the day job

I am reporting from the Whine Mine on the day BEFORE the full Flower Moon - the moon of compassion and healing. I can't wait until tonight!!!

The Scene & the Players:

Young Miss-On-the-Job in upscale mall ragshop approaches three customers who are busily pawing through the piles of $50 graphic T's straight from the child labor sweatshops back East somewhere.

Sig-MOMMA, per her neck tattoo (size 22, platinum teeth and a diamond studded ear piece blinking frantically) complains loudly and profanely to Young Miss-On-the-Job and her phone that there is nothing in this store in her size and it's DIZCRIMINASHUN! 

Meanwhile, BUGZY (face piercings, bald head, giant plastic breasts) is busy at the T table stuffing stacks of shirts into her booster bag, but her erstwhile assistant/lookout, ANGELFACE (tiger face tats, three different colored wiglets and 2" red toenails hanging out her sandals) has fainted away under the same table - the drugs finally kicked in!

Sig-MOMMA switches deftly over from her lawyer to call 911 and uses the distraction to stuff a full stack of shirts down the back of her spandex shirt as if Young Miss-On-the-Job was carrying a white cane and walking a harnessed German shepherd. “WHAT &#$@! HUMP? ARE YOU DISSING MY @%$# PERSON??!”

Young Miss-On-the-Job has gotten nervous and pushed her Panic Button summoning Mall Security and as they come through the front door, BUGZY takes out her Taser for self defense and accidentally tases Sig-MOMMA who's earpiece shorts out setting her blond helmet afire.

Overcome with anxiety and lattes, Young Miss-On-the-Job vomits on ANGLEFACE who revives, rolls over and bites BUGZY on the ankle. Sig-MOMMA is busy stomping out her smoldering wig, one mallcop has handcuffed the sleeping ANGELFACE to his partner's leg as EMS arrives on the scene and takes over.

BUGZY fled the scene with approximately $900 worth of merchandise and Young Miss-on-the-Job complains about having to phone in the report AFTER she has clocked out and she wants to be reimbursed for her Kung Pao rabbit & three iced mochaccinos - $44.99 and another teeth whitening session, $110.00. End of report.


(When do I get my Fox Pilot and Which of the Tramps of NJ will play the part of Young-Miss-on-the-Job? Stay tuned - DISCLAIMER - the preceding was overheard and here paraphrased from a meeting at a local Borders "Writers At Large" meeting. The topic of discussion was "New Stir Fry recipes using rejection slips for extra fiber" but the speaker was successful and without credence.-ed)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pillow Talk

Image
  The phone rang four times before I was able to grope the handset out of the cradle. Groggy and hoarse, a muffled “Lo?” was as much as I could offer, my head still on the pillow.   “Is Kitty there?”   I heard the door of a phonebooth screech a few inches and thud shut. I needed to hear his voice again. Immediately. “Who did you want?”   “Kitty. I don't know her last name. We met at the Hi-Lo the other night.”   “Hmmm. The Hi-Lo, huh? She gave you my number?”   “914-232-5646?” He was off by one. Close. So close. The acoustics of the phonebooth was intimate. His voice was like melted butter and dark syrup swirled together. Salty, sweet, smoothly overwhelming.   “No. No kitty here. Just me.”   I yawned. If I could purr, I would have.   “So what number is this?”   “And why would I give you my number if you weren't looking for me in the first place? I snuggled deeper into the warmth of my nest. “Hmmn?”   “Solid point but can I have some slack cause I’m gla
Read more

S3:E82

  There is little to know. It’s dark and I’m thirsty. It’s quiet. A soft, steady wind coming and going from  different points of my compass. I’m floating on my back in water as warm as the air. It moves like the sea,  lifting me closer to stars I don’t recognize. Lowering me down like it’s a living, breathing thing I’m inside of.  Pain comes with those fake stars, stays too long, and wears out its welcome. If I think about place, position,  or perspective, I get dizzy-sick, so I try not to think ‘there’ or ‘where’. At least pain is an anchor. There’s touch and smell. Kind, caring strangers peck at me, busy but gentle, all sharp with antiseptic over sweat. A woman who smelled like fresh dirt and green things held her hands to my face and bargained with strange gods. Another touched my hands, my hair over and over. She smelled like a party. I’m washed, dried, stabbed, dressed, undressed, stabbed. Repeat and again. Then he comes, holds my hand. A life force, a dragon. Steel, flesh, and fi
Read more

S2:E53

  Starting at dawn to beat the heat got them to lunch by ten-thirty. They lounged on the crude temporary front steps, ate sandwiches from paper sacks, drank Gatorade or beer, and smoked. Gabe tipped his head back, looked up the front of the still-skeletal structure, and asked, “How are you with heights?” Jack shrugged. “Spent half my life on rooftops. Why?” Gabe looked skyward again. “Good, ‘cause way up there on the third level, this layout has a row of clerestory windows. If Ray had his way, we’d be working off ladders, but I’m gonna break his balls to rent some scaffolding.”  He pronounced it ‘clear story’ and Jack was thrown. He knew what they were, but just last night he heard it pronounced clair-RES-tory by a guy he’d stabbed and thrown off a moving train. “What did you call them?” Gabe repeated, “clerestories. Big, fixed-pane fuckers. Heavy as shit. Expensive.” Jack dragged his tongue along the new sharp edge on his lateral incisor. “Just another day at the office. Clear stories
Read more