So at the point the Junkie Housekeeper starts to look a
little junked up she also stays home and stops answering
her phone. Wait, did I say her phone? No, I meant MY PHONE.
Right, because it is, after all, my phone that she is using.
Now it would be weird for her to be junked up because every-
thing I've paid her so far I have paid straight to her bills
and not to her, for exactly the reason that I did not want it
to be shot straight up her arm in the form of meth while she
was working for me. So... how would she get the money for
meth. I decided to have the new wannabe boyfriend tile guy
to take me to check-up on the junkie housekeeper and bring her
butt back to work.
So we go over to her house and I walk in on her and damned if
she isn't sitting at her table with a needle jammed up her arm
in the company of some known junk dealers with a needle that
looks very much like the brand needle I use to administer pro-
crit jammed up her arm (*note to self, throw out all syringes
in the house and buy new ones before next procrit purchase just
in case). By candlelight mind you. Remember, she doesn't have
electricity. So I take a candle and ask to use her bathroom.
I'm in there one hell of a long time. People start asking after
me. I tell them I'm ill, to leave me along. Hey, it takes a
LONG time to search someone's closet for all of your shit by
candlelight. Especially when you only have one candle and wax
is dripping down your arm. Because I know that meth wasn't free
and she has to be hawking my stuff for it.
I find a designer skirt of mine right off the bat. And tons of
office supplies. I call her in there to confront her privately
by telling her I need help. Nicely though, there are a lot of
dealers in the living room. One of them wants to take her with
them but I insist she is coming with me, propel her into the car,
and we leave. Me, her, and the wannabe bf tiler guy with the
weird propensity for giving jewelry to people he has just met.
She yells, screams and curses the entire way about how she had
to wear the skirt home one night because she got something on her
pants and about how I had left the office supplies in an old brief-
case I gave her. She was high so I didn't even bother arguing that
clearly a girl who weighs almost 300 lbs would hardly be able to
fit her ass into my skirt, that she is so heavy she broke my scale
this past week causing at first jubilation and then annoyance when
I realized that no, I did not actually lose down to 110 overnight,
and causing my son at first horror, and then relief that no, he did
not actually lose down to 120 overnight.
to be continued
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2 comments:
i think neil young wrote a few songs along this line.
fourteen junkies too weak to work
one sells diamonds for what they're worth
Yeah. Unfortunately, I was too busy falling in love with the melancholy and pathos of his other lyrics, "gone, gone, the damage done..."
I thought he meant the damage being done to them. So I was trying to help. I guess I'm a much bigger idiot than even I knew. And that's a pretty outstanding moron.
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