As I was greeted at the door I became slack jawed and nervous, digging deep for any scrap of professionalism I introduced myself and my business. I was face to face with the most outwardly unique individual that I had encountered in my personal or professional life. I was concerned for my personal wellbeing, but was slightly comforted after considering the self-defense or pain inflicting tools that I had slug over my shoulder in my sample bag: a stainless steel utility knife, a seven inch flat head screw driver, a hammer and a twelve inch Mag flashlight. Under the pretense that I could escape any situation by acting in rage to inflict massive amounts of pain I entered the dwelling. I was relieved now that I was more concerned for the fate of the individual inviting me into their dwelling than I was for my own personal wellbeing.
40oz's of Max Ice evenly placed down each step of the stairwell lead me to the basement. I recall being surprised that the shards of only one 40 seemed to have been littered at the bottom of the stairs. I also recall that the resident of this dwelling was washing down their 10:30 am brunch of brown beans and bread with a 40 of Max Ice. More 40oz's of Max Ice littered the basement floor in all directions, these ones being markedly more dusty. Overcoming my dismay of why someone would buy cheap, strong beer and not recoup the deposit on the bottles for more cheap, strong beer I began to assess my surroundings.
My mind was racing as I assessed the basement, flashes of such movies as the human-flesh-clad freak in 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre', and the intense basement scene in 'The Zodiac' began to bring back my initial nervousness and concern. As soon as I seen the door fasten shut with eight, still shinning screws, the news story of the Aussie girl locked in basement cellar for eight years grabbed a hold of me. There was a small gap at the top of the wall where an air duct ran into the bolted-shut room. For a proper room it was, as I could kinda see by shining my flashlight through a gap by the duct. As I considered the resident of the dwelling, and my pop culture knowledge of terror and horror, I couldn't help but press my lips together and emit an attention grabbing "PSST!" sound. After a couple of flashes from my Mag light through the gap and into the room I made a more audible "Hey". Nothing, no response from anything. I reached into my sample bag to retrieve my screwdriver. But I was both relieved and disapointed as my screwdriver was a flat head and the still shinny, deeply sunken screws required a square head. Accepting defeat and realizing that I was overreacting I continued on with my survey.
Upon finally exiting the dwelling I was relieved to be outside in the open. I began doing my external walk around of the dwelling, and was struck by the realization that if the resident had the foresight to screw shut that door, then they surly would have the foresight to subdue and incapacitate their capture. The nervousness and concern hit me once again, this time joined with a shudder and a small quantity of cold sweat. I pushed the idea from my mind, clearing my head by closing my eyes and drawing a slow breath of fresh air through my nostrils. My clear mind and comfort were short lived though. As I reopened my eyes they immediately focused on the residents' close line. The mid 40's, alcoholic, he-she, transvestite, cross-dresser, was air drying their laundry; pink and white panties and black stockings were interwoven with men's jeans and dark T's. Nauseous I became. Hurriedly I left.
I hope that my righteous self concern, hip-shooting, rapid fire judgment and imagination got the best of me and that I never hear of basement contained victims from within that town.
No comments:
Post a Comment