The Case of the Missing Bananas... part 2

So, when last we spoke, "Linda" was about to leave my house to go pick up her sister, whose car had broken down.

I put Linda and her sister and their troubles out of my mind and went back to work. Thursdays are a bit frantic for me, as I have generally laid about and done nothing on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and, knowing that I'm off on Fridays, I scurry about like a poisoned rat, trying to get my desk cleaned off and my gigantic pile of files completed and put away before I go home. The boss' wife sits at my desk on Fridays, and it wouldn't do to have the SAME work there, week after week. Someone may get suspicious.

But alas, the pile never fully goes away. It is a sad truth in the legal profession that NO CASE is ever fully dispensed-with. Meaning, in short, that we never truly get rid of ANY of those fuckers. And Social Security is THE worst. The Social Security Administration spews more paperwork than you can possibly imagine, and they don't just send out letters. They send copies of letters too. For every letter our clients get, we get one also. As do their doctors and grandmothers, and third grade teachers. It's not hard work, keeping up with it all, but it IS busy-work, and ANY work is generally more work than I want to do.

At any rate, I did as much as I could do felt like doing on Thursday, up to about 11:30, then I zipped to the kitchen to prepare my boss something delicious for his lunch. Delicious is a relative term around our office, as my boss considers a fluffy sardine-onion-feta cheese omelet to be a delicious thing....

Promptly at 12:00-ish, I hied myself away home to put the puppies out to pee. As I approached my house, I heard laughter and much merrymaking. This inspired me. "They must really love cleaning," says I to me, "to be laughing and having such a great time..." Then I heard something that pulled me up short:

A man's laugh. A man. Laughing. IN. MY. HOUSE!

What the SAM-HILL is going on here? There's only ONE man who ever is in my house, and HE. DOES. NOT. LAUGH.

I proceeded with caution, my ears fine-tuned and honed in suspiciously on those chortles, guffaws, and trills of free-hearted glee.

Finally, I came to my door and JERKED it open quickly. I wanted to catch 'em in the act... whatever that act happened to be to cause such laughter. I knew most of MY laughter happens in the bedroom, thank you very much, and I wanted to discover what it was about my living room which inspired such hilarity.

I walked in quickly, shouted "Hey there!" and opened the door to Thing 2's room, as my sharp-as-a-whatever you call those little sharp thingies mind gathered and processed information from my eyes and ears at lightening speed. That is to say, I ducked into Thing 2's room, but not before I noticed a STRANGE man on his knees cleaning my television screen, Linda BEHIND the tv cleaning the wall, and her FAT SISTER seated on her FAT KEISTER in my FAVORITE chair in front of my desk.

Linda called me back to the living room. "This is my sister, something-or-other, and her boyfriend Mr. Dumb Head....

Now, here's the thing. I'm not sophisticated. I'm not outrageously-insanely intelligent. I'm not prejudiced against people for things they cannot control, like race, or looks, or things of that nature. I'm not even, as a general rule, prejudiced against people for things they CAN control, like weight, or religious affiliation, or popularity.

Having said that, let me tell you that I LOATHE stupid people. I can spot 'em a mile away and I HATE those motherfuckers. I know it isn't fair. I know it isn't nice. But oh my sweet crispy jeebus, I cannot tolerate the face of idiocy. I'd sooner be boiled naked in a vat of hot fish oil than spend ONE MINUTE of my precious life in the company of a stupid person.

And I could tell the moment I laid eyes on Mr. Dumb Head that he was dumber than a five pound bag of stupid.

*sigh*

I tried to hold my breath. Because I don't even like sharing my AIR with these people. I don't want YOUR stupid mixing around in the same space occupied by MY crazy. The air becomes be-fouled, unclean, and possibly filled with poisonous gases.

But I retained my composure. Because my middle name is "Grace Under Pressure". And I said hello to the STOO-PID head, and his STOO-PID head girlfriend. Then I turned my back on them and retrieved my darling puppies, and took them outside.

When I came back in, I needed to get from Point A, which is inside my front door, to Point B, which is in front of my FRIDGE, because it was lunchtime and I was hungry. I decided to just make an attempt at barreling through the giant cloud of STOO-PID that was quickly filling up my living quarters.

But, sadly, it was not meant to be. Linda informed me that Mr. Dumb Head had a "question" for me. shit. I was gonna have to trade dialogue with this amateur.

"Yes?" I politely inquired, whilst attempting to look at a spot just over Mr. Dumb Head's left shoulder, because I cannot make myself look into the eyes of my enemy. And my enemy is STOO-PID. In any form.

"Whatchoo want for that Playstation 2, and those pads?" asks Mr. Dumb Head.

Wait. What? I just stood there and blinked. I had no clue what this moron was asking me, which doesn't say a whole hell of a lot about MY intelligence level, just at that moment, does it? "Oh Gawd!" I could hear myself think. "I'm getting dumber just being in the SAME ROOM as these creatures.

"Come here and I'll show you." says Mr. Dumb Head.

Oh, like I haven't heard THAT one before, Mr. Dumb Head.....

Better men than you, and most of them Dumb Heads too, have called me over to have a look-see, at this or that. I figured if he flashed me, I would scream, "Oh my Gawd! That looks like a PENIS! Only SMALLER!!" He would then die of embarrassment, thus ensuring my escape.

But no, he didn't call me over to stare at his Penile Projection. What he DID call me over for, was to see, tucked away neatly in a BLACK trash bag, folded and cords wrapped, was Thing 2's playstation 2, her Guitar Hero guitar, her Dance, Dance Revolution pad, her Karaoke microphone, and my Trivia clicker thingies. About 400 dollars worth of merchandise, I think, if I remember correctly putting all that shit on my various CREDIT CARDS. They will have cost me 52,000 dollars by the time I am finished paying for them, but that's neither here, not is it there.

My brain was trying to come up with a logical reason why this DOINK had my kids' shit in a BLACK trash bag, and fervently hoping I wasn't going to have to perform a Citizen's Arrest!! to regain possession of my merchandise.

What I SAID was: "Dude, NO! My kids just got all that shit for Christmas. It's not for sale. No way. No. Did I mention NO?" I'm also thinking, "All of this shit is in my living room floor, cables and shit hooked up to my television, tucked under this and that and OBVIOUSLY well used, even though new. What the fuck would make you think I would want to sell it?

At this point, I was fairly pissed off, and decided to make my exit. I'd pick up something for lunch at Wendy's, my home away from home.

Linda stopped me just as I opened the screen door. "Are you gonna lay my money out today? Or not?" I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at her. I thought it such a crass thing for her to say, that I, for a moment couldn't think of anything to say back to her. Finally, I found my voice. "Why yes, Linda, I certainly don't aim to cheat you. I just figured since you were working later today, I would pay you when I get home. But here, let me get your money for you now, just so we don't FORGET to pay you."

I got the money out of my purse and handed it over. Just as it dropped into her hand, Linda spoke again, "Did you know Mr. Dumb Head works at "Insert name of Fancy Schmancy Resort"? He works at the golf course.

I wondered how on earth to pull my face into a look that showed I CARED. "Huh." says I. That was the extent to which I have a shit where Mr. Dumb Fuck Head worked. And I turned for the door again.

"Miss Anne," said Linda. Oh come the FUCK ON, I'm thinking. What, do you want to tell me how well he's HUNG now? I pasted a blank look on my face and turned back to her. "Yes, Linda?"

"Yeah, he works at the golf course, and since my sister, Daisy Doofus' car broke down this morning, he couldn't get to work. I had to go pick them up, but I didn't have time to get him to HIS job this morning. So, he's been helping US."

And suddenly, it all clicked. Those SONS-of-WHORES were trying to get more money! I was so angry that, had I a hatchet in my hand, surely one of them would have left my home that day with nearly TWO heads. I wanted to ram their car with mine. I wanted to pour buckets of Pine-Sol infused water over their heads. I wanted to let the puppies chew on the tender flesh of their necks....

But what I did was turn around and smile. "How about that!" I exclaimed. "Lucky me, right?"
And I walked my fat ass out that door and into my car, spun off down the road, screaming and cursing the children of their CHILDREN's children as I sped back to work.

I was gonna have to tell Satan how they'd tried to fleece me. I would have to tell him about the games in the black trash bag. Satan would be apoplectic to discover a man in the house anyway. Oh, God help me Jesus, this was not going to go well. A big fat waxy ball of dread plopped into my stomach and commenced to making my insides fester and bleed....

I would find myself more angry than Satan that evening, as a matter of fact...

to be continued...