On ChapStick, Viagra and A Raunchy Old Broad

I was stationed at the bottom of the ramp that led into the receiving room when I first laid eyes on her. It was the great Book Fair of 2010, my first with the Library, and I was currently holding up the line of customers with a smile and a warm greeting until I could direct them to an open cashier.

It was quiet when she arrived, allowing my attention to be focused solely on her. She appeared at the top of the ramp and quiet literally took my breath away. She was dressed in a daring denim miniskirt, which she had paired with an eye-catching neon pink tank that was cut just above her exposed navel. Her fiery red hair was pulled back with a scrunchy that was as equal vibrant as her top. The face that rested beneath that wild mop of hair was painted from chin to forehead, ear to ear. Her lips were a wet red and her eyes could be seen peering out from under lids that were shellacked a thick powdery blue.

She was a vision. And at the age of roughly 87, she was an unmistakable showstopper.

She shuffled down the ramp toward me, relying heavily on her cane. All the while I tried not to stare at her wrinkled and veiny legs or her garish clown face or, heaven help me, the exposed strip of her torso. I simply smiled and looked just past her unnaturally colored nest of hair.

When she reached the point where I was waiting for her, she sidled up close and hooked her arm in mine. She leaned her makeup-caked face up toward my own, which I was hoping wore an unwavering smile. “Do you know what they put in ChapStick these days?”

I did not, as a matter of fact, know what they put in ChapStick these days and I kindly told her as much.

“Viagra,” she said without cracking a smile. “They want you to have a stiff upper lip.”

With that she shuffled off, leaving me in a state of complete disbelief. I watched as she approached the only male cashier in the room and overheard her ask him if he knew why traffic was so bad today. He told her he did not, but she had an answer prepared.

“A truck overturned downtown,” she told him. “It spilled its load of Viagra and now all the bridges are up.”

The cashier cracked a tiny frightened smile and then went about ringing up her purchases.

Traffic soon picked up and I became rather busy. The memory of this strange older woman began to fade. But I had underestimated her reach. Nearly an hour after she had left, her legacy returned.

A middle-aged couple was waiting for an open cashier when the man turned to the woman. “Did you see that old lady who came up to me out there?” he asked. The woman had not noticed. “She came out of nowhere and told me a Viagra joke,” he said.

I let out an audible chuckle. “Was she wearing a denim miniskirt?” I asked him.

He looked over in surprise. “Yes,” he said.

“She came through here earlier,” I explained, and wondered how many others had heard the Viagra jokes of the old lady dressed as a teenager from the 1980’s.

I guess you can’t keep a raunchy old broad down.