Of Domino's and Death (Republish to Groups)

This is a reprint of the first article I ever posted to Gather, thus, largely unread. I am republishing to perhaps get some feedback

This morning, while meandering my way through the site, I saw a headline for another's posting, warning,:"Don't call Domino's." Those three words instantly filled me with a sad, nostalgic sense of melancholy.
It was 1991. Christmastime. I was at work in the nursing home I had called my second home for the past nine years. Everyone was in great spirit, as our annual Christmas party was that night, and everyone was talking about the finery they had to rush home to don before the big night.   We were all one big happy family, staff, residents and  Administration(Carmelite Nuns),alike.

 The only strange note was that Susie was absent. Not just absent, but a dreaded "No call-No Show". It wasn't like her. She had been a valued, and much loved housekeeper there for years. All the residents and staff loved her bubbly optimistic personality, not to mention her long, flaming red locks, "Something must have happened"..It's not like her" and similar comments were heard throughout the morning's routine.

I happened past Patsy, the ward clerk's office to find her with the telephone receiver plastered to her head, tears streaming down her face. Now, Patsy is one tough cookie. A southern old broad, as they say.  She didn't cry easily. I knew at that moment that something horrible had happened to Susie. When she lay down the receiver, she got up and through her tears, silently embraced me for what seemed like an hour, though only moments.  "What happened?" I pleaded. "Susie's son was hit by a Domino's pizza driver last night, they are removing life support and taking his organs for donation". I felt gut kicked. Her son, Scott, was the same age as my own son, also Scott. He was a budding football star in his second year of high school, and the absolute light of Susie's life. He had been running through their neighborhood, also mine, on the previous evening, and was hit by the pizza delivery driver, an eighteen year old kid himself. The driver's excuse was "If its not there in thirty minutes or less, I have to pay for it".

The grief as the word spread was palpable. Swollen eyes, red, runny noses were on every face. Pockets bulged with  tissue to hand the next person you made eye contact with, as eye contact was the thing that ushered in another bout of bawling.

"We should cancel the party." "No one feels like a celebration anyway" was heard throughout the hallways. No, the administration had spoken. The party would go on as planned. "Susie wouldn't want us to stop living because of her" was their reasoning. "and we expect you to be there". was their unspoken demand. and they did sign the paychecks. truthfully, we were all thinking about how uncaring they seemed. They were NUNS, after all. The supposed epitome of compassion and caring. It did not seem so on that day.

The party began at its appointed time. The finery and evening makeup of the women artfully concealing the red, swollen eyes. People were unnaturally jovial. No one was speaking of the day's tragedy. It was surreal. I suspect that most had ingested of some type of pain killer,  legal or otherwise, prior to arriving. I know myself, and a few other supervisors became quite adept at snatching bottles of wine off the carts on their way to the dining room. Luckily, I lived within walking distance, as I quickly became inebriated. It's odd  in retrospect,  that no one became a sloppy drunk, crying and blubbering as we had done all day long. 

That night, someone commented on why another coworker, Donna, was not present. She was in labor. A reason to celebrate, although it seemed disrespectful to do so. Another coworker, Angel, went into labor at the party, and was unceremoniously sprawled on the  sofa in the lounge for much of the festivities. Life goes on.

In the months that followed, Susie eventually returned to work, although for years when she clocked out at night, her car turned right, toward the cemetery, versus left, toward home. Her family won a monumental lawsuit against Domino's, successfully ending their "thirty minutes or free" promotion. The boy who killed Scott never went to trial. Apparently, he was advised by the Domino's attorneys to enter the military, where civil courts couldn't touch him.

It's funny what memories a few random words will elicit on a cool Saturday morning.