Cinique

I had a work order in an apartment building early one morning. I did as I normally do in these situations and take care of things outside before I come to the door. It helps things go more smoothly. So I am knocking on the door to make contact with the customer. Well a wiry looking face with glasses and a weary weave, pokes from behind the door with sleep in her eyes. The face looks at me and turns and screams the cable guy is here, then opens the door.

Upon inspection of the surroundings there were two kids lying on the floor and a unidentified male apparently comatosed on the couch of a 2 bedroom apartment.
As the person, whom we’ll call Sam, starts to walk off and the roommate, Gloria walks in…I can see Sam’s breast. No bra, yet perky and standing on end. Quite a magnificent specimen from a male point of view. Sam had exactly no shame about showing the twins off or trying covering the twins up. Sam had on a chemise with an extremely loose top. In Sam’s defense, it looked like night cloths to me, but still. This raised a serious red flag for me.

Sam’s voice rang with a certain recognizable twang that I couldn’t quite place at that moment. Well since Sam had no shame about walking around the house half naked in front of her roommate, a possibly deceased man, two poor kids and a complete stranger, I pretended not to notice.

The kids were about 4 or 5 years old, awake, sad looking and apparently confined to the blanket they were sitting on. They stayed on that blanket the whole time I was there. Like there was some invisible humanized dog fence keeping them in bounds. Sam’s roommate Gloria, also had no shame in the fact the she was extremely overweight. So much so she breathed heavy after small movements and waddled when she walked.

After we talked briefly, she duck-walked to her room and plopped herself down on her overly strained bed and took a few seconds to regather her composure. Poor bed. She pointed me where she wanted the stuff in her room and I immediately got to work, trying to escape the uncomfortability of it all. I did my checks and slid out to the truck to grab the equipment with hast.  Dumbfounded, I made my way back to the apt. and swiftly installed the equipment.

Well, during my visit the two women proceeded to have a very loud argument about rudimentary things. Uncomfortably loud. Yelling & screaming. So I’m finished and waiting for thunder-thighs to sign my paperwork so I can leave & regather my grip on reality. But I cant get a word in edgewise and I definitely didn’t want to get into the middle of a shouting match. So I waited as they argued it out.

Sam was getting the better of the argument because she had the wind to talk faster and louder. Gloria had to take breathes to breath. The kids looked scared and I don’t blame them. It was an awkward situation and I felt for those kids. I could see dysfunction taking place all around them and unfortunately they will be a product of their environment one day. I pray that they find proper encouragement and tutelage in their lives.

Even after an extremely loud argument, the guy on the couch never woke up. I’m sure the neighbors heard the ruckus, so…I am quite sure that there is no way he slept right through it unless he was dead, (which might be the best move for him at the moment) or he’s already immune to this dysfunctional disease.

After things died down a bit and Gloria noticed my longing for an exit so she signed my paperwork so I could be on my way. Then she had the nerve to apologize for the yelling after the fact. As soon as I left I heard them yelling some more from downstairs.

As I pulled away and tried to retouch reality, I had a short chuckle about it all. I thought that maybe Sam wasn’t really a Samantha at all. Help me ladies. What woman is going to openly show their breast to a couple of young boys, a stranger, their roommate and a dead man on the couch. Well, I guess we wont even count him. Most mamma’s tech their daughters more caution over their body’s, especially when a guy is around. Am I right?

As sure as my name is Cinique, this story is true. I can’t make this stuff up.