House Doctors
Its dark. At 5:30 you could barely see and at six it was what it was which is black as night so I retired to Dumaine and had to parallel park right in front of Van's, with whom I needed to speak anyway. Joe was there with him on the steps and I haven't been cordial to Joe since that incident at last year's Super Bowl party where we pushed and shoved some and I told him he could fellate me. I got out of the truck all world weary and overworked, the ambitious white boy carrying a box of Church's (from the Broad and Bienville location where last year a man entered, tapped a woman on the shoulder and then with a hand gun blew out the brains of the man standing in line next to her) chicken, two breasts but they cut their breasts in pieces so its not all you might think, and I ate the biscuit so its gone but I have two side servings of collard greens and all this is for lunch tomorrow so that's looking forward brightly. And I have a five gallon bucket loosely containing the tools to gain front door entry at Rocheblave: a cordless drill, a pair of pliers, and a dead bolt key. I nod to Van's brother but ignore Joe completely and go on to ask Van if he can work for me a single short day tomorrow because I really can't take off to be there to meet the guy installing the phone line and there's a little bit of priming of the exterior siding that Van can do, and I really just need him to be on site in case the guy shows up before I get there at three. Van is working with his brother some lately and so they confer but he assures me he can make it so I say thanks and give him the bucket that will get him inside.
The thing is, right before it became too dark to see I got another nasty cypress splinter in my index finger, and it hurt like hell although later during the slow moving one act that had me dealing with it, Bryan Henry 11, called me a "splinter in his finger crybaby." I acted like I was getting out of my chair and Brian Henry ran for the door giggling, and this we repeated with some side splitting-ly hilarious variation for almost an hour.
Lulu 18, said she's gonna be a nurse and described how she would take the splinter out. Sounded good to me so I soaked the finger in hot water but Lulu disappeared, perhaps to enroll in Nursing school.
Tiesha 16, is researching political party platforms on the Internet, but said she plans to be a dentist so I asked her if she could clean my teeth and then take out the splinter. She laughed at me.
Nettie 13, is going to be a pediatrician. "What, what, a podiatrist?" "A pediatrician, that's a doctor for kids." "That would be great if I had a splinter in my kid's finger." "You don't have kids, Mr. Jim." "Well, thank you for your time, what do I owe you?"
"Jacque, come over here and hold this magnifying glass."
"Like, this?"
"Good, no, stop moving, be the mannequin Jacque, and don't be afraid of failure, embrace the failure," this I said embracing myself, just as example.
"I don't think I can do this," Jacque 14, said.
"Jacque?"
"What?"
"Get away from me."
"Mr Jim is a 'splinter in his finger crybaby,'" said Bryan Henry.
"Stay right there a sec," I said all nice and cordial while lifting myself partially from the creaking desk chair, and Bryan Henry giggled out the front door and onto the porch where a domino game went/goes on as part of the festivities surrounding Jermaine's 28th birthday. Earlier, him and some friends were barbecuing in front of the still burnt and defunct Esnard Villa next door.
I snapped off two sections of the snap off blade on my razor knife and sliced next to the splinter, insanely, it seems insane how loudly I heard the ripping of my flesh. I don't think I even cut through the ridges in my finger print but I swear I could hear it. Does no good though so I go for a needle in Mandy's room and overhear her telling Tiesha that George W. Bush is a moron. I don't tell Tiesha that Mandy is not a registered voter. I grab a needle and go.
The needle worked well, just like Lulu imagined it would. Heather 15, entered the house just as I rudely ripped off a tiny flap of finger flesh that left the splinter head exposed. "Heather," I said, "Where have you been? I'm having a medical emergency." She came over all business-like and told me to wipe the soapy water off of my finger. She then grabbed the tweezers and steady of hand pulled the splinter free.
"That can't be all of it, that's so small," I said.
"mr jim is a crybaby."
Creak./
|
Its dark. At 5:30 you could barely see and at six it was what it was which is black as night so I retired to Dumaine and had to parallel park right in front of Van's, with whom I needed to speak anyway. Joe was there with him on the steps and I haven't been cordial to Joe since that incident at last year's Super Bowl party where we pushed and shoved some and I told him he could fellate me. I got out of the truck all world weary and overworked, the ambitious white boy carrying a box of Church's (from the Broad and Bienville location where last year a man entered, tapped a woman on the shoulder and then with a hand gun blew out the brains of the man standing in line next to her) chicken, two breasts but they cut their breasts in pieces so its not all you might think, and I ate the biscuit so its gone but I have two side servings of collard greens and all this is for lunch tomorrow so that's looking forward brightly. And I have a five gallon bucket loosely containing the tools to gain front door entry at Rocheblave: a cordless drill, a pair of pliers, and a dead bolt key. I nod to Van's brother but ignore Joe completely and go on to ask Van if he can work for me a single short day tomorrow because I really can't take off to be there to meet the guy installing the phone line and there's a little bit of priming of the exterior siding that Van can do, and I really just need him to be on site in case the guy shows up before I get there at three. Van is working with his brother some lately and so they confer but he assures me he can make it so I say thanks and give him the bucket that will get him inside.
The thing is, right before it became too dark to see I got another nasty cypress splinter in my index finger, and it hurt like hell although later during the slow moving one act that had me dealing with it, Bryan Henry 11, called me a "splinter in his finger crybaby." I acted like I was getting out of my chair and Brian Henry ran for the door giggling, and this we repeated with some side splitting-ly hilarious variation for almost an hour.
Lulu 18, said she's gonna be a nurse and described how she would take the splinter out. Sounded good to me so I soaked the finger in hot water but Lulu disappeared, perhaps to enroll in Nursing school.
Tiesha 16, is researching political party platforms on the Internet, but said she plans to be a dentist so I asked her if she could clean my teeth and then take out the splinter. She laughed at me.
Nettie 13, is going to be a pediatrician. "What, what, a podiatrist?" "A pediatrician, that's a doctor for kids." "That would be great if I had a splinter in my kid's finger." "You don't have kids, Mr. Jim." "Well, thank you for your time, what do I owe you?"
"Jacque, come over here and hold this magnifying glass."
"Like, this?"
"Good, no, stop moving, be the mannequin Jacque, and don't be afraid of failure, embrace the failure," this I said embracing myself, just as example.
"I don't think I can do this," Jacque 14, said.
"Jacque?"
"What?"
"Get away from me."
"Mr Jim is a 'splinter in his finger crybaby,'" said Bryan Henry.
"Stay right there a sec," I said all nice and cordial while lifting myself partially from the creaking desk chair, and Bryan Henry giggled out the front door and onto the porch where a domino game went/goes on as part of the festivities surrounding Jermaine's 28th birthday. Earlier, him and some friends were barbecuing in front of the still burnt and defunct Esnard Villa next door.
I snapped off two sections of the snap off blade on my razor knife and sliced next to the splinter, insanely, it seems insane how loudly I heard the ripping of my flesh. I don't think I even cut through the ridges in my finger print but I swear I could hear it. Does no good though so I go for a needle in Mandy's room and overhear her telling Tiesha that George W. Bush is a moron. I don't tell Tiesha that Mandy is not a registered voter. I grab a needle and go.
The needle worked well, just like Lulu imagined it would. Heather 15, entered the house just as I rudely ripped off a tiny flap of finger flesh that left the splinter head exposed. "Heather," I said, "Where have you been? I'm having a medical emergency." She came over all business-like and told me to wipe the soapy water off of my finger. She then grabbed the tweezers and steady of hand pulled the splinter free.
"That can't be all of it, that's so small," I said.
"mr jim is a crybaby."
Creak./
- jimlouis 11-05-2000 12:18 am