Juvenile Stunt: Admission

 

For some reason, I feel remarkably comfortable admitting to my part in a rather juvenile stunt. You should know that I've been home-bound since the accident and I've lost the ability to tell the difference. What I could do, though, was reach through very quickly and then withdraw my hand before anyone got wind of a creeping suspicion. From the way they looked at me, no one would ever guess that I once dated the Swedish puff-ball champion, Ilona Stewart. These kinds of things just come with the territory. Or so I thought until that day in the early Spring of '97. I'd been let go from my job at the Carruthers Parking Light Facility due to unsupervised hiatus clumps. My best friend in those days, Jamie Basnik, had enrolled his son in a tertiary program and I was on guard for skin eruptions which would only complicate matters. Especially where it matters most, which would be right in the cabasa!

By the time I shifted into second form, I knew beyond any kind of shadow that the officers who'd made my life pure hell for the last sixteen years were now on their way to dancing with the wrong end of a hedge trimmer, if you catch my drift. Their names were Eplar Panistode and Rasmin Bastirk. If I recall correctly, the taller one had a shifty gait and the other just couldn't be bothered to make even the smallest effort at conjugal living. I'd seen an article about them in a Sunday supplement several years before things got really out of hand. I'd tried to rein in their activities by keeping them on a short leash. For some reason I got it into my head that they might enjoy a brief excursion to a lakeside mall of some renown. What I didn't count on, though, was the way they would try to intimidate some of the younger busybodies who thought nothing of trashing people's reputations by the truckload. Now that I've had time to reconsider, there's no doubt in my mind that some of our emergency personnel could use a refresher course on basic mental hygiene. It might save them a pittance in the long run.

But now, or so I've heard, everything is ruined. In that some of the folks we attended school with in the early aughts seem to have a strangle hold on effectuating apparent misconceptions. It always seems to bring out the best in people who should have no right to expect a fair shake in life. If I ever have to sign off on a home invasion already in progress and then take the heat for significant breakage of frail items, someone might be asked help me take a calming breath when the whole thing comes apart in her hands. Because if there's one thing you can be sure of, it's that her hands have never really seen anything remotely like the kind of trouble that could get us into hot water. The little booklet which I make a practice to keep at-the-ready is replete with a full roster of planning stage revisions. I already had to take a bath when things went majorly south. But I could always count on some of our Efficiency Experts to try their hand at wheedling a distracting affair to smooth things over. It's when stuff gets a bit 'crinkly' that I usually have to take a leak. If anyone thinks that my family is unlikely to hold off on following through, they should maybe return to an earlier chapter for professional guidance. Because, if there's one thing which remains to be determined, then I'll have one of my suits hand-delivered to our boys downtown and they'll see if they can talk sense into some of our piebald participants. Otherwise I'll be forced to look into the acquisition of a solution-oriented enigma. Don't say you weren't warned. We have ways. And ways to go. Just don't let it stamp you as a quitter.  

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