THINGY.
Dear Diary,
Today found me standing in the hallway of granny Marnies bachelorette pad at KillJoy banging on the door for what had to be ten minutes while I waited with my ear pressed against the large wood door listening intently for anything that sounded like electric scooter sounds coming from the other side. Finally I hear the revving of a motor and the screech of breaks and what I’m sure was the smell of burning RUBBER as Marnie made her way to the door in a timely fashion. urrrrrrrrrr urrrrrrr Kbshhh. (wince. That had to hurt) Urrrrrk. Urrrrrr urrrrrrr Boooph (Cripes. ouch) Urrrrrk urrrrrrr urrrrrrr..
“Who’s there?”
Urrrrrk. Crsmshhh (moan).
“Marnie. It’s me. Are you ok?”
Urrrrrrrrr. Urrrrrrrr. Kpowwww. (Ga)
“I’m coming. Who’s there?”
“It’s MEEEEEE Marnie. Slow down, I have an hour.”
“Who’s THERE???!!”
Oh for GAWDS sake woman.. just get to the friggin door THEN we’ll talk.
The problem is— beside the obvious hand eye coordination necessary in turning the scooter in such a way as to avoid the.. walls (lamp, couch, wall hangings). Marnie has this really thick..well constructed (for obvious reasons) DOOR that she can’t HEAR anyone ANSWERING her questions through. Yet I, like the dummy I most certainly am.. continue doing just THAT. Answering. All to the rapturous and ultra supportive vocalizations of granny’s neighbors in 134 A-156L. Happy are they who can here my voice echo all the way down the hall in it’s thunderous booming whiny nasal for the duration of my now fifteen minute wait time. Dear Bertha.. ever the demure proper old gal that she is, peeks her little blue highlighted head out her door and gently reprimands me with some thinly veiled threat of either knock it the halle off.. because she doesn’t CARE who I think I am or she’s going to wake up her husband (96 year old Stanly) to come wheel himself over here this instant and kick my sorry arse. Bring it Stan..is all I can say.
I hear one more final thump.. rattling of the doorknob and then sheer r-e-l-i-e-f.. followed by my own shrieks of terror as Marnies door swings open to reveal, sitting in the very seat of the electric scooter that MY grandmother usually sits is, no other then.. Mr. SPOCK himself. That’s right. You heard me correctly. Vulcan salutations to you oh dear sweet grandmother (spreading fingers apart). Um Marnie.. just for the record about how many times have I told you that a proper eyebrow shape involves AN ARCH. (spitting on tissue) What’s on here anyway? (scrubbing away at delicate eyebrow tissue) Permanent Sharpie marker? It was in the middle of trying to wipe the alien accoutrements off granny’s face that I realized that the perplexed look wasn’t budging.
“Oh. I’m so distressed, My thingy fell off my machine and I don’t know where it went.”
Yeah. That didn’t make much sense to me either.
“Marnie.. by THINGY do you mean DEALY? Or the much more common and easy to replace thing-a-ma-bob?”
I dug a bit further only to learn that the end part of Marnies electric scooter “stick shift” had flipped off and she had come up empty handed on her furious search for that little “thingy”. To me.. who has begun to think VERY fast on her feet, due in part to the process of evolution and survival of the fittest, this only signifies the need for some superficial SHOW of hunting for the gizmo.. followed by some creative replacement for a piece I know will never turn up.
Voila! The new and improved wine cork gearshift. Now with special black Sharpie pen coloring in black (found in the cosmetic bag). We’ll also throw in.. if you order now— your very own fantastic personally hand crafted swirly design on the top. Yup. Drat I’m good.
Affirmative?
-A
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