Meanwhile, Over In Sundries

The SJG always knew that one day a lifetime of dancing my hearty-party out would pay off. Either my soulful dance skills would land me on the Broadway stage (still waiting) or land me at Target, where a jazzy sashay to the left would save my life. You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? How dare you. Details: On Wednesday, I schlepped to my former favorite hang, Westwood Village. Back in the day, we called it the Village. As in, "Let's meet in the Village." If I said, "Let's meet in the Village" today, you might think I'm referencing the Sunset Retirement Village, conveniently located three miles north in scenic Van Nuys. But back to the Village in question, where I used to meet my friends at the movies and hope a nice adult would take pity and buy us tickets for an R-rated movie like "The Owl and the Pussycat."

Westwood Village when it was great 

Yesterday I met Elena, a simply great gal I've had the honor of knowing since junior high, in Westwood. Instead of meeting her for ice cream sundaes at Wil Wright's, which would've required a time machine, I met her at Corner Bakery for egg white scramblers. Later, we headed back to City Target, the only place in Westwood that offers a free two-hour validation. Nostalgia: Target used to be Macy's which used to be Bullock's, and when I went to UCLA, I used to pretend I worked at Bullock's and park there for free. After lunch, Elena and I had just walked into Target when we heard a commotion over in Sundries. They don't call it that anymore because no one knows what it means, other than, a little this, a little that; nothing worthy of its own section. Much like my career.

The commotion involved a shoplifter, yelling "I'm not on drugs!" as a store employee and a security guard tried to calm her down and drag her across the store, simultaneously -- two activities that don't necessarily go together. "Let's get the eff out of here," I said to Elena, in my dainty way. A nimble gal with quick reflexes, Elena made a quick move for the sliding glass door. The SJG wasn't quite so swift. I found myself a moving target in, of all places, Target. Coming right at me: the security guard, the store employee and the wailing shoplifter. With the grace of Laurel and Hardy, I flashed my jazz hands and Fosse'd out of the way, avoiding a nasty run-in, head injury and potentially lucrative lawsuit against Target.

In the parking lot, Elena, an excellent dancer since birth, not to mention a lover of all things Zumba, felt compelled to recreate my life-saving Fosse move, over and over, while I bent over laughing, struggling not to wet myself. Hmm. I just might be ready for the Sunset Retirement Village, after all.