“If someone told your father to go fuck himself, it’s the first I ever heard of it.”

- There was that chamber of commerce guy.

“He didn’t say go fuck yourself, he called your father a goddamn sonofabitching asshole.”

- We might be splitting semantic hairs on this.

“Whole world of difference between asshole and fuck yourself.”

- All right, well, I guess I meant just did anyone ever swear at dad.

“Not like they swear at you. It seems people swear at you all the time.”

(So to cap off a weird week last week, on Friday I got into a shouting thing with George. We had to cut hours across the board. We distributed letters explaining why, and for how long. Kinda nervous bout how it would go over, but George was the only one who raised a stink. He raised a stink by throwing the crumpled-up letter at me and telling me he wants his eight hours back and to go fuck myself. From there, it escalated. I’m told I went nose to nose with him and offered to pay him five fucking thousand dollars if he fucking promised to fucking quit and never ever never ever never fucking ever return. I’m also told customers heard all this. Oh well. But George did deserve it cause he is an asshole, one big fat pain in the ass asshole.)

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Yes. Oh. Oh. Oh. Jane did. Once.”

Jane Spain Bunny Brain? Swore at dad?

“I think he wanted to be open on the Fourth and she didn’t want to work it.”

- But … but she’s all into church. She’s one of those ladies who watches over the body of Christ or whatever they do at churches. Protects it so no one steals it or whatever.

“Which is why he was so shocked.”

- Did he open on the Fourth.

“Your father? On a holiday? He was only mulling it out loud, as a notion to entertain.”

- I bet he shat a brick when Janie gave him what-fer.

(So, almost an hour ago, I called mom, cause I was bored and made up the pretense of wondering if anyone ever swore at dad. But I’m not sure how much longer I can keep her on, and I’m still bored. The only big thing that happens here on Tuesday afternoons is the Sysco order, which Rudy takes care of. So I’m dead til five. They say I should enjoy all this free time, beholden to no one, while I still can. In three weeks, that all changes, goes bye-bye, for forever. And I’m sure they’re right. I’m sure when Pokey gets here and I’m up to my ass in diapers, lack of sleep, barf, crying and breastfeeding, I will look back on these days with regret, the missed opportunities. But man. I’m bored off my tits lately. Twiddling my thumbs, more or less.)

- There was that cop. Member that cop?

“Which one.”

- On Western Avenue. Member? We were coming back from Ricobene’s, and he got pulled over. Dad sure got yelled at by that cop.

“That one your father might have deserved.”

- Look, mom, there’s no point bribing a cop if they’re not gonna look the other way on something small.

“He was speeding twenty miles over the limit.”

- Closer to ten.

“And your father got out of the car. They don’t like it when people get out of their cars.”

- He knew the cop. He didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Cause he’d been bribing the cops, you see.

“I don’t like the word ‘bribe.’ They weren’t bribes.”

- You don’t give cops free food or coffee without expecting a little something-something in return.

“A bribe is cash.”

- See, this is nothing but more semantics.

“And he gave discounts to firemen, too. What’s the something-something in return from a fireman?”

- That he drops another fire to come put out dad’s?

“Do you bribe firemen?”

- Shit, mom, we’re bribing garbage men at this point. We’re bribing the fucking library.

(No, that’s not true. We don’t bribe the library. That would be silly. But by the same token, we got this library woman who comes in. I know her, she knows me, we know each other, we’re friendly, have been for a couple years. You’d think she could waive a fine of only a few bucks, five bucks tops, on an overdue book. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you think? It’s gotta be within her power to hit a button or something. Jesus.)

“How many days a row is it now.”

- Of what, me working?

“Aren’t you on week number two?”

- I guess. Last day off proper was end of September. So … what’re we now, October?

“The thirteenth.”

- Shit on a shingle, I got ten more days of this shithole.

“And I get ten more days of you calling me every afternoon.”

- Oh, you love it.

“I’m beginning to see why (Wife-asaurus) lets you go to her voicemail.”

- Hey, how’d you know I’m working all the time.

“Jimmy told me.”

- When’d you talk to Jimmy.

“You don’t need to know everyone I talk to.”

- Was it before he left?

“Well, it wasn’t after.”

- Not so sure I like the idea of you and him talking.

“Jimmy is always good for a quick chat.”

- That’s cause you’re not interrupting him cause he doesn’t do dick.

“You’ll be quite the hypocrite when you wash your son’s mouth out with soap.”

- Why, whatever the fuck do you mean.

(I’ve been working every day, giving Jimmy a little holiday cause when Pokey gets here, I’m gonna be scarce for a month, if all goes according to plan. So Jimmy went to Europe. A buncha different European cities. That’s his time away from here. Me? Changing diapers. Do you know how many diapers kids go through? I just spent like a hundred dollars on Pampers and she says that’s only gonna last like a month. I wouldn’t have agreed to all this baby shit if I’d known how expensive it was gonna be.)

“What’re you listening to.”

- Where, here?

“There’s a woman singing.”

- Oh, just iTunes. It’s one of the Woody Guthries.

“Doesn’t sound like him.”

- Cause it’s not. It’s the 10,000 Maniacs woman. You can hear it?

“I’m not deaf, (squirrel).”

- Just didn’t realize it was that loud.

“What’s that?”

I said, I didn’t realize it was … goddamnit.

“Gotcha.”

Goddamnit.

“I really gotcha on that one.”

(The song in question is Birds and Ships, a Natalie Merchant song off one of the Mermaid Avenues, either One or Two, I forget which. It’s one of those songs I always kinda sorta just skipped past. I’m not sure why, cause it's nice. Lovely, simple, just voice and guitar. There’s no chance of me putting it on my playlists so I can listen over and over when I’m ‘Traipsing through the Valley of Deep Despond,’ it ain’t that good, but I should pay more attention in the future. This is how it ends. It’s kinda nice, how it ends.

“But my soul is stormy/

And my heart blows wild/

My sweetheart rides a ship on the sea.

Oh, my soul is stormy/

And my heart blows wild/

Where might my lonesome lover be?”)