Day six: She drank her morning tea, while comfortably propped on her new bum enhancer and perusing the web site of state correctional institute. The total population of the facility containers more people than the town she grew up in. More people than the town she grew up in and the next, bigger town over, the one with a high school, two restaurants, a cafe, and three bait stores. She wondered if she could do this job. The amount of work may be overwhelming but it was the fact she would be feeding very very bad people. The type of people she would consider letting starve before throwing a crust of bread. Her last job she spoon fed the over privileged lamb chops and prime rib as they recovered. Now her challenges would be staffing the cooks who taught the inmates how to cook mystery meat as a trade. Paedophiles where the last peoples, in her mind, that should be in a kitchen. Six months ago ,the night manager who her last company found out had a molestation record had been fired. He had supervised the high school kids, but managed to creep even the adults out.
She got into her jeep and drove to the compound to take a closer look. She had always driven by it on the freeway, tucked discreetly behind a thin grove of pine trees. The chain link fence had always be noticeable, if you looked, but she just preferred to look away and pretend it did not exist. Today she drove slowly around it's perimeter until she came to a wide shoulder, where she pulled over to stare up at the razor wire and drum her fingers until the security truck with two guards in it on the other slowed to a stop on the other side of the wire. She pulled away then, not to fast, as she did not want to cause suspicion. As she headed back north and glanced in the review mirror, she thought she could do this. Vanity be damned. She had no choice, with her husband sick, and the bills coming in, she would be the man. As long as she could always drive away.
She drove back into her hometown to the salon, and spent the last of her cash cutting off her hair and buying a suit.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Aftermath
Day four: Finds the girl, showered, dressed and standing in the doctors office in front of the illuminated x-ray machine. The good doc has left her waiting in this room far too long and she has flicked on the machine to examine herself from the inside alone. She stares, open mouthed and horrified at what she is seeing on the bright screen. The door opens and she turns, mouth still agape as the Dr enters the room. He hastily flicks off the softly humming screen, aggravated by her unautorized action. They head for the consulting table with her medical file tucked under the care givers arm, safety out of her reach. But she does not want to witness his sympathetic side step jig when he musters the courage to break the bad news to her. Her eyes have confirmed just what she did not come to hear.
"You know there are treatments, that might help you," he said. "Prosthetics."
With a grandiose wave of the hand, he flicks the black and white x-ray on. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the abnormality in her upper abdomen. "What did those people do to me when they did that experimental transplant? What exactly did they put in me?", she though as her raised her accusatory finger at the odd shapes outlined on the screen, but the correct answer came to her. "BRA HOOKS!", she blurted, now fully understanding what she was looking at.
Good thing there was a professional in the room at that time to point out the spare bone she had grown that was protruding out of the bottom left on the image, causing her pain. A tail is a thing of nature she thought. A tail she can live with, with a shoe lift and a butt pad to sit on and the occasional adjustment. Might even put a stop to the headache and violent PMS. But treatment could not cure the massive amount of gas that the doctor further went on to point out in the x-ray. So the gimpy munkay shoved the new lift into her sandal, left the doctor a silent but deadly bomb and clumped out of the room.
Day five: After refusing to repeat the hated unemployment mantra Hubby has been coaching her *, she finds herself somewhere south of the cities, in some parking lot that had she been paying any attention, might have learned was Burnsville, or Owatona, had she not been stuffing her mouth with fresh apples, trying to eat them faster than the driver, while pretending to ask pertainet questions while longing for her new friend butt pad. **Her Cell phone rang after the forth hour of down pour and she watched the current wash her new lift out of her sandal as she stood by the sweet corn counting out a dozen perfectly ripe ears to the Gucci wrapped Asian lady. She briefly considered chasing it down stream to the lower end of the parking lot, racing the spongy pad to rescue it before it reached gutter but it was more important to make the correct small talk with her hopefully new employer . Later, as she shivered like a dirty wet mop on the edge of the truck seat as it bounced on the detour that added another miserable hour to her day, she wondered if it was too late to crawl to the edge of the river, where interstate 35 had collapsed and throw her self in, and damn her state of being.
*I am unemployable. The lowliest of the low. A determent to my honey.Therefore I must do whatever he asks.
**It was a farmers market damn it. My teenager's place of employment who love my son for his work ethic was short on help as their employee's have returned to collage, needed someone to fill in. I like to pretend that I was working at "advertisement and marketing", but it was a damn farmers market. I did it to get away from hubby and his mantra.
to be continued....
"You know there are treatments, that might help you," he said. "Prosthetics."
With a grandiose wave of the hand, he flicks the black and white x-ray on. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the abnormality in her upper abdomen. "What did those people do to me when they did that experimental transplant? What exactly did they put in me?", she though as her raised her accusatory finger at the odd shapes outlined on the screen, but the correct answer came to her. "BRA HOOKS!", she blurted, now fully understanding what she was looking at.
Good thing there was a professional in the room at that time to point out the spare bone she had grown that was protruding out of the bottom left on the image, causing her pain. A tail is a thing of nature she thought. A tail she can live with, with a shoe lift and a butt pad to sit on and the occasional adjustment. Might even put a stop to the headache and violent PMS. But treatment could not cure the massive amount of gas that the doctor further went on to point out in the x-ray. So the gimpy munkay shoved the new lift into her sandal, left the doctor a silent but deadly bomb and clumped out of the room.
Day five: After refusing to repeat the hated unemployment mantra Hubby has been coaching her *, she finds herself somewhere south of the cities, in some parking lot that had she been paying any attention, might have learned was Burnsville, or Owatona, had she not been stuffing her mouth with fresh apples, trying to eat them faster than the driver, while pretending to ask pertainet questions while longing for her new friend butt pad. **Her Cell phone rang after the forth hour of down pour and she watched the current wash her new lift out of her sandal as she stood by the sweet corn counting out a dozen perfectly ripe ears to the Gucci wrapped Asian lady. She briefly considered chasing it down stream to the lower end of the parking lot, racing the spongy pad to rescue it before it reached gutter but it was more important to make the correct small talk with her hopefully new employer . Later, as she shivered like a dirty wet mop on the edge of the truck seat as it bounced on the detour that added another miserable hour to her day, she wondered if it was too late to crawl to the edge of the river, where interstate 35 had collapsed and throw her self in, and damn her state of being.
*I am unemployable. The lowliest of the low. A determent to my honey.Therefore I must do whatever he asks.
**It was a farmers market damn it. My teenager's place of employment who love my son for his work ethic was short on help as their employee's have returned to collage, needed someone to fill in. I like to pretend that I was working at "advertisement and marketing", but it was a damn farmers market. I did it to get away from hubby and his mantra.
to be continued....
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
These Days
Day one, the flip out:
Illogical and unreasonable yelling occurs. Resignation letter is carefully written. OK, "I quite." was scribbled on a piece of scratch paper and left on bosses desk. Girl slams off before her shift starts. Her feeling of triumph and freedom ends five minutes after she pulls out for the last time and remembers her knives she left behind. Hubby has zero sympathy and yells for rest of the now benefit, medically uninsured day.
Day two, withdrawal.
She does not get out of bed due to migraine. Fear and remorse for her action fill her along with pain. She wants the call from her boss apologising for his misunderstand to come so she refuse it, or just go back with her tail somewhat between her legs, but her head high, but it never rings, except for the telemarketers which only aggravate her and keep her from sleep.
Day three: continued degeneration.
She looks at a million different job listings on the Internet and applies for a handful. She has not yet changed out of her pajama's. Her best leads are at an all male corrections institute for sex offenders,(hey it is a state job with very good pay and bennies) or working with the elderly. When her teenage son offers her a temp. job at his work, she laughs. And takes it. Manual labor here she comes.
Illogical and unreasonable yelling occurs. Resignation letter is carefully written. OK, "I quite." was scribbled on a piece of scratch paper and left on bosses desk. Girl slams off before her shift starts. Her feeling of triumph and freedom ends five minutes after she pulls out for the last time and remembers her knives she left behind. Hubby has zero sympathy and yells for rest of the now benefit, medically uninsured day.
Day two, withdrawal.
She does not get out of bed due to migraine. Fear and remorse for her action fill her along with pain. She wants the call from her boss apologising for his misunderstand to come so she refuse it, or just go back with her tail somewhat between her legs, but her head high, but it never rings, except for the telemarketers which only aggravate her and keep her from sleep.
Day three: continued degeneration.
She looks at a million different job listings on the Internet and applies for a handful. She has not yet changed out of her pajama's. Her best leads are at an all male corrections institute for sex offenders,(hey it is a state job with very good pay and bennies) or working with the elderly. When her teenage son offers her a temp. job at his work, she laughs. And takes it. Manual labor here she comes.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
North of Now
On the second day of her vacation, the girl stopped struggling with the rock hard clay she was chiseling at and leaned against the sweaty shovel. She was beginning to miss the job she hated. She paused her laboring, adjusted her pony tail, and pondered what her co harts were doing without her.
"Anywhere in the world."
"What?"
"Anywhere in the world you want to go."
The girl hurriedly stood up straight and took her foot off the shovel. She had not wanted him to catch her daydreaming when there was so much ahead for her to do.
"Next year I will send you anywhere you want to go on your vacation."
"Why next year?", she asked wishing she was anywhere on the face of the earth but standing along side the half finished chicken coup.
"Just figure out where you want to go and we will book it now, this year, before your vacation is over, so you are set for next summer."
"Let's just get this never ending building project of your done first. I have all winter to search on the Internet and plan for next."
"No- do it now. You can use up all my frequent flier miles and you and the boys can go where ever your heart desires."
"I can do that later", she argued.
"They might not be available for you later", he persisted.
The girl lay down her tool and walked into the house to shower of the dust and the tears before reaching for the computer he had bought her last Christmas. She stared at the blank search engine screen and tried to come up with a destination. She used to dream of the exotic travels she would make. Her mind when back to how happy she had been last year, north of the Arctic circle. He was not with her then, but they could talk every night. She tried picturing a bright, tropical adventure, but a trip to the center of the earth's magma core could not warm her now. So she Googled her own house to see if any sign of him could be seen from space now. Or ever.
Later that night he asked her again where she wanted to go.
"Alaska.", was her answer.
"Alaska? You never wanted to go to Alaska when I used to talked about going there."
"Alaska is different now."
"Anywhere in the world."
"What?"
"Anywhere in the world you want to go."
The girl hurriedly stood up straight and took her foot off the shovel. She had not wanted him to catch her daydreaming when there was so much ahead for her to do.
"Next year I will send you anywhere you want to go on your vacation."
"Why next year?", she asked wishing she was anywhere on the face of the earth but standing along side the half finished chicken coup.
"Just figure out where you want to go and we will book it now, this year, before your vacation is over, so you are set for next summer."
"Let's just get this never ending building project of your done first. I have all winter to search on the Internet and plan for next."
"No- do it now. You can use up all my frequent flier miles and you and the boys can go where ever your heart desires."
"I can do that later", she argued.
"They might not be available for you later", he persisted.
The girl lay down her tool and walked into the house to shower of the dust and the tears before reaching for the computer he had bought her last Christmas. She stared at the blank search engine screen and tried to come up with a destination. She used to dream of the exotic travels she would make. Her mind when back to how happy she had been last year, north of the Arctic circle. He was not with her then, but they could talk every night. She tried picturing a bright, tropical adventure, but a trip to the center of the earth's magma core could not warm her now. So she Googled her own house to see if any sign of him could be seen from space now. Or ever.
Later that night he asked her again where she wanted to go.
"Alaska.", was her answer.
"Alaska? You never wanted to go to Alaska when I used to talked about going there."
"Alaska is different now."
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