i still haven't found what i'm looking for

You'd think with the Internets and all, I'd be able to track down whatever I'm looking for.  When it comes to buying things from my past that take me back to the happy place of my childhood, e-Bay has usually been there for me. But sometimes not.

You see, in my ongoing quest to acquire nostalgic comfort items, I have never been able to find a Josie and the Pussycats cartoon lunchpail like the one I had in third grade. Before e-Bay, I used to comb vintage and thrift shops like this one in Old Town, Virginia.  Funk and Junk is no ordinary thrift store--all of its junk is funky, with everything from a special edition Vanilla Ice doll to faux leopard car coats and a cigarette lighter with the insignia of one of my dad's Navy ships (which l bought for him even though he doesn't smoke anymore). The online store has a whole section specially devoted to lunchboxes, but the Josie and the Pussycats lunchpail has never turned up there. For a dozen years I've secretly believed that it would turn up at someplace like Funk and Junk, since the last place I saw my lunchpail was in The Commonwealth.

I'm not sure why I'm more attached to this lunchpail than the others of my youth, except that perhaps it was the coolest one I've ever had. Unlike the standard-issue metal contraptions that rusted at the edges & hinges, it was made of shiny red vinyl that repelled liquids without damage to the pail.  Josie and her P-cats adorned the front, crappily illustrated, but still I thought it was cool. With its long black shoulder strap, it looked more like a purse than a device intended for the transportation of bologna-and-mustard sandwiches. When you're a third grade girl, purses are so bitchin' and so are the girls who carry them.

I acquired the lunchpail when I was to make my debut as New Kid in Town at a school in southern Virginia. For the first month there, all went smoothly.  Then one day I found myself face-to-face with an unprecedented problem for my 7 years: apparently I had acquired a new enemy without even trying.

Classroom rules dictated that at the end of the day, all students were to line up quietly and walk out to the blacktop to find their respective buses in a manner that befits little southern ladies and gentlemen.  I repected these rules during my first month, and when the bell rang, I'd walk out with the other kids to find my bus, old Mrs. Taylor's #73.  One day as I walked out, I looked back and saw Danny Harris staring at me.  He had never spoken a word to me, but I had noted on a previous occasion in the lunchroom that he was that kid in the class with the thick, coarse, curly hair similar to Greg Brady, only light brown. (I had noted this because for some reason I've always found that kind of hair on boys a little creepy, so much so that I hated watching episodes of the "Brady Bunch" that featured Greg.  For similar reasons, I know I shouldn't Hassel the Hoff, but I could never watch a full episode of "Baywatch" without experiencing discomfort.  I've overcome this prejudice in the last few years, but it's taken some committed "me" work, including deep-breathing exercises.)

Anywho.  Once our class's line got outside, Curly Top charged toward me and my heart began to race, not out of love, but out of fear.  Whence came this aggression?  And why?  I sprinted to my bus, then pulled my J&P lunchpail off my shoulder and swung it around above my head.  As Danny approached, this stopped him in his tracks and he hit the ground. I took advantage of that opportunity and got on my bus.  As I sat in my seat panting heavily, I wondered what the hell had just happened.

The next day after school, Danny chased me again, and again my lunchpail created a little zone of whirling protection for me.

On the third day, I decided to be proactive.  As soon as I stepped outside and broke from the classroom line I ran, twirling the lunchpail above my head, and I didn't stop until I stepped onto the bus.  And still he chased me all the entire way! He never spoke, only chased, and not with an entirely crazed look on his face.  He just looked ... determined or something.  Goal oriented, perhaps.  It continued this way for two more days, so I guess one might say it had become our little ritual. That sounds kind of quaint, but in truth I didn't like being in a situation of someone else's creation, one that put me in the position of having to defend myself every day. It just seemed so unfair.  And frankly, I had grown tired of working so hard just to get on the damn bus.

On the following Monday, I decided to tell our teacher, Mrs. Terranova, of my plight. She was a really sweet, gentle teacher with a frosted wig and a flowery smell.  I told her that Danny was being really mean to me and that I didn't know why because I hadn't done anything to him. 

"Every day when we go to our buses he chases me all the way to the bus!" I blurted, and then I  cried.  I do that when I'm frustrated and people (men-like people) (and I'm not necessarily referring to Bell) (necessarily) sometimes mistake these tears for sadness when really it's just my way of saying, "%%^$**(#$@, I HATE THE WAY THINGS ARE AND THEY MUST CHANGE!"

Mrs. Terranova told me not to worry and assured me that she would talk to Danny.  I wanted to believe in her power to put a stop to the madness because she was so pretty and I liked her cobalt blue dress, but as the end of the day approached, I didn't think I could keep the faith.  When the last bell rang, I took my place in line and shuffled along with all the others.  I knew Danny was somewhere behind me, and old habits die hard, so as soon as I got to the door I initiated my Twirl-and-Run procedure.  I took a seat on the bus and looked out, panting, only to find Danny walking to his bus like every other kid who didn't terrorize small girls. He didn't even look up at me.  It was as if we had never shared our ritual of the previous week.

The next day Mrs. Terranova called me up to her desk.  "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you have any trouble with Danny yesterday?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'm glad to hear that.  I spoke to him and I think everything will be fine now," she said.

"But how come he was trying to scare me? Why doesn't he like me?" I asked.

"Well, I asked him that.  You see, it's not that he doesn't like you--it's that he does," she said with a smirk. 

She must have thought I was really stupid because I remained at her desk for a moment, trying to wrap my head around this bizarre concept. Then she told me to go back to my seat.

After that, my lunchpail fulfilled its original purpose as groovy accessory and carrier of comestibles, and never again served me in self-defense.  I loved it for that. I can't imagine why I ever would have wanted to part with it, but it disappeared one day without a trace.  (I have my suspicions that it was the work of crazed-parents-who-are-sick-and-tired-of-all-the-crap-you-kids-have-all-over-the-house-can't -you-ever-throw-anything-away?)  I've always looked back on J and the P-cats with great fondness; when it comes to the lunchboxes and bags I've carried in my lunch-carrying career, everything else "pails" in comparison.

 

Comments

[CM]

I just read this book, "Sister of My Heart" by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. It keeps referencing the Rani of Jhansi, who whirled a sword around her head to keep enemies away. Sound familiar?

[dgm]

cm, i wish i'd known that before i posted. then i could have called my moves "the rani of jhansi" or used the phrase "then i went all 'rani of jhansi' on him." it has a nice ring to it; i'll have to start using it.

maybe i'll even read the book. (is it any good?)

[MT]

very talismanic. you and the box are bound, truly bound.

[CM]

You should start using it. After all, you seem to have some spiritual kinship with her. You both invented the same move.

I really liked the book. I keep meaning to review it on my blog, but I've gotten really behind on the book reviews. It follows two Indian girls from childhood to adulthood -- one is beautiful and traditional and loves fairy tales, and the other is plain and rebellious and cynical, but they're inseparable -- and focuses on the paths their lives take when they're forced to meet the expectations of their families.

[PG]

Hi, I am trying to reach the person who wrote "i still haven't found what i'm looking for". Can anyone tell me how to reach her? Thanks!

[dgm]

um, that would be me. you can email me at gooya-at-cox-dot-net.