Babcia sang all the time but it was usually in Polish. It was usually Polish hymns. I could understand a little of what she sang, but to get it all I would have to wait to get back to my laptop and perform Google Translator to really know what she was saying. Because of course, I do not have a smart phone. My family decided that maybe Babcia should get a cell phone like a have. A simple flip phone with nothing really smart about it, the cell phone would be used for emergencies.
She was happy that it came in black and would go with anything she wore. We explained how to use the cell phone to Babcia. In fact we even typed up the directions for her, so that her hearing issues and Alzheimer's would not keep her from being able to use the cell phone. My dad went into great detail about the use of this cell phone for emergencies. Emergencies being things like falling, someone breaking into her apartment, and things of this nature.
One evening, Babcia used her new flippable cell phone. She dialed 911 as we had told her to do if she had an emergency. She dialed 911.
"911, what is your emergency?"
Babcia was in a panic. She yelled into the cell phone, "I am out of Polish beer! I am out of Polish beer! There is none in the fridge, none in the freezer, none in the linen closest or the bedroom closet! There is not any in my bathroom either! I am out of Polish beer!"
"Ma'am, do you know that prank phone calls to 911 is punishable by..."
Babcia interupted, "I am out of Polish beer! What kind of civil servant are you? You must be one of those Lebanese Lesbians. Everyone knows that they don't know a good beer if it was forced down their throat during an interrogation. I need my Polish beer NOW!"
Not able to get a word in, the 911 operator sent the Police to arrest Babcia for making a prank phone call. It came over the Police radio. When the police chief heard the last name of the prank caller, he sent out reinforcements to Babcia's apartment. They were going to haul Babcia away for making a prank call but they were worried that she may be on the other side of the door with a gun. The Dolata's were all members of the NRA and were known to be good shots.
The police showed up wearing there bullet proof vests. It was a small town and everybody knew everybody. The police shouted through the door, "Mrs Dolata! Mrs Dolata, it is the police. Can we talk to you outside?"
Babcia yells back through the door, "Do you have my Polish beer?"
"No ma'am, we don't!"
"Then you are not coming in and I am not coming out! I want my Polish beer now!", Babcia insisted.
The local police had noticed that Babcia had not locked her door. Which in this small town, nobody ever locked their doors. But they were surprised somehow by this phenomenon. With their bullet proof vests on they opened the door. Babcia was wearing her polyester vest with the holy cross around her neck and a Colt .45 in her hand. She was loaded and it was not in her adult undergarment. She was carrying and was a good shot. She had after all taught us all well. She aimed the weapon at directly at the police who were standing inside her apartment.
"You can't do this Mrs. Dolata!"
"Oh, yes I can! You will not deny my right to have a Polish beer. Prohibition ended years ago. Now, get me my Polish beer. I can take you out one by one. I know my rights. The 2nd amendment gives me the right to bear arms. See I know my rights."
The police slowly backed out of her apartment one by one. They informed the police chief that Mrs. Dolata needed her Polish beer and she was not backing down. The police chief had been attempting to get a hold of my dad but he was in a dead zone. With no cell phone reception, my dad would have to wait to hear this story. The police chief decided to call the liquor store and see if the attendant could help out. "We need some beer for Lucille Dolata. Can you help us?"
"Oh, I have her Polish beer order ready and waiting for her 17 year-old granddaughter to pick it up for her.
The police chief could not believe it. With no response from him, the liquor store clerk asked, "Are you there? Are you there? Are you still on the phone?"
"Yes, yes I am."
"Will Mrs. Dolata be coming with her granddaughter to pick up her Polish beer or will her 17 year-old granddaughter be coming by herself."
"What do you mean?, asked the Police chief.
"Well, usually they come in together to get Mrs. Dolata's Polish beer. Her granddaughter writes out the check. Mrs. Dolata signs it and then her granddaughter carries the multiple cases out to Mrs. Dolata's car. But if the weather is poor, then just her granddaughter comes in with a signed check by her grandmother. Mrs. Dolata does not like to get wet, you know."
"Well, we can not get a hold of the family so we are sending over some officers in squad car to pick up this Polish beer." It was not until he got off the phone that he realized the liquor store clerk was selling alcohol to a minor."
He went back to Babcia's apartment. She held the two cops at gun point as she thought they were intruders. She was often getting confused and this was one of those times. She was sure they were after her Polish beer that she had run out of. The Police chief enters her apartment and before he could utter one word...
"You got my Polish beer," Babcia yells out. "These guys are trying to rob me of the Polish beer I don't have."
"Why would you send your 17 year-old granddaughter to buy your beer? Don't you know that is illegal?" He asked in a soft gentle voice attempting to calm Babcia down.
"Because she knows what kind of beer I drink and she knows how to write out my check. Now, if I could only teach her how to forge my signature so all I would have to do is stay home, eat, drink, play card, drink and drink she would be my favorite grandchild."
"Where do you this? Right here?", he asked as he maintained his calm and peaceful voice.
"Tak, tak! Yes, yes! Where else would we go to gamble and drink Polish beer?"
"A Native American run casino, perhaps?"
"Oh, no! We Poles can't be seen with Native Americans. We Polish Catholics. We need to be gambling and drinking with other Polish Catholics!" Babcia lost her train of thought. "Have you seen my granddaughter? She comes over everyday to visit me and take me shopping for Polish beer and groceries. Where is she? It is after 5 pm and she usually comes at 11. "
"Eleven at night?," the Police Chief asked.
"Nie, Nie! NO, no!" She starts to go on speaking in Polish. "No, you dumb ass! She comes during her break from school. She is going to be a lawyer when she graduates from college."
I was never going to be a lawyer. I did not have the dedication it would take to accomplish that goal Babcia thinks I have. Babcia went on and on. But then she lost her train of thought again and thought that I was going to be a fantastic professional bookie in Las Vegas, Nevada.
The one day I am too sick to take Babcia shopping for beer and she decides that is an emergency. No charges were filed and as Babcia was brought her cases of Polish beer she laid the gun down. The police grabbed the gun off the kitchen table. Babcia invited them to play cards with her. They refused saying they were busy with more emergencies in the little town. That was bullshit as nothing ever happens in this small town. The day Babcia had was the most excitement the police department had had in a long time. As Babcia drank her Polish beer, she continued to mumble in Polish. "Where is my granddaughter? Where is Theresa?"
No comments:
Post a Comment