In 1932 my mother’s father married Katie Novak; it was the second marriage for both: He was a widower with six kids; she was a widow with two daughters and no income. This was not “The Brady Bunch:” he needed a housekeeper and she needed a paycheck.
Although Grandpa and his new wife stayed married for over 20 years, their respective relatives never forgave them for it. Their crime? Back in the Old Country their families were mortal enemies because someone sold someone else a sick cow, and no one ever forgot it. Fast forward to 1932 and their marriage was the Slovenian version of the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s. Even now I have various distant cousins who, depending on their lineage, refer to my grandfather as “The Crook” or my step-grandma as “The Witch.” My people have long memories.
I was relating this story to my partner and I mentioned that I’m certainly glad that unlike my cousins I’m not one to hold a grudge.
He laughed out loud. “You hold a grudge forever,” he said. Of course I denied it but when I stopped he said: “What about last Friday night?” he said. “You refused to go to that seafood restaurant with your sisters. You know, the one with the good view and the good bread.”
“Last time I was there I found a Brillo pad in my rice,” I said. “Why would I go back?”
“It was 1998!” He said, and folded his arms. “Sounds like a grudge to me.”
I denied it, but then he said, “Why do we use State Farm for our car insurance?”
“After the way Allstate treated me when I got out of grad school I swore I’d never give them a cent of my money,” I told him, which was true. After graduation I interviewed with Allstate for an entry-level job for which I was profoundly unqualified. The interviewer took about ten seconds to determine my unsuitability and launched into a viscious diatribe about “unskilled liberal arts graduates wasting my time.” Then she told me to keep my day job (I was a waiter at Bennagin’s) because “it’s all you’re qualified for.” It was a speech I’ve never forgotten, or forgiven.
He continued: “And you won’t fly United, even when their fares are cheaper than Delta’s.”
“You know why I hate United,” I said darkly. Right after the Allstate incident, in desperation, I took a job as a flight attendant for United. I quit my waiter job, rented an apartment In Chicago with some friends and was all set to head north. Then, 2 days before I was due to leave, United called me.
“Your application says you are 6’3” tall,” said a snarly voice.
“That’s true,” I said.
“Well, flight attendants cannot be over six feet tall,” the Voice said, “so we can’t use you.”
“I quit my job,” I told him. “I rented an apartment in Chicago.”
“Oops,” he said, and hung up.
“I’ll never forgive United for that stunt,” I said, adding, “even if it was in 1984.”
“Sounds like a grudge to me,” he said smugly. He was silent for a bit. “And what about that lady we saw in Publix? You totally snubbed her.”
“Kitty Carter?” I said. “She said she’d go the Prom with me and then dumped me three days beforehand because she got a better offer.” Even though it was back in 1977 my humiliation still burned. I sighed. “And now she wants to be friends?”
My partner shrugged: “And you don’t hold a grudge?”
“Nope,” I said. “I just have a long memory.”