A Waiting Game; In Earnest This Time.

 

She will wait for them to return with it from a 'bad' part of town. Despite what some wish to believe, her father has a stereotyped way of walking that once in a while puts a great many bystanders at ease. 

It's about time too, because all that anyone feels like discussing is how novel the approaching atmosphere feels, at least to those whose lives have taken a turn upward. But the gem that will be saved from an imminent dissolution is barely a rumor to the kind of smarty pants office clones whose lunch we will have when all is said and done.

The small room in which she waits is a new one to her. Even though she remembers giving birth there, the memory is roundly false since it's a known fact that the room was only constructed after her oldest son turned five which was, if I'm being honest, in the neighborhood of sixty five years ago. In any event, she likes to rustle papers while she waits. It gives her a feeling of usefulness. Not to mention it's a good way to pass the time away from the TV. She likes to worry that her favorite show will be canceled. There's a peculiar zest to the schedule of worrying she's adopted, as if certain moments have a legitimate importance. Why does she handle domestic items only while wearing latex gloves? Again, it's all about an emotional valence. She just can't get enough. They plough her minimally, though. Why? They tell her it's for the good of the entire grouping of folks. They've had it.

Now you think you know, but do you really? I'd be happy to arrange for something that has knots in it to be placed somewhere inside an office park. That way you can feel it folding in upon you and you

won't get scared, at least not before the night turns.

So when they do finally return, they do so in way that's said to be empty-handed, thus encouraging a disappointment in this matron of a certain age. Among the many armchairs she's destroyed in her golden years is one that I'm sure you've seen before I decided to entertain a newfound interest in Gnosticism. You can see that what appears to be a small crank in the rear is genuinely fake. It helps to keep people alert. They'll need it in the coming panic. Now, as never before, some objects will not go quietly, or at all. Which is why I don't think she'll mind. Just please remember to bring all your receipts. That way it won't look 'sloppy' when certain uncomfortable questions are asked. The clipboards too. That'll get 'em every time. Watch out. The males tend to be more dangerous.

____________________

A Question of Personal Preferences.

 

What is it that makes me want to tie certain people to particular clues left behind after I walloped a guy who butt in to a well considered exchange of ideas and opinions? Could it be because all around our unit neighbors report a cascade of odors which foretell a tragic delay of routine licensing procedures? It may be that I'm imagining too many television programs which have never seen the business end of a control panel. It's also not entirely impossible that a forlorn associate who needed time off to transport his aging Mother to a podiatry clinic was suffering from Oppositional Dismissive Disorder [ODD]. Nonetheless, I resolved to send a cure-all through the Postal System in hopes that it might reach the affected party. What I didn't know at the time was how long it would take to get situated in our Nation's Breadbasket once I'd put my mind to it. In what other time in history could one measly stinker hold such sway over obese decision makers and their insufferable retinues? And, by the way, please don't be under the illusion that this is any kind of 'rhetorical' question. Because, if you do, a future guest might get bumped off.

I know by now that what could clinch the deal would be the kind of performance which most grown-ups would be loathe to find indelible in the extreme. In their faces you can see the doubts start to crack, revealing all manner of isolated allegiences. To the contrary, one of our daughter's finest moments was when she turned to my wife (her genetic mother) and said something which neither of us will ever forget. It happened one night at about 2:29 AM, in the last week of June 2006. I'd been studying the Bible in my den when, all of a sudden, there was a loud crashing noise coming from our neighbor's carport. It sounded like someone had strung together some pots and pans, and then decided to sit down, very calmly, and write a short note to a former acquaintance from the copper shielding industry. Weirdly for that time of night, I saw a group of middle-aged men gathered at the corner down the block. They all wore tunics of varying muted colors. That's what gave them away. Never before have I felt so personally violated.

You'll find that if you use a soft-cell grip on the shorter end, no one will think twice about including you in some harmless repartee. It's a guarantee that, even if they look in your general direction, no one will feel it necessary to go overboard. They'll stick to the basics. Once that's taken care of, there might be a short ride. If the car is a late model affair, it would be a good idea to bring something to wipe down the seat after you get out. When everyone offers to hold hands in a display of infantile solidarity, we advise you to get your bearings in the overall atmosphere. Watch for subtle signs of disapproval. These can be in the slope of the eyebrows, the angle of the wrists or even a mildly haughty tone when asking for a moment of silence. When all is said and done, you have to admit that a mainstay of ineligible narcolepsy is for those of us not otherwise burdened with secondary market devices to do the bare minimum to ensure a peaceful transgression. How could anyone think otherwise?

__________________________