While I wish instead that the past week I’d been captured by the (fucking) laundry and held ransom for Tide Cold Water and a new Maytag, it’s really just been a trying time that I hope to laugh about later.
Barb at work drives me insane. Barb and I do not get along. There is no hostility, merely two women who think the other is crazy. She hates my wallets, my shoes, the fact that I own a purse that cost more than her outfit galls her every day I bring (which is more often just to bother her) I can’t even think about her without getting all up in her grille. And so I’ve been avoiding her. Last Tuesday I was running a little bit late for work from lunch, knowing that she had to leave early to care for her sick brother, and not wanting to hear about it (or worse, have her email my boss). Being late all the parking spots near the building were full, and so I circled around, wasting precious minutes trying to find something that wasn’t in BFE. Finally giving up I pulled into a visitor spot at the front. Let them tow the M. I’ll just pay the ticket as if it was nothing, which will add up the points in my favor. While I find it distasteful to blame others, it was really the line at Starubck’s fault for my tardiness (although one could argue that it was Barb’s fault to begin with that I needed an iced mocha bracer to make it through the afternoon). So, I’m pulling in, trying to scoop up the iPod and the sunglasses and the purse, and the door is dinging, so I use my foot to kick the door open. A little more forceful than I originally intended, but it got the job done. And by job I mean knocking Barb onto her well padded ass and chipping her tooth. She was up like a prize fighter, stuttering ‘You did that on PURPOSE!’ at me and calling for help. The receptionist came running outside to weigh in on what had happened, apparently after calling for security, who arrived shortly thereafter, to a gaggle of women and men taking sides on the issue. Barb’s lip was swelling, and it seemed that it was bleeding inside as well. Realizing she had an audience, she tried swooning, though no one was really quick on the uptake to catch her, not wanting to be pinned by 200lbs of whiny. I explained what happened, though Barb took it poorly, demanding that the police be called, that I had assaulted her, and how was she now to go check her brother out of his group home? I merely sat there dumfounded, unable to defend myself against a deranged woman who I had given a fat lip (and chipped tooth) with my Chrysler. Barb drives a Mazda, so perhaps it was fitting. By now the crowd had swelled to include people from other buildings and probably people from the street, who thought perhaps we were grilling braughts and stopped by to see what the ruckus was ’bout in so? Suddenly Barb burst into tears, wailing, ‘I don’t know why she would just attack me like that, I’ve never done anything to her’ and I knew that the police had arrived. We were separated, taken to different corners to talk to the officers. My officer, Denise, was very friendly, listened to me compassionately, went to confer with her partner, and then came back to escort me to her cruiser. Yes, it seemed that Barb was pressing charges. The ride down to the police station was surreal. Denise asked me where I got my blouse (Chicago), complimented me on my makeup (Prescriptives) and loved my nail color (Bruise). Once at the station I desperately tried to reach someone, anyone. Esteban was in New Mexico, Ward and June on a cruise, and my mother was not answering her cell phone. So I called Mo, who picked up on the first ring, ‘OH MY GOD YOU JUST DID NOT KILL BARB!’ and I had to relate the story. The sergeant? Across from me merely rolled his eyes as I started blubbering to Amy that I needed her to come down and bail me out, that everyone was gone. It was a moment of weakness. It also seemed that I had jumped the shark a little bit and needed to go before a judge. Anway, Mo showed up a couple hours later, out of breath and flush with cash. It seemed that she too thought that I would need to be bailed out and had gone and pawned her car at a title loan place. It seems they do a brisk business of Mercury Sable’s across the street from the courthouse. The first thing Mo said to me was ‘You’re paying me back!’ before gloating about the big sister that suddenly found herself in trouble. She wouldn’t let me get into the car until I gave her a check. Though I questioned whether it was really her car anymore. And so I’ve been sulking about the house. Figuring out which lawyer to hire, and catching up on my Six Feet Under. I should be doing some of my freelance work, but instead it was summer sloth girl getting all the attention, while the usual me screamed uselessly in the back of my mind. Chauffi was no help, as he kept telling me that I could make a living writing Penthouse Forum type escapades from prison. The Darling, Darling Mare promised to send me Canadian drugs baked into cakes, while William pointed out that Orange wasn’t my color and that if I had to pick up trash on the side of the road it was much better than dealing with prison food after they went with that Pride Pyramid. Esteban has been doing dishes and cleaning out the litter box without any passive aggressive prompting while June has mustered up her Garden Club to help me fight this. It’s nice, how everyone is working hard to keep my spirits up.
Now, if only someone would do something about the (fucking) laundry.
