Once upon a night, 2 girls went out drinking and looking for
men. These were fine girls and they tipped back their beers at the local pub trying
to acquire interesting male conversation. Having no such luck the night
trickled on without success. As the moon hung low in the sky and the barkeeps
began closing down shop, the uninteresting men quickly disappeared into the
distant hills to their wives and whores. The girls had no other choice but to
button up their petty coats, pay their tabs respectfully and retire to their
bungalow. At this particular time, Ti was the gracious host and Waz was buying
sleep in the comfort of her underground lair.
The two girls enjoyed a stiff nightcap in their sleeping
gowns, then blew out the candles, and kissed each other good night. They dreamt
of men and interesting conversation and longed to be entertained.
As the golden morning began stretching its rays, light
flooded the windows illuminating the quaint space. Luckily the girls had had SO
much of the fizzy drink, they slept through the suns birth. It wasn't until the
loud thick knock at the front door that they did startle.
WHO THE FUCK IS IT? Ti squawked in a voice deeper than a
baritone sax hitting an F/E sharp. (The 2 birds tweeting sweetly outside her
window also died immediately) The front door sprang open as he stepped into the
landing – a tall strong looking man wearing cargo shorts and thick leather
boots and a cherry stained cotton shirt. His intricately gelled hair appeared
confident and unmovable, his diamond earrings nearly blinding the girls as they
were hit with an odorous wave of Axe: Phoenix and Abercrombie’s Fierce. MY NAME
IS JASON LADIES, AND I’M HERE TO SHOW YOU MY KIRBY.
WHAT THE FUCK IS A KIRBY? Ti squawked yet again as she
pulled a pack of cigarettes from her side table and lit one with her breath. I
stayed quiet, tucked behind her body shivering with no pants on.
The man took Ti’s “casual cigarette in bed bit” to mean,
come on in. Down he thudded the 16 steps from the front door to the front of
the bed where the two of us laid mystified and confused. Before either of us
had time to speak the gentlemen outreached his hand for a proper handshake then
immediately swung the 80 pound vacuum he had attached to his back around his
shoulders and head, nearly missing our toes. THIS LADIES, IS A KIRBY AND YOU TI,
HAVE EARNED YOURSELF A FREE CARPET CLEANING.
The two of us took a scan around the apartment looking for
carpet (the scan took less than 3 seconds total) The only carpet in the entire
250 sq. foot space were the dirty stairs leading up to the front door. Pointing in that direction I suggested Jason start there as I fished under the covers
for my leg sleeves. EASY LADIES, he said. I'VE GOT THIS.
Having fully now woken up and examining the situation at
hand, a few things ran through my mind. He was either A, here to kill us, B, we
had met him last night and accidentally agreed to an AM threesome or C, Ti had
now resorted to inviting “vacuum salesmen” over as a way to get lucky. I chose
D, none of the above, he was here for our entertainment. I immediately shot up
and grabbed a half full bottle of Rashid Wallace champagne from the night
before and poured Ti and myself 2 coffees. After finding a suitable outlet Jason
began cleaning and as we finished our rotten booze he had stairs 1-16 shining bright. He smiled at us elated as we clapped for our hero.
A small bit of sweat hung on his brow and as he wiped it
away, the body spray embedded in his skin ignited the room and I swear I saw a
flame in his eye. Jason asked what was next. What was next? There was nothing
else to clean! This place looked and smelled like Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s
basement: cold, carpet-less and full of lotion - Well in that case, I chimed in, can
you please go get us some more champagne at the gas station? I've got quite the
headache and we are both dreadfully thirsty. Jason said he’d sure love to but couldn't on account of the fact that he’d gotten a DUI just a few weeks back so
he wasn't allowed to purchase alcohol – he did however know a great restaurant
down the road that didn't card and had $2 Natty lite on tap. Half tempted to accept the offer we decided we needed to know more about Jason before we got into a
vehicle with him and his suction machines.
With the two of us still tucked in bed we asked if his
vacuum cleaned furniture. He said it did and within minutes like a magician, he
attached several small pieces and a hose to the Kirby. Ti made a move to clean
off her chair so Jason could have a fresh canvas to paint on, but Jason
insisted on stripping it himself. We were all shocked when he finally got down to the
last layer of dirty clothes and pulled out a human body. Jason was so cool
about it as he walked it up the stairs and laid it in the drive way to grow
back to life. Back
to the chair he came, forearms flexed, hips and torso in position. Within minutes the
chair too looked and smelled as good as 2007.
Jason was now on a roll – there was no carpet or piece of
furniture too big or too small for him to tackle. He had seen and de-stained it
all. Though he was doing this free of charge, the confidence he gained from his
hard work was priceless. With beer brunch still on the table we decided to keep
Jason around a little while longer. Before he knew what we were going to ask he
accepted the challenge and began cleaning Ti’s mattress with us still in the
bed. Rolling from side to side, we expertly kept our hands and feet out of
Jason’s intricate path. He cleaned the entire mattress head to toe, front and
back, flipping bodies and pillows to do a job well done, while we laid by
comfortably enjoying the gentle yoga flow. This guy was a pro. He twisted the
hose from left to right, removing unnecessary pieces and stacked them in his belt
as his eyes landed on a special stain. Suddenly Jason reached deep into his
back pocket and pulled out a foreign looking piece – a piece used so few and
far between in the Kirby world most would have mistaken it for arsenal or Tupperware.
He took the plastic-like shell and fitted it to a secret nozzle then pressed a hidden
button under the belly of the vacuum. The Kirby giggled. It was ticklish.
The sound that came next was menacing and the man was
maniacal. He saw the stain at the end of the stripped bed and we all knew it
had to go. Plunging the secret piece into the soft springy dough he began kneading
and rolling the mattress likes a baker at a bread race. Hand over hand he
sawed machine into the cottony flesh and to everyone’s amazement the stain began
to lift. Shade by shade it softened until there was only a faint glow left
behind – but this wasn't good enough for Jason. No, he wanted more. He
pressed the secret button one more time and the machine began vibrating almost
uncontrollably – there was no stopping him. Pressed up against the headboard Ti
and I held hands and closed our eyes as turbo booster met mattress and to
everyone’s horror it cut right through the cotton down to the spring. Jason had
gone too far. He immediately jerked his arm back alarmed at his own strength,
eyes wide as he wildly screamed out NOOOOO, but it was too late. The Kirby
damage had been done. Our screams were silent as we knew in our heart of hearts
the mattress was dead. Jason dropped the secret piece of machinery as if it had
a mind of its own and pressed his hands to his hard pecks. His reputation was
ruined and so was our nap.
As the dust settled there wasn't much left to say. Jason packed
up his belongings, his pale face long and sad. We stayed in bed and placed a
blanket over the new hole. We didn't think brunch was a good idea anymore. Or, carpet cleaning.
On his way out Jason offered us a 50 % off deal on a new
machine plus a chance to sit on his back as he did push-ups as a special thank
you. Though it was a hard bargain we had to refuse. He handed us business cards
and looked up with puppy dog eyes. We pointed to the door for him to leave – he
knew what he had done. The moral of the story is, if a strange man comes over
to shampoo and deep clean your rug, just make sure he doesn't get overzealous
and get stuck in a tight space.
Cheers to The Boy who Cried Brunch and Mattress Munching,
WAZ
No comments:
Post a Comment