Monday, October 26, 2009

Speaking Ill of the Dead

Our security guard died and my first coherent thought (after "Huuuhhhh???") was "Damn it, now we'll never get the money he owed us."

Nice Lindy, really. I'm pretty sure that that makes me a shitty human being and it's been bothering me ever since it happened. So I figured I'd confess. So there, you have it, I confess.

He was our security guard ever since we moved on to our street - we were told that he guarded all the houses on our street and we had to pay him, no choice. We were thrilled to have our very own security dude and even though he weighed 100 pounds and was 85 years old he DID have a gigantic gun. Everything was great until someone stole our grill and then a few weeks later robbed our house all while we were at work and he was on duty.

Chino and the guard had become man-friends in that way that men so easily seem to do, having the man-talk about weather and tools and things that are a mystery to us women folk but make us glad that our men are sociable in some way. After our house was robbed I went ballistic and told Chino that there was ZERO way we would ever pay the guard again. I don't think the guard had anything to do with the robbery, he looked as bewildered as we felt but when he came up to our doorstep two days later asking for his weekly payment I about lost it. I started crying and told him to get out but he didn't understand so I had Chino come and explain that we would no longer be paying him because of the robbery.

I felt shitty. I felt really shitty because he was old and poor and Chino was his friend and I was making Chino tell his friend to piss off but the thought of what had been stolen from us outweighed my sympathy. Chino wanted to keep on paying him but I was having no part of it, I told him that if the guard wanted to replace $2500.00 in stolen goods and somehow make up for the sentimental value of so many other things - THEN we would pay him.

Gaahhhhh I know I was justified but I STILL feel guilty.

Anyways, moving on, Chino and the guard still had a little bit of a man-relationship and Chino even loaned him some cash a couple of weeks later. You might think he was nuts for that but my husband has a heart the size of Kansas and I like that about him. Fast forward a couple more weeks and the guard was dead, fell down and hit his head or died of diabetes - all the neighbors had a different story - but he was dead and there I was standing in the street talking to the neighbors saying all the right things and secretly thinking my nasty money-thoughts.

When Chino came home I told him what happened and waited to see if he'd say anything. Of course he didn't and that made me feel like more of a bastard human being so a few hours later I confessed to him my first post-dead-guard thought. He didn't judge me, he's nice like that and instead made me feel better by informing me that he had told the guard not to worry about paying us back the week before. I don't think he ever got over stopping paying the guard and that was his way to feel better.


I wish I had something big and profound to say about all of this but I don't, I'm plum out. We donated to his funeral fund when the neighbors took up a collection and I've confessed my dirty thoughts now though and maybe I can stop feeling guilty. I think I would have made a good Jewish mother.


Suki said...

One of my grandmothers died at one point, and all I could think of was - "She was SUCH a nasty bitch".

I'm not sorry. And I don't think I need to be.

Gringa-n-Mexico said...

Suki - Well, she was what she was, you can't help that! :)

Sgt said...

My feeling is that if you would think/say it while they are alive, why would you think different when they die?

The important thing is to not wait until they are dead to tell them how you feel. This way you aren't saddled with that thought of "dammit, I never got to tell him/her what a bastard they really were"

Gringa-n-Mexico said...

Sgt. - I let him know EXACTLY how I felt - that was the bad part. :P

Refried Dreamer said...

Just because you try to give kind words now... it doesn't justify how they lived.

PuertoVallartaGirl said...

I don't know if you are anything like me but when I am pregnant, I am seriously incapable of bullshit. I want things dealt with and tidy on all levels. And do not fuck with me. Not pregnant I'm a little more easy going... but not totally. Could that be part of it? I love that scene in Jerry Macguire where cuba goodings wife... (whats her name) says "Jerry I'm pregnant and I'm incapbable of bullshit". That was me, EVERY TIME I have been pregnant.