Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag

July 19, 2016 at 9:11 am (Cussed Dumbers)

Mrs Brady had her backpack on and was heading for the door when she stopped and said, “Oh shoot, I forgot to take out the garbage. I had better…”

“Don’t bother. Seriously, I won’t fill up a can the whole day.” There are chores we are expected to do every shift, but if the chore isn’t pressing, and the person coming on says ‘Don’t worry about it’ we usually don’t worry about it. Mrs Brady, however, has a way of turning molehills into mountains.

It brings out the red in my eyes...

It brings out the red in my eyes…

“It’s my job. Are you telling me not to do the trash? I don’t want anyone saying that I don’t do my job.”

“Jesus, nobody’s saying that, about you anyway. It’s no big deal either way, it’s just that those trash bags cost a buck-fifty each, and I can save five or six bags a day doing it my way. I have a system.” I attempted a a reassuring smile, but that probably looked worse.

“Is this about losing lottery tickets?” I’d told her about a stash of losing lottery tickets we kept in back for tax write-off purposes. She was convinced we had some nefarious scheme afloat, otherwise why would I be so protective of the garbage? Hell, I don’t even know. I have about three things I actually enjoy doing during my night, and she fucking does them all at 2 in the afternoon.

“It’s just that I have a system and a time and a way of doing things. If you do trash now it looks like I haven’t done my job later.” She wasn’t the only one who needs a job. My eye rolls had to have been audible.

“Well, I’m going to do trash now,. You can always do it at your regular time.”

“Whatever.” I went outside, wanting a cigarette ever so badly.

I got busy, and she left without saying goodbye. I took a deep breath and chose to put the whole stupid situation out of my mind.

At that moment my phone buzzed, a text message from Mrs Brady. “If you want to help Dr T cheat on his taxes, there’s some lottery tickets in the office garbage I forgot to tear up. You can have those.”

It’s a good thing she was blocks away. I would have punched her. I texted back, “I don’t dig through the garbage for him or anybody, but I do keep the wet and dry garbage separate IN CASE I HAVE TO. Please forget I ever mentioned garbage.” If I didn’t love my phone so much I would have hurled it into the ocean.

From downtown Portland. …

I need a distraction. It’s getting to that point of the summer when the Travellers remaining are aggressive and obnoxious. Funds for summer programs are used up, school is out, and all the festivals that bring the money downtown are done until November. It’s just you and me, kid. And you want to fight?

Will I get the lucky red bank bag? We had a red bank bag years ago, and I obsessed over it. The new one appeared a week ago, and I was its first user. I haven’t seen it since. It’s something to look forward to. God, I need something to look forward to. I’m working alone today, or so I assume. Uncle Cliffy has a helper, a dude with a comfort dog. I hope he’s done by the time I get there. The dog is afraid of me.

But it does give me an opening to tell one of my favorite cruel jokes: What does a dog with a hare-lip say? “Mark! Mark!”

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