Thirty Nine

I checked my blog for comments sporadically for two hours after I posted - it was a break from crotch scratching.

This adds to the weight of my basic theory that people are overrated. Here I am in genuine distress, opening my soul to the world and asking for help. I know people are reading because the hit counter is clicking over. Who offers help, advice, encouragement, abuse? No one. Not even weird pig person.

It's the same story the next morning. I didn't sleep well so I was cranky when I rang my cleaning agency. I work like a sub contractor, they find me jobs, I do the jobs and I pay them a finder's fee. Sounds fair doesn't it? Except they get their fee every time I do the job. So they do something for me once, and I pay them forever. It's like finance. Arangements like this make me determined to get off the algae-covered link of the food chain. Until I forget about it.

'It's Des Perrat, I got a message to call.'

'Just a minute.' The agency chick tapped my name out on her keyboard. There was a pause while she read whatever warnings were on her screen then she cleared her throat to create the proper tone of authority.

'We had calls from some of your clients yesterday. They said there cleans weren't done. Is that right?'

Damn, did they have to push their own flush buttons? 'Yeah, er... sorry about that.' (Des's first rule remember.)

She didn't answer. I guess she was expecting more of an explanation. If I hadn't been stewing over my non blog responses and the general slackness of people I would have thought my excuses through before calling. So this is your fault and it was also a sign of how far my world had already crumbled. Fortunately for your conscience and my well-being, I BS well on the fly.

'I had a bit of an emergency to deal with... everything else slipped my mind.'

'An emergency?' She faked concern through her talking-down-to-me voice.

'Yeah, my girlfriend was assaulted.'

'Oh my god. Is she alright?' Yeah, now that was genuine. No one fakes it with me, baby.

'Oh, yeah, she will be. I just needed to be there for her. You know... nothing else seemed to matter.' I was going to fake this pitiful emotion strained voice, but I thought of Lisa and how she had looked so helpless... and my voice went all sissy on its own.

'Of course. Is she in hospitable?'

Des's second rule - stay as close to the truth as possible. 'No, she's at home. She just needs some Des time.'

'Well,' said the agency woman, all condescending fake authority lined concern gone now replaced by empathy for my troubles and admiration for my caring attitude. 'I'll organise a substitute to take over your roster. You'll need a couple more days?'

'Er...' I had to maintain my tale despite pending brokeness. '...that'd be good.' It wasn't me who would miss the money so much as my landlord.

I shrugged and rumaged the fridge for something edible for breakfast.

Forty