Poetic Justice?
So I'm back in Homeless, Luzianne for two wonderful months. I had to get here at oh-dark-fifteen Sunday morning, worked for about 2 hours, and went to move in to my temporary housing.
One problem: housing not yet available. Cleaning still ongoing.
Not such a big deal, right? I'm a reasonably intelligent mammal, got a car trunk full of interesting textbooks I could be absorbing, I ought to be able to entertain myself for a couple of hours.
So I found a park, sat down under a tree, and proceeded to do some reading. There was no-one in the park except for me, so I figured I'd settle in and learn for a bit. I guessed the denizens of Homeless were all home getting ready for the Saints game.
I was wrong.
The locals were apparently all sitting behind industrial-strength window screens with flyswatters and citronella candles, hiding from the mosquitos.
The first couple of bugs were not a big deal. Merely the size of large housecats, they did not concern me. I swatted them and returned to my reading.
When their big sisters showed up, approximately the size of Volkswagens, I began to be worried.
Shortly thereafter, I heard a loud drone and saw several large objects pass by overhead. Interesting, I thought all the C-150's had been moved out of the area by now.
When said objects landed on my neck and began to feast, I closed my books and returned to the safety of my car, from which I called the housing office and encouraged them to expedite my housing request.
A scant two hours and four pints of blood later, I had moved in to the apartment, stocked it with necessary paper products, caffeine, and a 50-lb bag of Bachelor Chow(tm), and decided to relax in front of the TV. One of the few benefits of being exiled to Homeless is the free cable they throw in to keep us from staging a revolution. Someone down here has read their Marx.
Only one problem.
TV's broken. Not one channel available for yours truly to peruse.
That's all right, I thought. I'll just read some of these magazines that have been thoughtfully left here for my edification.
Only one problem.
The stack of Reader's Digests and Sports Illustrateds are all over a year old.
One problem: housing not yet available. Cleaning still ongoing.
Not such a big deal, right? I'm a reasonably intelligent mammal, got a car trunk full of interesting textbooks I could be absorbing, I ought to be able to entertain myself for a couple of hours.
So I found a park, sat down under a tree, and proceeded to do some reading. There was no-one in the park except for me, so I figured I'd settle in and learn for a bit. I guessed the denizens of Homeless were all home getting ready for the Saints game.
I was wrong.
The locals were apparently all sitting behind industrial-strength window screens with flyswatters and citronella candles, hiding from the mosquitos.
The first couple of bugs were not a big deal. Merely the size of large housecats, they did not concern me. I swatted them and returned to my reading.
When their big sisters showed up, approximately the size of Volkswagens, I began to be worried.
Shortly thereafter, I heard a loud drone and saw several large objects pass by overhead. Interesting, I thought all the C-150's had been moved out of the area by now.
When said objects landed on my neck and began to feast, I closed my books and returned to the safety of my car, from which I called the housing office and encouraged them to expedite my housing request.
A scant two hours and four pints of blood later, I had moved in to the apartment, stocked it with necessary paper products, caffeine, and a 50-lb bag of Bachelor Chow(tm), and decided to relax in front of the TV. One of the few benefits of being exiled to Homeless is the free cable they throw in to keep us from staging a revolution. Someone down here has read their Marx.
Only one problem.
TV's broken. Not one channel available for yours truly to peruse.
That's all right, I thought. I'll just read some of these magazines that have been thoughtfully left here for my edification.
Only one problem.
The stack of Reader's Digests and Sports Illustrateds are all over a year old.
posted by Ted @ 02:14
3 Comments:
At 3/10/06 16:26 ,
Jenny said...
What about all of those wonderful books in your car? The volkswagons too thick to go and fetch one!?!?! That seriously is a problem.
At 4/10/06 19:30 ,
Yankee John said...
People in Lousianna read? Are you sure they didn't get Sports Illustrated just for the pictures?
At 5/10/06 17:18 ,
Ted said...
Well, the books in the car were all textbooks, and a little light reading is nice once in a while.
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