Moon in Gemini II

1. “What’s the most interesting aspect of this election astrologically?”“Every 20 years there’s a particular conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn coming together in an Earth sign. It is referred to as ‘Tecumseh’s Curse.’ And every president elected in a year ending in zero since 1840 has died in office.”“Not Ronald Reagan.”“Reagan’s conjunction occurred not in an Earth sign, but in an Air sign, and that is why he could survive his assassination attempt. But this next election goes back to an Earth sign. It’s likely that the person who is elected President will not fulfill his term…” -Ann Louise Bardach, interview with Frank Don, “Pol Stars.” New York Times Sunday Magazine, November 5, 2000.

2. “The ancients claim that this is an unfortunate number, and if the name equals a 43, the spelling should be changed to equal a more fortunate compound number. It is symbolized by the tendency towards revolution, upheaval, strife, conflict, and war. It carries the vibration of repeated disappointment and failure.”-Linda Goodman, Star Signs

Ladies and Gentlemen, our 43rd (P)resident, George W. Bush.

I’m writing this the day before Thanksgiving, 2001, but recounting an incident from November of 2000, a couple of days into the whole recount kerschwitz. So we know what's happened then, and since. But that really doesn’t matter. A bunch of us knew, knew something was coming, we just weren’t sure in which form it would arrive. Still.. that’s not the focus of this story. So here we go..

The first couple arrived about a half-hour earlier than the second. They were in their late 40’s/early 50’s, affluent, white (she was very thin), hailing, maybe, from one of the southern suburbs. As I was pouring them coffee, they let me know there would only be four of them, but they wanted a big booth because they were planning a New Year’s Eve party and would need a lot of room. “Sure, no problem. If you need anything, let me know,” is probably what was said. Then I left to take care of other tables.

While waiting tables, I tend to leave incomplete parties alone, preferring to visually check them, along with other tasks at the moment within the physical space of my station. It’s a good way to observe people before you have to wait on them. A psychological head start, an indication, as to the direction in which one’s waiting experience is, in relation to said table, headed. Forewarned is forearmed. And from a distance, it looked like I’d need lots of arms for this group.

The couple talked low, close together, tossing back and forth ugly facial gestures and angular poses to the other. One would become intense and intent, and the other would frown. His or her intensity would subside when anyone passed, but only momentarily. I watched their quiet psychic battle from the wait station, wondering if anybody else was seeing it also. No one paid any attention, or they chose not to notice. These two don’t love each other any more.

The woman spotted the other couple at the entrance, and poof! They completely changed personas. They got up to welcome their guests, smiling, laughing, bantering between them while this new dynamic situated itself in the large booth, that itself was to provide the necessary space to plan a party later. I poured the new couple’s coffee first, re-filled the first couple’s cups and left, for they needed time to “catch up and then decide what to eat!” Fair enough-I’ll be back.

As I left, the women began to gossip and the men put on their business faces to “talk shop.” They carried on in this fashion for another half-hour or so, calling me over twice more for coffee, before ordering. They each adopted a dignified manner while talking. Serious tones about something light… salads and bagels for the women, “Farmer’s Breakfasts” for the men, then they all returned to their conversation. When the order was complete, I left to find a terminal, and to do other tasks. I returned with coffee a few minutes later.

They were discussing the recount, and obviously in favor of Bush. They were shocked that Gore would even try to contest the vote, even though he won the popular vote nationally. The most striking aspect of the collective conversation was no one, no one, had anything remotely new and original to offer. They regurgitated the right wing spin by rote, gathered, I’m sure, from multiple exposures to Rush Limbaugh, Chris Matthews, Fox News, George Will, and/or William Safire. That whole line of “thought.” Nothing new, nothing but “pundit-spew.” Lots of “spew.”

They continued the conversation until midway through their stay, when they decided to focus on more important matters at hand: The Party. The busser and I cleared their table of everything but coffee cups, and the women began to direct the organizational phase of the process. Papers were spread across the table, and plans for the Best-New-Year’s-Party-Ever began to solidify. As I was walking by, the male of the first couple excused himself and followed me away from the table to the terminal by the bar, closest to my section. “I’m gonna need these checks split up,” he said. “I don’t want to pay for anything that’s not mine.” Of course. That was all he needed to say--about the meal, about himself.

They all left together, eventually, walking to their respective upscale cars, I’m sure, the comfort of home another 30 to 45 minutes away. Plenty of time to choose and adjust the personas they would soon adopt for the long ride home. Plenty of time to say what little remained to be said. The moon was in chatty, adaptable, duplicitous Gemini, and the whole restaurant continued to talk, all day long.

II