(It has been too long since I’ve last written creatively, so here’s a quickie.)
Two months ago, I was in pain. It wasn’t the acute pains you get when you accidentally stab yourself with a fork while you are cutting a burnt rack-of-lamb in the dark because the electricity just went out. It wasn’t like the dull pain that you feel when you mildly electrocute yourself while you’re trying to replace the blown fuse in the basement. It was more like the chronic pain of a stomachache caused by having too many harmful bacteria in your food that rotted from the lack of refrigeration.
It was for this pain that I got fired. I walk into work one day, with my hands over my stomach and walking slightly keeled forward. My boss is coming down the hallway towards me. She is someone who enjoys confrontation and loves to take out her temper on the poor worker who happens to be within shouting distance. My co-workers and I have worked out a fool-proof system. We devised a system of claps and clicks we do as she walks down the hallway to notify people where she is and where she is going so that people can avoid her. Unfortunately for me, I was so concerned with holding my coffee cup without spilling that I did not notice the frantic clicking until I was staring at the white of my boss’s eyes. Bad.
So here I am, out on the street because I cannot afford a decent apartment. I have been living off of charity by the Homeless Shelter for Middle-Aged Veterans Who Suffer from Dementia. However, since I am neither middle-aged, a veteran, nor do I suffer from dementia, I only get to eat leftover macaroni and cheese. So please, any help would be great. All I want is a shower and a hot meal. Just no lamb chops. I’m allergic to them and I get stomachaches from mint jelly.
