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Oh, Glendora, What Did They Do to You?
Right now, I’m bouncing my automobile into the 3rd Avenue North parking lot a few feet from the bookshop. It’s Any Day. Could be rainy could be sunny could be hot and humid could be breezy.
The morning routine is like all morning routines.
It’s always the same, always different.
The same because I accomplish my goal each day, that goal being to park safely, walk unpanhandled to the shop, gain entry and get rolling on attempting to make a living one more day.
Different because each habitual act is confronted with small variations on a theme. A gigantic scientist examining from above might see just the pattern, the routine, the sameness…tiny human rolls down the avenue, stops in a lot, scurries to the booknest. But a writer might see the intriguing variations…bookdealer wears a different shirt today, the load of books he’s hodcarrying is different from yesterday’s load of books, he’s walking more confidently than yesterday when he had a gout attack.
From the bookdealer’s point of view, it’s all the same, all different…first thing I smell as I exit the car is cigarette smoke produced by the addicts in the lot and on the street who take frequent breaks all day to breathe in breathe out the fumes that will eventually—but that’s another story.
Second thing I see is Glendora.
Glendora is the name I’ve given to the woman sitting in the window of the first office I pass.
Now, Glendora is pleasant-looking. Her dark hair clarifies a pale complexion. She is sitting in a desk chair in full side profile to passersby. There is a plastic device in her ear, and her fingers remain on the keyboard of the computer before her. Glendora stares at the screen each time I see her during the day. She looks neither left nor right. She misses the changes in weather through the large window. She misses the odd variety of humans passing by at various speeds on various obscure missions.
She does not seem to be aware that, like a show window mannequin, she is on full display to all window shoppers.
Sometimes I nod at Glendora, hoping that, like many other folks, she will nod back with a smile. Never happens. She’s encapsulated in her world as securely as I am in mine. We are two planets treading space in parallel orbits, destined never to engage.
The irresistible force of observation takes over when I see interesting people. What is Glendora like? Does she have a family? Is her boss kind to her? Is she happy frozen in place each day? Is she working for the company on the computer or is it all facebook and chatter in between tasks? Does she read books? Never been in the bookshop, so that answers that. Does she dream of better things?
Where did I get the name Glendora? Why, from Perry Como, of course. As a kid of the 1940′s and 1950′s, Como sang about another Glendora who was frozen in time until Something Happened. Listen to the entire song. It tells a story:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wH9ihA889TQ
Here are the words to the song GLENDORA, written by Stanley Ray:
I’m in love with a dolly named Glendora
She works in the window of a big department stor-a
Eyes of blue, hair like gold
Never been young but she’ll never get old
Oh Glendora, I wanna see more of you
O’ Glendora, o’ Glendora
O’ Glendora, I wanna see more of you
She’s so shy that I don’t know how I found her
With three big body guards always workin’ around her
One just nods an’ two just grins
An’ three got a mouth full of safety pins
O’ Glendora, I wanna see more of you
(You, more of you)
O’ Glendora, o’ Glendora
O’ Glendora, I wanna see more of you
(More of you)
I stand left an’ I stand right
Outta my head ’cause I’m outta sight
O’ Glendora, I wanna see more of you
Late last night at the store they did some changin’
An’ I stood watchin’ when they started re-arrangin’
She lost her wig, she lost her arms
An’ when they got through, she lost all of her charms
O’ Glendora, what did they do to you?
What they do, what they do, what they do ?
O’ Glendora, o’ Glendora
O’ Glendora, what did they do to you?
What they do, what they do, what they do ?
O’ Glendora, o’ Glendora
O’ Glendora, what did they do to you?
Do to you, oh, what did they do to you?
O’ Glendora, what did they do to you?
Here’s to all the Glendora’s of the world with whom I’ll never converse. I hope they are as happy as they are fascinating
© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.