Thursday, October 29, 2009

Trash Talk

I am at my parents house on Saturday afternoon. For a cold and rainy day, I have an incredible amount of energy, so I can't wait to cut stained glass.

My mother is on the phone ordering pizza when there is a a low knock at the door.

Remember this note?

I open the door to see my mother's upstairs tenant. There is a small note in her hand. I wave my mother over and then go back to the kitchen. I try not to get involved in my mother's "issues."

The tenant says, "I'm going to wait until Wednesday...," and I have no idea what she's talking about.

There is some more muffled discussion before the front door opens and my mother raises her voice. She says, "I'm sorry that we care." The tenant leaves as my mother yells behind her, "Next time I won't say anything!"

The front door closes and my mother has her hand on her chest. "That bitch!" she says to me.

I still have no idea of what's going on.

"What happened?" I ask, anticipating a blog entry.

On Friday night, the stupid tenant decided, "Hey, you know what? I think I'm going to take the garbage out now, at 12:30 a.m. for tomorrow's pickup. I'm going to take a walk through that dark back alley. By myself. It's not like anything bad happens to single girls in dark alleyways at 12:30 a.m., right? I'm ugly and homely, so any potential attacker will have to have really, really low standards. Besides, I'm not in big, scary Manhattan. That's where all the real crime happens. Nope, a darkened back alley in Queens should be perfectly safe at 12:30 a.m. on a Friday night. And it's not like I can leave the garbage out on any other day, like, say, a Sunday morning, because someone will steal it. Right?"

The note in the little bitch's hand was my mother's gentle reminder that she should not do this because it is not safe.

Of course, the little fucker takes offense to the note and gives my mother attitude for it.

With the bitch gone, my mother is now upset, breathing heavily and holding her chest. (She always does this when she gets upset.)

So I tell my mother, "You know what? So what if something bad happens? Let the little bitch learn her lesson the hard way." I feel that if I get her to disregard the little troll then she'll feel better.

I know this bitch's type. She is spoiled rotten by her rich parents. She also hates authority of any kind. Her attitude is, "I'm a New Yorker now. You can't control me! You can't tell me what to do, even if it's for my own good!"

It makes me want to hide out in that dark alley on a Friday night just to scare the shit out of her. That would be so much fun.

2 comments: said...

Seriously, your mom should have learned to mind her business the first time LOL

Le-Xandix said...