

“I’m sorry, ” he said.  “but they were both just so insistent.”

“Young girls can be very dramatic.”

“Oh yes I know.”

“So, may I go see Mr. Sargent now?”

“Yes, yes…of course, enjoy yourself.  I am so sorry to have detained you.”

When I went by the original girl in the ticket booth, I gave her a huge smile before mouthing…

FUCK YOU, as my mother and I headed up to see John.

I yam who I yam…as Popeye would say.SARGENT_John_Singer_Madame_X_(Madame_Pierre_Gautreau)_MET_LS_d100_08.0 Sargent’s famous Madam X

SB

 

 

 

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About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
This entry was posted in Fashion, History, humor, men, New York City, sex, Women and men, words and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to Four-Letter Word Starting With F

  1. micklively says:

    I know you get to all the classy joints, but I was surprised to hear that your bistro was wearing skirt and silky blouse.
    I liked the way you answered his questions with questions: can’t be lies, can they?

    Like

  2. skinnyuz2b says:

    Susannah, I laughed out loud when I read your last two lines. That is just too funny!
    I agree that it gets really, really, irksome when a twit decides that talking on her phone, texting, or gossiping with a coworker is more important than doing her job.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My patience Skinny could use a fresh coat of paint. I have none. Standing in line to begin with, isn’t my favorite thing, but to have to endure a longer stay due to the asinine behavior of another tweaks my tolerance more than I can say. I shouldn’t have cursed, however…it’s that Bonnie Parker in me who stands by like a Marine. Thanks for writing.

      Like

  3. Elle Knowles says:

    Only you Suzannah! You are like a magnet to hilarious situations. Lying through your teeth can sometimes be a good thing…~Elle

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Loved it. Just like Kathy Bates in Green Tomatoes!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. MJ says:

    These little positions at museums are typically the province of the “entitled” set who don’t have to earn a living. Subsidized by mummy/daddy/hubby, they’re not the necessarily the most esthetically astute or sharpest tools in the cultural box, but they do derive an increased measure of self-importance from their prestigious surroundings. Just the fact that they’re “staff” is evidence of their superiority to the public. I think what really set the girls off was the Diana Vreeland put-down, and regrettable as it is that the f-word later entered in, you were still in fine form. Had these two—and their supervisor—been employed by Mickey D’s, they might have been worthy of a tad more sympathy. But this trio deserved a skewering for their inefficiency and pompous disregard for others’ time,

    Like

  6. Dang it, Susannah, and here from your title I thought it was all going to be about figs. You got me again. 😉
    Seriously though, this is hilarious. That’s the sort of thing someone looking like me could never get away with probably. Exceptional language indeed. That guy cracks me up.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. God, but we would most likely get along…

    Like

  8. Clearly this one did not get the memo that a badass may be attending the exhibit. I LOVE LOV E LOVE the ending!!

    Like

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