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22 December 2023
[2] DECENCY
Well, whatever. I was back at Grandma's by 8pm. First thing I noticed was that large, beautiful television set-- gleaming in the living room, all bright and just asking you to channel hop until the early hours of the morning. Beside it lay a remote control that looked like some navigational device for a spaceship.
I smiled and thought maybe it was all for the best like this. Who needs Jesus and his fridge?
Anyway, I was wrong about that. If you think the worst person you can possibly live with is your boyfriend, try and live with your grandmother. Then you'll wish you were back where you just came from. Old people are weird as hell. After a few days I had to ask myself the question, “What is the use of 300 channels, if you only ever watch the Home Shopping Network?”
"Grandma, don't you have enough of that junk?" I asked her.
She did. Everywhere you went, there was some ugly, little porcelain doll named "Jennifer" or "Louise". She also had a whole lot of those plates you don't eat from but just hang up somewhere-- they've got little pictures of Disney World on them, or quotes or religious themes.
"Isn't it time you made some real use of your TV?"
Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I was speaking the truth, of course, but Grandma just ignored my point and went off into a whole different line of reasoning that ended up with me being a spoiled, good-for-nothing brat. People over 60 always think they're saying something that makes sense. The common theory seems to be that once you get wrinkles your IQ doubles. I don't know where that came from. She told me to get the hell out of the house and get a job that day, otherwise I wouldn't have to bother coming home.
"Grandma, I was only making a point. Come on, you know I'm trying to get over Jesus. I need some time to function before I can do anything. Let's say Grandpa was still alive and suddenly threw you out of the house and had some little girl move in with him, and so you came to live with me 'cause you had nowhere else to go. Would I make you get a job right away? No, of course not!"
She didn't really give a damn about that, and before I knew it I was walking through town, looking for a job. I didn't even know how to look for a job. You always hear people talking about it, but how is it actually done? What are the mechanics to decency? My theory is that if you're looking for something, you won't find it. Well, I sure as hell wasn't looking for a job-- the whole idea was a joke-- and that's probably why I found one.
A little yellow paper stuck to a gate saying "Qualified Help Wanted" on it. It was attached to the entrance gate of some sort of building. I didn't know what the building was, but for some reason I considered myself qualified as hell, and walked in through those gates with an unjustifiable confidence. If I couldn't come home until I had a job, I didn't care what people said, I was qualified. By the time I arrived in the office, I realized I was in an elementary school.
So what? Just give me something to file and I'll be all right. The secretary smiled at my decent hair-cut and the little cube pattern of my dress and handed me a form to fill out. If there's one thing I can say about myself, it's that I always look impeccable-- every piece of my clothing is always ironed; my hair is always washed, brushed and styled into annoying, little, fashionable creations; my shoes are always shined and I insist on wearing clothes with harmless, repetitive patterns on them. It helps to give people the wrong impression.
After contemplating a coffee cup that had "I need a 24 hour man!" written on it, I sighed and began to fill out the application form with a pen that stopped working every three seconds.
"You know," said the secretary, as she leaned over the counter, playing with her necklace and talking with a shocking nasal voice, "people just don't want to work in schools anymore. In fact, they don't want to work at all. They all want to be movie stars and models and rock musicians and what have you."
I ignored her. Who the hell cares what people want to be these days? She left her necklace alone and threw her hands up in the air as if she didn't know what the world was coming to anymore.
"Everyone's just so 'special' these days," she said. "All they care about is being on the cover of magazines and having houses all over the world and what have you. Yachts, cars, swimming pools,..."
"I wouldn't mind having a yacht or a swimming pool," I said. "I wouldn't mind a car either, actually."
"Well, of course you wouldn't mind. Wouldn't we all want a yacht? But these people, you see, just want it without doing anything for it. They just think they're so special they should have all these things without lifting a finger."
"I want all those things without lifting a finger."
We never really became very close friends, the secretary with the nasally voice and I. I'm guessing there was just a moral gap there somewhere between the two of us. I think after that first conversation, she categorized me as one of those "special" people, although, honestly, I've never wanted to have my picture on a magazine or be a movie star. I'd be fine with just the pool and the yacht. I've just never wanted to do anything period. Who cares about magazines? That night when I came home, Grandma looked at me critically.
"Well?" she said. "You know what I told you this morning, young lady. If you think I was kidding, you've got a surprise coming."
"Don't worry. I'm a kindergarten assistant at the school."
Yep. All they wanted me to do before I started was to take a first aid course, so that in case a kid swallows an eraser and chokes, I would know what to do.
"I can go there tomorrow and start," I added.
"Well, good," Grandma said. "Because, if you want to know the truth, I don't need to have you around here. I can throw you out anytime. Your parents started this, and I'm not going to do their dirty work. If they think they can just take off and leave you here with me, they're wrong."
"All righty."
CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE OF DEAR LANDLORD.
Well, whatever. I was back at Grandma's by 8pm. First thing I noticed was that large, beautiful television set-- gleaming in the living room, all bright and just asking you to channel hop until the early hours of the morning. Beside it lay a remote control that looked like some navigational device for a spaceship.
I smiled and thought maybe it was all for the best like this. Who needs Jesus and his fridge?
Anyway, I was wrong about that. If you think the worst person you can possibly live with is your boyfriend, try and live with your grandmother. Then you'll wish you were back where you just came from. Old people are weird as hell. After a few days I had to ask myself the question, “What is the use of 300 channels, if you only ever watch the Home Shopping Network?”
"Grandma, don't you have enough of that junk?" I asked her.
She did. Everywhere you went, there was some ugly, little porcelain doll named "Jennifer" or "Louise". She also had a whole lot of those plates you don't eat from but just hang up somewhere-- they've got little pictures of Disney World on them, or quotes or religious themes.
"Isn't it time you made some real use of your TV?"
Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I was speaking the truth, of course, but Grandma just ignored my point and went off into a whole different line of reasoning that ended up with me being a spoiled, good-for-nothing brat. People over 60 always think they're saying something that makes sense. The common theory seems to be that once you get wrinkles your IQ doubles. I don't know where that came from. She told me to get the hell out of the house and get a job that day, otherwise I wouldn't have to bother coming home.
"Grandma, I was only making a point. Come on, you know I'm trying to get over Jesus. I need some time to function before I can do anything. Let's say Grandpa was still alive and suddenly threw you out of the house and had some little girl move in with him, and so you came to live with me 'cause you had nowhere else to go. Would I make you get a job right away? No, of course not!"
She didn't really give a damn about that, and before I knew it I was walking through town, looking for a job. I didn't even know how to look for a job. You always hear people talking about it, but how is it actually done? What are the mechanics to decency? My theory is that if you're looking for something, you won't find it. Well, I sure as hell wasn't looking for a job-- the whole idea was a joke-- and that's probably why I found one.
A little yellow paper stuck to a gate saying "Qualified Help Wanted" on it. It was attached to the entrance gate of some sort of building. I didn't know what the building was, but for some reason I considered myself qualified as hell, and walked in through those gates with an unjustifiable confidence. If I couldn't come home until I had a job, I didn't care what people said, I was qualified. By the time I arrived in the office, I realized I was in an elementary school.
So what? Just give me something to file and I'll be all right. The secretary smiled at my decent hair-cut and the little cube pattern of my dress and handed me a form to fill out. If there's one thing I can say about myself, it's that I always look impeccable-- every piece of my clothing is always ironed; my hair is always washed, brushed and styled into annoying, little, fashionable creations; my shoes are always shined and I insist on wearing clothes with harmless, repetitive patterns on them. It helps to give people the wrong impression.
After contemplating a coffee cup that had "I need a 24 hour man!" written on it, I sighed and began to fill out the application form with a pen that stopped working every three seconds.
"You know," said the secretary, as she leaned over the counter, playing with her necklace and talking with a shocking nasal voice, "people just don't want to work in schools anymore. In fact, they don't want to work at all. They all want to be movie stars and models and rock musicians and what have you."
I ignored her. Who the hell cares what people want to be these days? She left her necklace alone and threw her hands up in the air as if she didn't know what the world was coming to anymore.
"Everyone's just so 'special' these days," she said. "All they care about is being on the cover of magazines and having houses all over the world and what have you. Yachts, cars, swimming pools,..."
"I wouldn't mind having a yacht or a swimming pool," I said. "I wouldn't mind a car either, actually."
"Well, of course you wouldn't mind. Wouldn't we all want a yacht? But these people, you see, just want it without doing anything for it. They just think they're so special they should have all these things without lifting a finger."
"I want all those things without lifting a finger."
We never really became very close friends, the secretary with the nasally voice and I. I'm guessing there was just a moral gap there somewhere between the two of us. I think after that first conversation, she categorized me as one of those "special" people, although, honestly, I've never wanted to have my picture on a magazine or be a movie star. I'd be fine with just the pool and the yacht. I've just never wanted to do anything period. Who cares about magazines? That night when I came home, Grandma looked at me critically.
"Well?" she said. "You know what I told you this morning, young lady. If you think I was kidding, you've got a surprise coming."
"Don't worry. I'm a kindergarten assistant at the school."
Yep. All they wanted me to do before I started was to take a first aid course, so that in case a kid swallows an eraser and chokes, I would know what to do.
"I can go there tomorrow and start," I added.
"Well, good," Grandma said. "Because, if you want to know the truth, I don't need to have you around here. I can throw you out anytime. Your parents started this, and I'm not going to do their dirty work. If they think they can just take off and leave you here with me, they're wrong."
"All righty."
CLICK HERE TO READ PART THREE OF DEAR LANDLORD.
artid
75
Old Image
4_7_qualified.swf
issue
vol 4 - issue 07 (mar 2002)
section
pen_think