Of Mice and Sheet Rock Guys

Category: weekleez

The One About Of Mice and Sheet Rock Guys
December 2, 2003

hi kids,

it’s all true doncha know.

remember last week’s Weekly about the rabid squirrel? i know you think i made that all up, and that i lied to you for a cheap laugh. but i didn’t. and when i handed my friend, becky, a hardcopy of the Weekly (because some people have computers and never turn them on and don’t we feel sorry for them?) she saw the lovely graphique with the mean-rabid squirrel on it and said, “oh, did you get one of those Rabid Squirrel Notices too?” and i said, “wha?” and she said that both of her children (one is in elementary school and the other is in junior high) came home last week with notices saying that due to the onslaught of rabid squirrels and raccoons in the area that airplanes were going to be dropping special “cookies” into the woods and that the “cookies” look like Fig Newtons™ and that the children should NOT eat any Fig Newton™ that they find in the woods as it is Rabid Squirrel And Raccoon Poison.
as if i could make that up.
and apparently there was a blurb in the local paper about it as well. and becky said that she and her family laughed about it, and i said, “well, apparently the front yard needs one of those Fig Newtons™ because my window was brutally attacked by a rabid squirrel.” and she said, “no kidding?” and i said, “i kid you not.”

so listen kids, not only do we have to be on the lookout for rabid squirrels, but we also need to condition ourselves to not, not, NOT EAT ANY STRANGE FIG NEWTON™-LIKE COOKIE WE FIND IN THE WOODS.

i know.

and i know that i could never put one of those cookies in the yard because Toonces, being a curious whorecat, would see it and say to herself, “hey jaimie loves me and gave me a cookie that looks just like a Fig Newton™ cookie. that cookie is for Tunses good cat kitty cat!” and then she would eat half of it and i would go outside and see her and scream, “NOOOOO-oooooo-OOOOOO-ooooooo!“

and she would look up at me in utter betrayal with some kind of greenish bile-string coming out of her mouth and say, “et tu, jaimie?”

and then people would come over and say, “hey, where’s Toonces?” and i would shamefully say, “i killed her.” and they would laugh and say, “oh jaimie, you’ve been saying that for years now. so really, where’s the cat?” and i would have to start all over again at the beginning with the rabid squirrel. and then when i finished they would point and whisper, “murderer! murderer!”

i know. so don’t worry kids, any Fig Newton™ you find in my yard is safe eating. a promise from me to you.

at first i thought, “what kind of homer simpson moron would be walking in the woods and see a Fig Newton™ and after thinking, “mmmmm, Fig Newton™” would stoop down, pick up, and eat said Fig Newton™? and then i thought, well, it is deer season. and we’re in alabama.

i’m glad they sent home a notice about the poisonous Fig Newtons™ because i realize that kids, stupid dumbass kids, would eat a poison cookie they found in the woods. i would.
no i wouldn’t.

yes i would.

come on, free Fig Newton™! duh!

so listen, all you science/wildlife experts out there, how about if you’re going to make rabid animal poison, i mean let’s just say, how about NOT MAKING IT LOOK LIKE A POPULAR SNACK COOKIE THAT MOM’S PUT IN LUNCHBOXES EVERY DAY, HUH?! DO I HAVE TO THINK OF EVERY STUPID THING AROUND HERE?

or at least stamp a skull and crossbones on it, i’m certain that rabid animals, not being in their right-minds, would not recognize such a universal symbol, but that every child who has ever watched a cartoon EVER, will know that hey, that Fig Newton™ is poisonous.

or better yet, make it look like poop. because hey, if a kid goes out to the woods and eats poop, i mean, hey, it takes a village, that’s all i’m sayin’.

so jaimie, what does poisoned Fig Newtons™ and poop-eating children have to do with sheet rock?
um, nothing?

so dad and i have been painting a local fire house. or is it fire station? fire hall? mead hall! yay! beowulf!

<tangent> and speaking of mead hall, the World Famous Finlaysons gave me some mead. actual, real mead! and i drank it! it tasted sweet. i don’t think i’d want to drink it all the time, but for real, it wasn’t bad. it’s 10 times better than strega, if any of you out there have ever had the misfortune of drinking strega. they are both yellow but the similarities stop there. where the mead was sweet and honeyish, the strega is like a combination of the green flavored NyQuil™ and hydrochloric acid.

thank you, kind Finlaysons, for sharing your mead with me. for two minutes i felt like a viking. and as i was alone when i drank it, i said a toast to Hrothgar and drank straight from the bottle. not lady-like i’m sure, but i mean, come on, how often does the opportunity come around to drink mead anyway?
</tangent>

the fire station! right, so the guy in charge of the building of the fire station calls and says they’re ready for us to paint. but the thing is, we get there and like, it’s under construction. and so my first reaction upon ariving and seeing brick masons laying brick and electricians running wire and sheet rock guys hanging sheet rock was, “dad, why in hell are we painting a place that isn’t done yet? shouldn’t we wait for THE WALLS TO BE BUILT?” and dad was all, “SOME of the walls are ready to be painted. just paint those.”

“yeah, but isn’t this like counting chickens before they hatch? i mean, we get these walls all primed and then some idiot puts a hole in one or something? and all this dust…come on.”

“do you have to complain about EVERYTHING?”

“no, not everything. just about stupid things. because if i paint a wall and some assjack with a hammer comes in and messes it up or all this dust settles on my wet paint it’s gonna really piss me off.”

“look, we’re getting paid by the hour, so who cares?”

“yeah, but there’s no lights…alls i’m saying is-“

“shut up and paint.”

well, by day three dad is all, “we shouldn’t be painting this place yet. all this dust and they STILL don’t have all the walls all sanded down yet. and where’s the electrician?!”

sigh.

but the reason i really hate painting there…it’s not just the ineffiency…nay, it’s because it’s a construction site and i’m the only girl. and because of that my official name at the site is Girl. and the sad part is i respond to it. i mean, how am i not going to respond to it?

“hey Girl, where’s your dad?”

like i’m going to say, “hmmm? oh were you talking to me?” because i’d rather be Girl than Bitch.

oh and my fluourescent yellow hair went over big too.

after 3 days everything was old hat, well except for Girl, but i figure that’s not going to change anytime soon so i’ll just live with my new moniker for another week or two.
oh wait, actually, this one guy calls me either Girl or Suzie. i…i’m thinking that maybe…maybe he calls all girls Suzie?

i don’t know. but i do know that he’ll ask Suzie a question and i’ll respond to it so…who’s the crazier of the two?

well, the two bonehead sheet rockers were like, absolute clichés. and dad and i have decided that we want nothing to do with the sheet rock business.

i was painting a wall and they were working on the opposite side of the wall, so like, if the wall wasn’t there we’d be facing each other, so see, we aren’t in the same room…they were in the next room, i can’t explain this very well, sorry. so i could hear everything they were doing, ‘cos you know, the wall wasn’t finished on their side yet.

well, the one guy’s name was jack. and i know that because the other guy, whom we’ll call lenny (although that’s not his name but TRUST ME he’s a lenny) said jack’s name in at least every sentence he said.

“hey, jack. where’s the nails at jack?”

meanwhile jack is struggling to hold up a piece of sheet rock, which by the way is very heavy. i know it’s heavy because i couldn’t even move a measly 4ft piece of it by myself. so when jack was talking back, his voice was all strained and grunty and he said, “i need…some help.”

“jack? have you seen the nails, jack? where are the nails at jack?”

“help in here! i need some help.”

poor jack. holding up that giant piece of sheet rock by himself.

a while later i hear:

“where’s the glue at, jack?”

*hammer pounding* “help me…in here.”

“jack? have you seen the glue, jack?”

finally after 2 hours of this torture they go to lunch and i come rushing out of my room to find dad to see if he’s been listening to the steinbeckian caricatures:

“dad! have you been listening to those guys? oh my god!”

“heh. that guy is clueless isn’t he?”

“oh man, i thought i was gonna die laughing in there!”

“i knew that we’d talk about those guys sometime today.”

“i mean, “jack” is in there struggling by himself….”

“and meathead is out here looking for nails, i know.”

“i’ve been calling him “lenny” in my head.”

“hahahahahaha!”

well, you know what? it’s not nice to make fun of people. and there i was, making fun of someone i didn’t know. making fun of this bonehead. calling him “lenny” and snickering back and forth with dad saying, “i see it, george! i see the nails!” and “tell me about the glue, george.”

well, instant karma is a beeatch. and to tell you the truth, i don’t belive in karma, instant or otherwise, but what i do know is that lenny has taken a shine to me. he LOVES me, he thinks i’m GREAT, and he says that i have a great personality.

i know. of course i feel like a terrible, horrible bitch, but also, the guy creeps me out. because he asks a lot of personal questions and also he only has 8 teeth. for real. okay, he might have 12 teeth, but still come on. he’s missing more teeth than he has, and i’m not so shallow as to think that being Mr. Gums makes him creepy (oh sure that’s part of the creepiness) but it’s mostly the personal questions and the fact that i’m alone in a room with this guy and my dad is like, way far away in another part of the fire station, that’s the part that bothers me. he doesn’t talk to me when dad is there.

and now i know way more about lenny’s dog, health and drinking habits than i care to. and after talking to him (listening to him, rather) for two days i figured that he was pretty harmless and that yes he was as simple as a rock, and also i had pretty much planned out my escape in case he did decide to attack me. my weapon was to be the half-gallon can of paint which i would swing at his head as i charged for the door. go-go-gadget paint can!

anyway like i said, i kinda got used to the guy and i realized that lenny was more sad than scary (just like in the book! ‘cos sure lenny kills some puppies and a slut, but for real, lenny was way more sad than scary). but then after work dad said, “tomorrow we paint in the same room at all times.”
“huh? why? oh. lenny?”
“yeah, i don’t like it when he’s in there with you.”
“me neither. but i don’t think he’d try anything. DO YOU?! OH GOD IS HE GOING TO KILL ME? DO NOT LET HIM TOUCH MY HAIR. I DON’T CARE HOW SOFT IT LOOKS!”
“nah, but still i don’t like it.”
“yeah, works for me.”

lenny was calling me Lady Painter and sometimes Pretty Lady Painter but on Day Three he asked my name and now he calls me jaimie. and he uses it in every sentence.

“do you drink tequila, jaimie?”
“wh- um, yes?”
“oh i tell you what jaimie, i like tequila.”

why are you telling me this? ugh. go away lenny.

then the next day he comes into the room where dad and i are painting and he says to dad, “well, she sure is a lot prettier’n you are!”

what on earth do you say to that?
thank you? i guess?

jack, on the other hand, ignores me completely and sometimes he gives me a dirty look as if to say, “could you please not paint in the same room? you’re distracting lenny.” and i look back at him with the “oh sure, like it’s my fault lenny is lenny” look. and then he gives me that exasperated look of, “look, i’m not blaming you for lenny’s lennyness, but for god’s sake, we’re not even done with the walls yet, why are you guys painting?” and my look is all, “i don’t know! i don’t know!”

next week’s epitomb: lenny pets the puppies. AND THEY DIE.

jaimie “Girl” pickle

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