Didn't get to see Hidalgo--Mom bailed on me, AGAIN, because the guys rebuilding the deck just randomly decided 1) to work on Sunday and 2) that they needed her to hold their collective hand for some reason today. Never mind that they seem perfectly capable of working by themselves the other five days of the week. We did manage to go shopping, though. Here's how good I am: I don't even have to manipulate my mother anymore. She just buys me stuff. It's like I've developed shopping telepathy or something. I ended up with Whale Rider and The Missing on DVD and The Art of Return of the King. I would have gotten Underworld, too, except that she knows "how much [I] hate full screen."
And here's the story she told me in the car. Why this required fifteen minutes' build-up of whos and whats and wheresoforeartthous, I don't know. Here's the gist of it: They're doing some open enrollment at Mommy's Job, Inc., and so some vendor something something promoting something something has a western theme something. This crazy woman with the vendor, in her forties and totally the mom who was always baking cupcakes for your fourth-grade class and breathing down her kid's neck when at all possible, puts up a series of posters. She wants them to be teasers, like the time "Pick your nose" appeared all around the city and we all said "WTF?" until it was revealed to be a campaign for the horse-racing track. So this open enrollment whatever thing (health insurance) is sponsoring some sort of contest wherein the company is divided into six groups of like 250 each, each with a different color, something something lame something, and each group is called... a "posse."
This is where I started snickering.
"What?" asked my mother.
"I just see where this is going, that's all," I said. Obviously she was telling the story because it was funny, but I think she was surprised that I saw the funny coming.
So all these handmade posters, each in a posse color of yellow, red, purple, green, orange, or blue, are put up in 18 elevator banks and 20 break rooms and umpteen atria:
WHAT COLOR IS YOUR POSSE?
The employees freak. The hell. Out. Half the company calls legal to complain about "gang-related" posters, and the other half calls to complain about "lewd innuendo."
Mom, after being called by legal, even though she had nothing to do with the posters: "Whaaaat?"
Her friend Kathy: "There are green ones?"
Neither Crazy Woman, nor my mom, nor Kathy, were at all aware of the J.Lo usage of "posse," as in "Me and my posse would like some more Cristal, kthnx." I know I've used it sarcastically a few times--you know, years ago when people were still saying "posse" unironically--so I don't know how Mom missed that one. I also had to explain gang colors and Crips and Bloods and such to my mother as well, which is also astonishing to me. Now, I do think "What color is your posse" to "What is the color of your gang insignia" is a rather broad leap, but you can make the jump and not fall into the canyon. "Posse" = "pussy" I just do not get at all. Well, I mean, I get it, in that Mom and I both entered a snicker fit of epic proportions, but... I wouldn't call and complain to legal about it. I wouldn't want to admit I made the connection, quite frankly. It's more the kind of thing that you smirk at every time you walk past it. ("Heh heh. Posse.")
And Mom said legal was quite clear--people who complained about gang innuendo were all of the "urban demographic" (his words, not mine), while people who complained about sexual innuendo did so on the grounds of their conservative Christian morals. I mean, this is what they themselves told him, in the latter case. Which makes me wonder: Why was "pussy" the first thing that leapt to these people's minds, anyway?
(And yes, they were forced to race around and pull all the offending posters down.)