Free and Clear by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 7
I approach a kindly, oblivious, and recent happiness high point as there is nothing to distract from a rather uneventful weekend. Reba and David spend most of their time on the rocks.
Martha caresses her rubber, plucked chicken and does a minimum of hlooping. I sleep through a number of reality TV shows, uninterested in, but not repulsed by the poorly attempted replicas of non-acting and the penchants of those aware that they are on camera to stare at it. The presentation seems little different from the street theatre I grew up enduring while I was captively required to watch the orchestrated machinations of the heroically up tempo.
It is Monday, the beginning of a new week. I check my e-mail to find that in addition to all the special deals personally offered to me from anyone whose web site I have ever visited, as well as their paying compadres, I have a communique from yet another arm of the federal government. I think; “Uh oh.” The Department of Housing and Urban Development informs me that Martha and I have received an “Unsatisfactory” rating from our new housemates. I want to put this in some sort of perspective. I wonder how bad “Unsatisfactory” is. Like is there a “Substandard?” Or “Total Loss?” I figure that something marginally bad is something I could live with. Hell, I always
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have. But, I couldn’t find any explanation of the rating system on the forms provided. The underlying specifics of the notice, which, in government parlance, is referred to as HUD-7678
(amended 4-2-35) informs me that I am argumentative; that I often use potty language; that Martha makes disturbing and derogatory “blghrphmnnn” noises; that the house is not cleaned often enough; that there is no satisfactory system in place regarding kitchen usage; that there is no satisfactory system in place regarding laundry room usage; that they have no key with which to lock their bedroom door; that Martha and I make them feel uncomfortable and unwanted; and that immediate remediation is necessary. I am surprised at the lack of commentary regarding Martha’s unconventional choice to wear fowl jewelry.
Perhaps its synthetic nature overrides review. The quantity of my co-obligor and my reported flaws strikes me as staggering; though I consider that volume mitigated by the effortlessly debatable seriousness of the items delineated. Bottom line I figure; “What can anyone do about it?” In regard to the extensive reported “deficiencies,” Anne Despoto of the Clinton HUD office is promised to be paying Martha and me an
“interventional” visit. Reba and David Van Dalliant were not to be present at this remediation, as such attendance could be considered contentious and unproductive. So much for participatory democracy,
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I took the offensive. I thought; “Shit. Where is my form to evaluate them? What kind of remediation can be accomplished with only one side in attendance? And I’ll be happy to give them a key to their lockless bedroom door.”
More quickly than stink applied itself to fresh cat shit, a late model black SUV rumbled into the gravel driveway. “Taps”
played. The tune has become pitifully redundant, losing all of its original mirth, becoming simply suck-o. I desperately sought Martha, but she must have already left for work. “Taps” played again. I strongly considered not answering. An insistent female voice said; “Open up. I know you’re in there!” I wondered how she knew. I wondered where the surveillance camera was planted.
I said; “Shit,” purposely loud enough to be heard. I figured that we were not getting any breaks here, so at least I could be offensive in a way which was not yet against the law. ........ I decide it best to double check that when I get back on the computer.
I reluctantly open the door to see a fortyish woman with a green name tag dangling sideways from her navy blue sports jacket juggling a pocketbook and a laptop. To meet the crooked challenge I re-position my head to two o’clock and say: “Ms.
Despoto. How did you know that I was here?”
She curtly answers; “I didn’t, but saying what I did has a magical way of opening doors. I wasn’t sure until you used that
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unnecessary word, which, by the way, doesn’t phase me in the least. Can I come in?”
I step aside and wave her toward the kitchen. “Oh, please excuse me. I was working on the computer and managed to lose what I had done this morning.”
As she makes a production of sitting at the table, slinging her bag over the chair rail and positioning her laptop in front of her on three hops; with a dour face she says; “You should save more often.” She impressed someone I didn’t see that she was busy and efficient. I had my reservations about her care for government property.
I take the seat opposite her and slur; “I don’t think the DPR likes that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Inside government joke. Never mind. I know that we have received an unsatisfactory rating. How bad is that?”
“I don’t understand. .......... It’s bad.”
“I mean is there anything lower than unsatisfactory? Like awful, poor or something.”
“We at HUD like to keep things as simple as possible for our hosts. There’s only satisfactory and unsatisfactory.” She wrinkled her lips in a manner which was suggestive of a paralytic’s smile attempt.
“What is the penalty for being found unsatisfactory?”
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“We don’t like to think of it as a penalty. We offer remediation. Is your wife home?”
“She’s at work. So there’s no civil or criminal penalty for being unsatisfactory?”
“No.”
“So then, if one is going to be deemed unsatisfactory and all that happens is that they are remediated, one is encouraged to be very bad.”
Ms. Despoto made no response.
“Like, instead of the lack of chicken shit keys to lockless doors, I might as well give them a beating and lock them out.”
“I think we all want to be responsible citizens.”
I make a sneering short smirk and say; “Are you sure you’re not from the DPR?”
She looked at her raised laptop and said; “Can we get down to business?”
“When are you going to read me my rights? Like the right to remain silent. Like the revelation that anything I say might be used against me in a court of law. Like I have the right to legal representation, and all that shit.”
Ms. Despoto eyes me as if I were an unworldly student of a long gone generation. She says; “We’re in a post 9-11 world. No one has rights. Are you trying to be difficult?”
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“You send me unrequested boarders and you have the audacity to call me difficult?”
She looked at her screen and said; “It says here that you’re argumentative. ........... I can see that.”
“Am I not allowed to ask questions?”
She stares at me with steely eyes I interpret as hatred. It warms my heart. She slowly says; “Mr. Michaels; I have this entire conversation on tape. I’m going to play it for my supervisor and he will determine the next course of action.”
“More remediation? Higher level? Waterboarding?”
She stands and starts to gather her things.
I think that the best thing for me to do is get this over with as soon as possible. I can’t stand water up my nose. I make an intentionally half-assed ploy at appearing co-operative and say; “Okay, okay. Let’s follow your game plan. It may be my nature to be argumentative. I’ve heard this incorrect allegation on numerous occasions.”
She is still standing and staring with unblinking eyes.
I entreaty; with the sincerest of facial expressions I can muster; “What do you want me to say? That I will endeavor to be less argumentative?”
She cautiously sits.
“Okay, okay. I will make a yeoman’s effort to be less argumentative.”
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She makes the slightest of smiles and appears to be getting comfortable in my anemic attestation to her power.
In disdain of her apparent fascination with power, I am compelled to add; “Whatever that means.”
Her smile is gone when she says; “Look it up in your Funk and Wagnall’s. Now, what are we going to do about your Tourette’s syndrome?”
I can’t resist saying; “Not a fucking thing.” She stares. I see that her game is borderline retarded and therefore extremely easy to play. I say: “I will endeavor to use less potty talk.”
“Very good. Now, Mrs. Michaels makes disturbing and derogatory noises, described by the Van Dalliants as a
‘blghrphmnnn.’”
I pondered. I say; “She has developed a breathing problem.
She can get a doctor’s note attesting to that, if required. As a point of order I would like to interject that my unavoidably biased understanding of the current, unfortunate situation is that the derogatorily perceived sound is more that of a ‘hloop’
nature. Perhaps, a small point, but nonetheless one I feel worthy of more clarity; as I, too, find the hlooping, rather than the alleged ‘blghrphmnnn’ sound disturbing. However, it is only fair to point out that the derogatory ‘blghrphmnnn’
commentary is merely anecdotally obtained from an extremely limited, very short, and undeniably, intrinsically biased
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observance by those with obviously needy motivation. I would contend that it bears no mathematically certain relationship to truth, as that term is defined in scholarly literature, of a supposedly and accepted-to-be-up-to-date-learned basis.
Consistent with that undeniable fact, I can only conclude the aforementioned depiction as being individually judgmental, to the extent of irrelevance.” I wonder if she’s going to buy all this stuff. I know that she would like to do her job without having to call in assistance.
After she stares at me, waiting for her conception of a conclusion of sorts, which she did not recognize as something which I offered, Ms. Despoto grimaces for the briefest of moments, then says; “Okay, I’ll give you that one since you’re being so co-operative. Now, how about cleaning the house?” A return to the bruise-inducing concrete is apparently her favorite ground, while I am more comfortable in the non-injurious, open environment of cerebral space.
I recall an old teaching of my parents and recognize that this is not my ballpark; nor is it my game. I was just stuck here. For the sake of getting by I am forced to return to the clearly evident and tiresome confines dogmatically imposed by the “sensible” deficiency of progressive music. I return to the most competent way of handling the situation that I know and say; “It is cleaned as much as it ever has been; admittedly
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minimally. We both work and find better things to do when we’re off. Since our boarders don’t work, maybe they can do some. Are they exempt from household chores? ................ Especially since they’re the ones with the requirements.”
She scares me when she says; “I note a twinge of argumentativeness. .......... Isn’t that a heck of a word?
........... Argumentativity? ........... Argumentativation?
....... I don’t know. Which sounds better to you?”
“Actually, none.”
Ms. Despoto relieves my fears of a brick wall’s possible placement in our field on engagement when she says; “Well, anyway, I think this area should be explored further and I’ll get back to you regarding it. Kitchen usage?”
I count my blessings as I think that I may have gotten away with the display of my natural, personally humorous and honest predilection for obfuscation. I reply; “How about Martha and I get the even numbered hours and they get the odd.”
“Interesting. Laundry room?”
“The opposite.”
“They want a key to their bedroom door.”
“Fine, I’ll give them a key. ............. But, there’s no lock on the door.”
Ms. Despoto flutters her eyes and looks to the side, possibly in deep thought. She says; “I see no mention of lock.
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So, I guess the key will suffice. ....... Okay. Last but not least. Martha and you are making them feel uncomfortable and unwanted.”
“I really don’t know how to respond to that. I suppose I could say that they were making us feel uncomfortable and unwanted, but then I’d be back in the argumentative trap. See, if you phrase things the right way you don’t wind up with oddball usages. Or is that uses? Or something else entirely?
Which sounds better to you?”
“Meaning has been conveyed.”
“Good, good. Anyway, I suppose I’ll have to read their minds a bit and conclude that their unease centers around my argumentative ............ dammit. ...... nature, got it. ......
Maybe predisposition is a better word. And Martha’s hlooping.
This sounds like a throwback to what was said previously.”
“Let’s stay off the semantics.”
“I didn’t mean that at all. I mean a while back I said I would endeavor to restrain my penchant for being argumentative, or something like that. And that Martha has developed a breathing problem. She can get a doctor’s note, if required. You might tell David and Reba that we’re very sorry.” I thought that she might tell them that, but we weren’t.
Ms. Despoto shuts down her laptop and says; “Very good.
Things like that go a long way. You know, when I started doing
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this I’d always get bogged down in the boring specific details of the complaints. I found that they don’t resolve anything, get complicated, and waste everyone’s time.”
“It’s amazing how much a bright person can learn in a week.”
She eyes me strangely, the former hint of a smile well relaxed. She stands up and says; “I think the converse. I’m amazed at how little people can learn in ........ How old did you say you were? We’ll be in touch.” She let herself out.
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