photo by N Pavlov Pexels.com
by Mike Itaya
Spotting Carol “Credenza” work the floor at Rooms to Go Ezekiel, MS (in her beige, faux-stealth wealth pant suit and barn red bouffant) jazzed my loins so much I ripped off the balaclava I’d been wearing, forgoing my sabotage mission and I declared my undying love to Carol on the spot. See, my boss and wife, Rae-Janae, owner of the worst-performing Rooms to Go in Louisiana, had sent me on a seek & destroy mission of a sabotagical nature, and before I could blink, me and Carol were day drunk off grapefruit margs inside Don Pepe’s Taqueria and Carol went ham on my Fuego Fries, the same Carol from whom I’d just procured a shitload of unneeded/unwanted/unaffordable credenzas all charged to my corporate card which Rae-Janae tracked online like a predatory bird (my phone, my job, my marriage all this time, blowing up around me like a Michael Bay movie). But when Carol whispered huskily she was “going to get us a room” in my good ear, my home-wrecker heart forsook what little sense I did have. I didn’t think how Don Pepe’s Taqueria, a bottom-rung hellhole with a Yelp review to suggest as much, was unlikely to rent rooms, or offer any kind of hump hotel accommodations, until I’d been waiting for half an hour. So in summary, 1) my marriage and position of employ = down the shitter, 2) my Subaru Outback stuffed to the gills with credenzas, 3) my Fuego Fries disappeared down Carol’s gullet (who had herself disappeared). The lonely vista of my sad life from the booth at Don Pepe’s, all the doubtless divorce proceedings and unpaid bills coming my way, began to look bleak indeed.
Mike Itaya is the editor-in-chief of DIRTBAG and writes about dirtbags, always.
