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12/19/11 - (1)
Christmas Cheer
Yesterday morning, too early for most of the building's residents, The elevator, with my drowsy soul in its cargo hold, Slowed its plunge, at floor fourteen, Stopped, opened its doors, to admit, aboard, A bubbly, loquacious, gregarious, outspoken Shirley Temple, Who blurted out, "How are you, mister?" As though she'd known me for a lifetime or two.
To say that my curt, gruff, grave riposte — "How are you?" — Accused, indicted me of being surly, testy, curmudgeonish, A latter-day bah-humbug Scrooge, Might be severe, overkill, judgmental, opinionated . . . maybe not. Nonetheless, when she responded, cockily, "I'm great!" I winced, shuddered, reviled by her histrionic giddiness; After all, it wasn't even 5:58, and my spirit felt raped, to the bone.
I mean, who in hell's filled, that early, with vivaciousness Or whatever the hell you call her hyper-overactive enthusiasm? Then, I made a gigantic mistake, by not keeping my trap shut, Rather inciting her to further excitation, By asking, somewhat antagonistically, "Why are you so 'great'?" Which started a cascade of Christmas-kiddish bullshit About her wrapping gifts for her sister, decorating the tree.
You've got to realize that I'm seventy-seven and still work, Can't afford to retire to my Club Med dream isle Off Belize, Cancún, Destin, Marrakesh, Port Arthur, Texas. Hell no. These days, I quit work, I'm out on the street. As for me and my old lady, even when she was alive, All we did, on Christmas, was micro-heat-up a Tombstone pizza And watch Three Stooges movies till we fell asleep, on the sofa.
Thank God the lobby came up to meet us, quickly, Saved me from one more second of Bright Eyes' frivolous drivel. "Good-bye, mister!" she ripped off with such cheeriness It made me want to kick her in the butt, à la W. C. Fields — That disgusting little scruffy, mud-covered, insanely barking mutt. This time, I did keep my trap shut, as the doors closed, But not before she smiled, "Have a great Christmas, Mr. Asshole!"
12/19/11 - (1)
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