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| nov 17 - 22 |
| stunned, restless, ready for the camera |
| hi: 66 |
| lo: 40 |
Contributed by JDB, November 2003
My Uncle wrote this to me today. Thought you might enjoy it. - James Bewley
At first it was one of those sounds you weren't even sure you had really heard. Too quick to determine a direction; too quiet to know exactly what it was, but enough to put the antennae up. Then it happened again, this time in the kitchen. A little louder, a bit more distinct, and, wait - yes, accompanied by a not too faint aroma. Maybe it was the sip of root beer. Maybe we imagined it. Down the stairs and the sight of him bending over to measure the door, compressing that stomach that protruded at a sudden right angle from below his chest, the shirt button popped open - ohhhh, maybe bending over isn't such a good idea. Is there some way we can hurry this up to leave some room unscented? No, every window in every room has to be measured to find out just what we can't afford. Back up the stairs, down the stairs, this moving about can not be a good thing. Then, seated at the dining room table, the real show began. The word gurgle (possibly related to gargle, but may also be a native echoic formulation) doesn't come close to describing the sounds emanating from this saleman's gut. We try not to let our faces show our alarm or fear. What if he dissolves in a pool of stomach acid right here and now? Will it hurt the rug? Can we keep the samples? But on he goes, speaking ever louder to be heard over his own rumbling pipes. Oh, but God forgive us, next came the exiting gas. This was uniquely foul, unlike any familiar gas (and using familiar to cover "as with family members"). It was taken from hideous battles of World War I but we had no masks or bayonets. Should I just buy something to get it over with? No, no, I can't make it that long. I have to get up, leave the table, leave the room, leave the state if only I could. I go to look at the back door to get some cleaner air. Shelly does the same to the front door. We avoid eye contact to keep the obvious from becoming obviouser and risk diving to the floor and pounding our fists in surrender. The guy is simply killing us. We didn't figure for this when we asked for an estimate to replace windows. Who expects a person who makes his business as a salesman, entering other people's homes every day and night to have a problem of this nature, so severe that the impulse to gag is almost too strong to contain? What sin have we been guilty of that merits this punishment? Right now we want to live in a house free of windows, open to the night air, bats, bugs, whatever nature offers. Air, we need air.
When it is finally over and he has honked his car horn to signal a friendly little farewell we rush to open what windows we can and I go to the sunroom to breathe some untainted air. Air freshner - phewy - it can't make a dent in this. It's like looking at a nice juicy donut that has a turd in the hole. The smell still comes through the spritz. Paint that was loose on the ceiling before has now dropped to the floor. Lights have strange halos to them. And the idea of eating dinner? Never again. When he confessed that he had a slight problem with his digestive tract it was like learning that Ronald Reagan has Alzheimers. Gosh, we hadn't noticed anything unusual, are you sure you have digestive problems?
So, add this to your list of things to check on before letting sales people, clerics, etc. into your home (and the smaller your home, the more important this is to remember). Are you a thief? Ever killed or mutilated anybody or living creatures? Do you have completely uncontrollable problems with your gastric system so you befoul any room you enter? Why must we always learn too late? |
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