A couple of days ago I got my haircut and a phone call from
my sister.
“Hey I found some jobs for you?”
“Jobs?” I asked.
“Yeah for when you move here. Mom didn’t tell you?”
“Noooo-”
Just as I said that the garage door opened and my Mom came
into the living and saw me with this look of… well… shock, hate, a little
surprise but mostly confusion. I hang up on my sister and waited for my mother
to start talking. It was like an interrogation in my house; we had one light on
and my mother sat before me in the dining room.
“I’m just tired, Joey. I go to work. I come home. I go to
bed. I don’t do anything on the weekends because I’m tired both mentally and
physically. At least in Texas I can work shorter days and do stuff. I miss your
sister terribly.”
I got up and moved into the kitchen and made some day old Chinese
food. I had to thinking about everything. I’m not nervous or scared about the
move I’m just shocked… because when we both visited last year in August … we
didn’t like it, it was too white picket fence, family small town perfect for raising
babies and having babies.
The moment I finally realized it was when the real estate
agent planted the for sale sign in front of the house. It’s been four days and
we already sold the house. Well, we think we did.
But first lets back track. Monday morning I got called into
work. It was my long shift, the eleven to eight and I was glad to do it. I had
just got my haircut and I was looking so fleek. I call it the modified undercut
because I didn’t get the sides of my head shaved completely off. I’ll save that
for the lesbians and the hardcore gays.
Everyone at work loved my haircut and my manager said, “It
really accents your face.” I think that means I have a fat face. I wore my
black sweater and placed a lime green undershirt underneath as a pop of color Guliana
Ranic says that’s the new thing to do now. My store director asked me why I did
that and I said, “It’s a pop of color duh. Idiot.”
Yesterday morning we had our first showing. A couple came in
from Ontario. At 9:30 in the goddamn morning. They looked around, commenting on
such things as the floors, the make of the fridge and then, in something I’ve
only seen in TV shows and movies, the wife drags her finger along the counter
and brings it up to her face to check for dust. Then she brushes her fingers on
her pants and whispers, “Dusty.”
Bitch…
