Monday, July 21, 2014

Fifty Shades of Satire (Chapter 11d)

I shut the computer off. The big red eye stays on. Does it ever turn off? I look into the black screen. My god! It's full of stars!
     But I can't worry about that now, I've got to get to work. I'm not scheduled, and they're not expecting me, but it is my last week. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton will be glad to see me. They're like the parents I never wanted. I just wish Mr. Clayton didn't have such a hard fist. Mrs. Clayton, too.
     Do I need a shower? I take a quick whiff. Hmm... nothing a little deodorant can't take care of. Or do I mean antiperspirant? My armpits are so confusing.
     All thoughts of personal hygiene go out the door when I think about Christian Grey emailing me. Emailing me.  Emailing ME! I hate to admit it, but Knock-Knock jokes make me hot ("Knock-knock!" Who's there? "Dwayne." Dwayne who? "Dwayne the bathtub! I'm dwowning!" [Mmm...I wonder where I left my vibrating toothbrush.]). How does Christian Grey know?
     Still, I can't worry about that. Following the good example of my thoughts about personal hygiene, I head out the door as well.
     "Bye, Kate!" I yell on my way out.
     "Hep!" she yells back, sounding an awful lot like the delivery guy.
     I wonder what "hep" means and why I'm hearing it all over the place these days. It must be a new way to say hello and goodbye, like "aloha" or "I'll call you."
 
     I'm hard at work when Jose gives me a call around 11. That's 11 on the clock, not the volume knob on Spinal Tap's speakers.
     "Hey, have you read my humor blog yet?" he asks me, sounding like the old Jose, lispingly pathetic. Jose is one of my oldest and dearest friends, but I have to admit that he's a bit of a--what word did Christian use?--spic?
     I hate the thought of having to read his blog. It's such a pain when friends and relatives use their relationship to get you to do something for them that you don't want to do. Like drugs.
     I really don't want to read his blog, it's probably written in Spanish, but how do I break it to him?
     "I'm reading it right now," I tell him.
     "I thought you were at work?" he asks me. Dang, how did he know? Besides my telling him, I mean.
     "I am," I say, choosing my words carefully. "I'm on a break."
     "I thought you couldn't use the computer at work?"
     "Did I say 'break'? I meant lunch. I went home for lunch. That's where I'm reading your blog."
     "But I'm calling you on your work phone."
     "You didn't let me finish, I went home for lunch, and now I'm back, and that's why I was able to read your blog."
     "You said you were reading it right now."
     "I am, only not right now right now, but right now earlier. When I was home. At lunch."
     "I see," Jose says. He sounds as confused as a one-humped camel who likes to hump twice. "Well, which story do you like the best?"
     "I like the one that was about that guy who did that thing at that place where all that stuff was going on."
     "I thought that one would be your favorite. It's mine, too."
     I can see Mr. Clayton, he's giving me the eye. I stock it with all the others.
     "I've got to go," I tell Jose. "Come by in half an hour and we'll do lunch."
     "I thought you already went to lunch?" he says. Man, that Jose sure does think too much.
     "I'm talking about my second lunch. The one after my first."
     Jose shows up exactly a half hour later. It's not that he's punctual, it's that he's unemployed, illegal, and has nothing better to do than live off the tax-payer's dime. He can do that, because the President says so.
     He bounds into the store like an idiot, which he is.
     "Ana," he tells me, honestly happy to see me. He's also happy to see a free meal, which he knows he'll be getting from me. It's dark in the stock room where I am, and all I see are his eyes and his teeth. How can I stay mad at this Latin loser?
     "Let's go," he says. "I'm starving. I also forgot my wallet."
     "Don't worry," I tell him. "I've got it covered. Let me just tell Mr. Clayton I'm leaving."
     I find Mr. Clayton. He's with Kate. She's buying a new battery for her defibrillator.
     "I'll be with you in a second, Miss," he tells me. "Let me finish with this customer first." He turns back to Kate and tries to whisper. "And does that hundred get me a Happy Ending?"
     "Don't be silly, Mr. Clayton," I say, trying to get his attention, "I'm not a customer. It's me. Ana."
     "Who?"
     "Ana. Ana Steele. I work here."
     "Miss, I know every person who works for me, and I've never seen you before in my life."
     "Kate," I beseech, "tell Mr. Clayton who I am."
     "Do I know you?" Kate asks.
     I give up.
     "Well, I'm leaving for lunch," I tell the two of them.
     "Be back in an hour," Mr. Clayton orders. "Whoever you are."
     "Yes, sir," I say.
     I respond well to orders.
 
     I can't wait to get home. I have to empty my bowels, and I'm not allowed to use the one at work. I usually have to go behind the dumpster with the rest of the homeless.
     Crap! Kate's home, and she's on my new computer. I really wanted to get on it and see if you-know-who has sent me another you-know-what.
     "Kate," I tell her. "I can't believe you didn't back me up with Mr. Clayton."
     She looks up from the screen. So does the red eye.
     "Do I  know you?" she says, her eyes never leaving the screen.
     Oh, how can I stay mad at Kate, dear Kate? If I stayed mad at all my friends, then I wouldn't have any. Much like I don't now.
     I look at the top of the screen. Ooh, ooh! I have something in my inbox! I'll go to the bathroom and take care of it later, meanwhile I can't wait to read the new email I see I've gotten from Christian.
     I look at the screen. Kate's researching pictures of Bigfoot. Hmm... I see it's not just his foot that's big. Wait a minute! That's not Bigfoot! That's... that's...
     ...Ron Jeremy!
 
 
Fifty Shades of Humor
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