MEDLEY
A quirky compilation of short stories and poems
By: K. Zazzetta
Copyright 2011 K. Zazzetta
UP IN SMOKE
Some would call Alice Smith weird, others seemed unaware that she even existed. Alice was as plain and generic as her birth-given name. She worked at the local diner turning the hamburgers just right to reach the customer’s satisfaction. Rare and well-done were the easiest to make, but it was medium rare and medium that irritated Alice, for those burgers got sent back frequently.
“Hey! You!--fix it how they want it!” snarled, Harley, the owner. He shoved the burger under her nose and pressed his face against hers. She hated it when his sloppy belly pulled up flush against her body and his reeking garlic breath saturated the air she breathed.
“Shut your trap and leave me alone, fat ass!” Alice said, glaring at him. They didn’t particularly like each other and Harley was quite fond of using intimidation and insults.
“You’ve got something to say--huh, huh?” he goaded, “All you do is stare and never say a thing! Are you a mute--huh, huh?” His fat fingers pulled on a stringy mass of her hair. “Jesus!! Will you please get this greasy mop washed! It looks like you got soaked in a can of oil for God’s sake!” He walked away, muttering and murmuring expletives.
“When you brush your teeth is when I’ll clean my hair--you hairy baboon!!” Alice yelled silently as she viciously flattened the burger in the pan.
Harley may not be right most of the time, but he was accurate when he remarked upon Alice’s hair, which was a frightening mess. Her original color was a muddy brown, but she changed it to pitch black. Hygiene was not very important to her, and the effects from that created a mass of black, stringy, oleaginous hair that drooped across her forehead. Frying burgers didn’t help much either. The smoke from the meat absorbed her hair cuticles and every skin pore on her body. Periodically, a prick of hot oil landed on her face, thus creating pimpled polka dots.
Alice worked the breakfast shift and was finished by 1:00 p.m. After grabbing her worn backpack, she walked a few blocks to downtown. At 1:15 p.m., she entered the first floor of the bank building and walked to the food court. She passed by the mini fast food counters and slipped unnoticed into the public restroom. If anybody was in there, Alice pretended to use the bathroom until she was alone. Once she found an appropriate stall, she inspected it for cleanliness, roominess, and concealment.
After wiping off the seat of the commode, she lay a cushion over it, then placed a small pillow up against the toilet tank to make her back more comfortable. Her backpack hung on a hook and she checked to make sure the stall’s lock was securely latched. Alice curled up on the seat cushion and drew her knees toward her chest, making sure her feet could not be seen. By 1:30 p.m., she was ready.
At 1:45, the first woman came in. Alice could identify her by the way she walked and she named this woman, Mrs. Rush-rush-rush! She walked as if someone were holding a lighter up against her butt. At times, she was in such a hurry that she ran into a stall or two, with such a force that Alice could feel the door vibrate. Mrs. Rush-rush-rush finished up in the bathroom in less than thirty seconds--just like a man. Alice was always impressed.
It was 2:00 p.m., and the bathroom had an influx of women. Too many voices to listen to! Too many cackling hens! Alice couldn’t wait for them to leave. She needed it to be quiet so she could identify voices and listen to their treads.
Sure enough, at 2:15, Mrs. EgoQueen and Mrs. YesWoman entered and their conversation was always the same:
“Do you like my hair this way?”
“Yes, I think it’s beautiful.”
“Do I look fat in this dress?”
“God no! I wish I had a body like you!”
“Is my lipstick too bright?”
“That color looks great on you!”
“Do you think Matt really likes me?”
“Who could not like you!”
Alice wanted to ram her fist down Mrs. YesWoman’s throat and tell her to ‘Get a life.’ Another woman came in and entered the stall beside Alice. Oh, no! Not her!
Alice dunked her head low enough to see blue sensible shoes peeping at her. This was not her favorite bathroom regular. It was Mrs. Runs and she was having an explosive, smelly affair. Alice wondered what this woman ate to cause such an eruption. She held her shirt sleeve against her nose, masking the terrible odor. Soon after, Mrs. Runs left her stall, heavily sighing, as if she had accomplished some great feat.
The bathroom was empty and Alice had time to think about women and their bad habits. She, herself, was a tissue-liner person and wanted to bash the heads of those women who positioned their butt an inch from the commode and urinated, which led to pee droplets all over the seat! This deeply affected the liner women who would later sit down and feel the wetness on their behinds as the pee droplets soaked through the paper. Alice found this thoroughly frustrating and felt like it was living with a man who forgot to lift the seat. She sat thinking of ways to conquer this horrendous problem. Electric shock sounded good! Or, maybe penalties could be issued out by the bathroom patrol!
As she debated the options, she heard two women come in. One had heels on and the other had sneakers. They were whispering at first, then they searched to see if the bathroom was empty.
“Have you looked in each stall?” one asked nervously.
“Yeah, but one door is locked. Nobody’s in there! Quit actin’ like you’re gonna suffer a nervous breakdown!”
“God! How can you act like that after what we’ve done?”
“Look--one of us has to be calm, and that person is me!”
“What do we do now?”
“We cover our tracks and make sure nothing leads to us.”
“Okay,” she takes a deep breath. “Well, what do you want me to do with her purse?”
“Find an incinerator and get rid of it. I’ll take care of the body,” the calm one said.
“Alright.” The frightened one began to cry. “God!! I’m ss-shaking.”
“Pull yourself together or you’re gonna get us into deep shit!”
A pause. “What’s wrong?!?” the crying one asked hysterically.
“Shhhh…It’s just that I keep smelling hamburger. You know--like the smell when you go camping and cook it on a grill.”
“I don’t smell anything.” She stops crying and even laughs a little. “Besides, we’re in a food court.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Well,” she sniffs, “Let’s get out of here!”
“Wait!! The smell--it’s coming from this stall!” She jams her meaty hand on the door. “I’m gonna kick this mother open!”
Before Alice could summon a scream, the door flies open and hits her flush in the face, plunging her into dark oblivion.
*****
FAVORITE HAUNT
She is an aged city
With cobble streets
Lining the Royal Mile
Her enticing shops are saturated
With wooly sweaters and Celtic treasures
Her climate is brisk
And the clouds occasionally unfurl
For a glimpse of the gleaming sun--
If only for a few minutes
She is accustomed to a capricious sprinkling
That soon evolve into torrential rains
She boasts of hidden vaults
And mystic catacombs
Where her people
Dwelled centuries ago
She tells tales of Holyrood Palace
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With Mary of Scots
Weeping over the crimson stain
Where her murdered lover perished
Her emblazoned tartans
And diverse kilts
Satiate a child’s imagination
With epochs of mighty clans
In the distance
The sun begins to lower
And she listens to the resounding echo
Of a lone bagpiper
Proudly coming home
(Can you guess where that is? Hint: It’s where J.K. Rowling wrote her first book!)
*****
SNICKERDOODLES, JEWELS, AND CANDY COATED DREAMS
The sweet aroma of snickerdoodles baking in the oven overwhelmed my senses as I dashed into the sparkling kitchen to see if the cookies I helped make with grandma were done. She pulled out the piping hot baking sheet to see if the cookies were baked through. Once she gave a nod of approval, she removed the snickerdoodles with a spatula as I stood guard by the cookie dough bowl and watched her place the cooled-off ones in another container. With her permission, I eagerly plopped the unbaked dough onto the warm pan, and when she wasn’t looking, I plunged a spoon into the bowl and quickly devoured a yummy portion of dough.
While the remaining cookies baked, I lavished my attention on grandpa who was intently watching “All in The Family.” I adorned him with grandma’s necklaces and earrings, then critically examined his heavily decorated neck and ears, and decided whether or not more jewels needed to be added. Soon enough, his chest was heavily weighed down with shimmering baubles from the jewelry box.
Luckily for me, grandpa was a very patient and indulgent man, although he drew the line when I pulled out a deteriorated wig to beautify his shiny bald head. I thought I had bestowed him a great honor with his new hair, but he only chuckled and held his hands up to ward off the evil wig. “Oh no, no, no, no…..” he said in a half humorous, half horrified voice.
The Saturday evening passed by quickly and I reluctantly removed all the jewels from grandpa’s neck and ears. My bedtime snack was a delicious cup of homemade cocoa. After I finished my last few sips, I gave grandpa a kiss goodnight and followed grandma into my room. She tucked me into freshly washed, sun-dried, gingham sheets as I waited to hear her tell stories, and she knew of the one that always put a smile on my face. As she sat close to my bed, she leaned down and talked softly about the tale of a little girl and her search for a delectable bag of colorful jellybeans…..
(A memory from childhood)
*****
CRAZY THOUGHTS ON A RAINY DAY
Enjoy some kielbasa, kumquats, and oleo
Dusted with saffron.
Be vehement, persnickety, and pertinacious
While doing the quadrille.
Madeira may be drunk by a maudlin Marquis
As he eats sukiyaki and shell beans.
Can you hear the viola resonate as the sound
Ripples through doldrums of dementia?
Did you see the yegg steal the wax wing?
Didn’t he know it was sacrosanct?
She is searching for her boodle and trosseau
But ends up with jodhpurs and periwigs.
While eating Lucerne he becomes sallow,
Yet his spittle was salubrious instead of rancid.
By wearing the ulster--you are not titivating
But vacillating.
The saccharin tincture is applied
To a panoply by the tyro.
Rubella may be redolent and vacuous
Much to my bombastic chagrin.
In a lickety split, I’ll become aphasic
--Aren’t you glad???
(Dedicated to Dr. Seuss)
Hope you enjoyed my collection! Would love to read your review, whether you liked it or not.
Other works by this author:
Title: Purple Haired Girl of Eea