Friday, September 22, 2006

FWG’s not-so-excellent all-night adventure - part two

Thanks Elli - for keeping me honest. Boy you can’t get away with anything after your diary goes public…

5:10 AM

Okay - so I’m on the road again and looking for something to do. I feel like going shopping - just for the novelty of it since that’s something I rarely do - except for used books, that is. But the only thing I need that I can think of is the bathroom scale we discussed in part one but surely no store of that nature would be open at five in the morning. Wal-Mart hasn’t gone 24-hours yet but I assure - oh yes I assure - the day is coming. I’m no Nostradamus but that’s a prediction you can count on, my friend.

I do however spy a 24-hour Dominion grocery store and that seems like as decent a place as any to hang in. I’m low on toothpaste and shampoo so I grab a hand basket and go foraging. I go for the purplish shampoo that smells like fruit and comes in the clear bottle with the fish-aquariumesque plant-life mural inside the rear face. I have no use for the special formula it boasts but the whole pretty purple package is just too swell to resist.

The Colgate Total with glittery gold lettering is on sale. Groovy. I also scoop a box of Q-tips. I still have half a box at home but I like to keep a real good supply on hand. Most days cleaning my ears is the closest I get to having sex. We have a real close relationship, Q-tips and I.

A box of kleenex. And what the heck - let’s spoil myself - a new toothbrush. White handle with purple accents. Should go nicely with the new shampoo.

But whoa! What’s this? One of those revolving ‘tower’ displays filled with - do my eyes deceive me? Bathroom scales! Bathroom scales in a grocery store. Who’da thunk? Maybe it’s a sign from above. There are two kinds of scales here. Same brand but two different models. They’re both analog - with the dial, not digital. One has a 300 lb capacity and one 330 lbs. Hmm. What a dilemma. I’m rather perturbed that us post-300-pounders are being made to pay extra. Bastards. I wonder if I could get away with the cheaper model and just add 300 to the over-revolved result? Would that work? I have to think about this so I leave the scales be for the moment while I go search for parmesan cheese.

In the end I forget all about the scales and leave the store with just my food and toiletries.

6:00 AM

The sky is beginning to brighten nicely. It shall be a fine day ahead weather-wise. I shall be an ass-dragging sleepless bag of crap of course but I shall be so under a happy yellow sun.

Back home, I check the back-door. Still locked. I cross Queen Street and discover the Starbucks has just opened for business. I’m their first customer of the day.

“Café Americano hot - venti - with room please.”

Listen to me eh? Have I become a swift-talking coffee-house hipster doufus or what?

I sit down with my drink at the only wheel-chair friendly table in the place. It’s clearly marked such too. But it’s also the only table at the proper angle to a window to view the patio doors of Steve-o’s bedroom. I need to keep my eye on them. I’m waiting for his bedroom light to go on so I can rush over and bang on the door at a moment he’s likely to hear it.

I wait…

7:15 AM

I’m getting tired of waiting.

Furthermore the sky has grown too light too soon. Steve-o will have no need to turn on his bedroom lamp. There shall be no beacon.

I assume he must be up by now. I leave the coffee shop and hit the payphone nearby. My nocturnal retail pit stops have left me a new supply of quarters.

‘Ker-plunk,’ goes the first quarter. I dial the home number. No answer. Voice mail.

“Hello Steve!” I say very warmly, “Did you sleep well? It’s FWG calling. Perhaps you remember me? I used to live in the bedroom down the hallway from yours - back in the days when I had apartment keys. Anyways I just called to say hi and howz things - oh - and too remind you to unlock the goddam door before I scale the front of the building, crash through your patio doors and rape you anally with a flashlight while I force Regis to watch! Thanks! Have a nice day!”

Oh - I may not have mentioned - we have a Regis Philbin. He’s cardboard and life-size. He’s an integral member of the household. We like to play games with him such as Hide the Regis which is always good for a fright-and-a-half and a good laugh. He was also the door-man at the Grotto of Cool house swarming bash and he’s the host of the G.O.C. weekly Potato Soup with Regis Day.

But I digress.

I pop in a second quarter and try the cell number. Voice mail again.

“Little pig,”
I whisper, “Little pig, let me in! Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down! AND THEN I’LL RAPE YOU WITH A FLASHLIGHT WHILE REGIS WATCHES YOU BASTARD…! YOU PYGMY…! YOU FUCKER!”

I’m short of breath. I hang up the phone. People are looking at me funny. I walk home and take a seat on the bench outside the back door. He has to come out. He can’t hide in there forever.

And he didn’t of course. He let me in. I let him live. I called the boss and told him I’d be in later in the day because I’d had a difficult night and no sleep. He asked about my current projects, promised he would arrange extensions and insisted I take the day off. He’s not a bad guy sometimes. I went to bed.

The End.

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