DATE: 01/21/2008 18:41:18 / MOOD: angry
I've never been much of the blogging type so this will be absolute weak sauce, but here goes.
Every so
often (and I assume I’m not alone here) you encounter individuals who aren’t
quite right. I’m not talking about the straight out talking to
themselves/Cthulhu nut jobs, but the people who can hold a conversation with you,
but if they are holding a conversation with you, your own mouth will run on
auto pilot, spouting “hmmms” and “yeahs” and other appropriate platitudes while
the conscious part of your brain slinks to the back of your skull, freaking
out, and judging every little quirk, foible and inappropriate bit of dialogue
issuing forth from the social offender.
This
morning I came face to face with just such a wrongling.
I had
already met this man once a few days earlier. I’m in the process of moving
house and as such my front yard is littered with unwanted furniture that awaits
a trip to the dump, once there’s enough of it out there to fill a trailer. Out
of this pile of junk something caught this stranger-strangers eye, an old
school desk (as in and old desk from a school) so he came a knocking on the
front door inquiring about the desk that had survived all this time (starting
out it’s relationship with me as a place to do homework in the 80s, a place to
mount a small TV in the 90s, and conversation piece in the 00s, the
conversation always centering around when I was going to get rid of that ugly
???ing desk). Perusing that last paragraph I see why the Chud writers have
adopted *’s
Back to the
story at hand: The queer (old use of the word)-query-er asked what I planned to
do with the old desk out front. I told him “If you want it you can have it”. He
seemed happy, and informed me he’d be around in a few days to pick it up. I
informed him that was fine, and to just grab it whenever.
I thought
that’d be the end of it, I’d go out to collect the mail one day, see the desk
was gone, and think to myself “ hmm he must have collected it”.
I would be
wrong.
Four days
later he comes a knocking again to tell me he’ll pick it up tomorrow. I thought
to myself “then why are you here now?” But figured he must have just been
walking by, and paid a call just to be extra courteous. Then he started probing
me about the legitimacy of the desk.
“It’s all
above board?”
“There’s no
insurance issues with it?”
Insurance
issues? It’s a really old dilapidated desk that I’m throwing out. What
insurance issue could there possibly be?
“Well
that’s how they get you” Begins his rant “Back in my day you owned what you
owned, now days the insurance company’s own everything, and that’s why the
world’s the way it is” (His tone implying the world is suck. It also seemed
like he was on the verge of segueing that into a different rant about why the
world is bad, one involving skin tone, but that’s mostly conjecture on my
part.) The rant went on “It used to be you weren’t allowed to own anything that
used to be school property. How is it you managed to obtain this one?”
I then had
to rack my brain, and awaken long dormant memory cells from 198(7,8,9?) And
told him some school had relocated back in the 80’s and had had an auction of
anything they weren’t keeping so my folks picked it up cheap so I could have
something to do my homework on. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. “ So it’s
all on the level? I’m just a bit worried about the insurance companies, they
can send you to jail for this sort of thing”. This was where I really started
to think something was up with this man-man. Sent to jail for taking a
discarded desk, that was at least 30 years old?
“I don’t
think anyone’s going to care” I explained “It’s a really old desk, they don’t
even make desks like that anymore. It has two little holes in it for inkwells,
it was bought in the 80’s, no-one would have kept track of it.”
“Bought in
the 80’s, how old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m 26.” I
replied
“Whoa, I
thought you were my age but that’s another 21 on top of that, you’re probably
pretty insulted.”
Now, I
admit I look like dried up, river of kraken ??? on a good day, but 47? This
fool better have glaucoma.
Then things
got worse.
“Your last
name’s Lindsay isn’t it?”
“Yeah”
Wait, how the ??? does he know that? Has he been going through my mail?
“That’s not
a very common name around these parts” (It totally is.)
“No, I’ve
never met anyone else with the same last name.” (I totally have.)
“How long
have you been living here?”
“A few
years now” (Why do you care? I have better things to do than talk to creepy
people in my doorway.)
“And did
you subdivide the place off like that?”
“It was
like that when we bought it, except down the back was just a section without a
house back then.” (Why am I telling you this? Fuck off.)
“They
didn’t leave you a lot of space”
“Less lawns
to mow.” At this stage I’m speaking with a definite “this conversation is done”
voice.
“You know,
I knew some Lindsay’s lived around Shirley way, have you got any relatives
around there?”
“NO”
“The reason
I ask is when I came around the other day I’m sure I recognize you from
somewhere, You just look so familiar.” (Funny, you couldn’t distinguish me from
a 47 year old a few minutes ago.)
“I have no
idea where you’d know me from”
It’s at
this stage I realize that this guy is smoking a cigarette, now I don’t mind
cigarette smoke, (which is probably why I hadn’t noticed it.) but it just seems
to me to be the height of ???ing rudeness to come knocking on a strangers
door, smoking. Luckily the ordeal was coming to an end anyway
“Well I
better be off I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, see
you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
(Wait, no, ???, just pick up the desk. Don’t come and see me again.)
Fuck it.
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