1.07.2010

Butterface

It's been almost four months since I've worked. Probably should've read more by now; don't have much to show for my time creatively, either. That's the nature of these things, though. Something about a daily routine helps ensure that things get done. In this lazy laid off mode of mine I get around to things when I please or blow them off entirely. Not much seems to matter when you're living on the State's dime. In one of my feeble attempts at changing the pace I skimmed some old notes I had jotted down over the summer when I was renovating the heat system at North Junior High. It's a story my laborer buddy told on coffee break one morning. Must've stuck with me, but never found its way to the surface. Here's what I remember:

There was a female worker on a road crew somewhere in town. She was your typical lady laborer: lean, mean, and far from pretty. Her body was hard and sinewy, yet feminine enough in the right places, but something about her face threw off the whole package. I'm not sure if the proportions were wrong or there was some gross abnormality, but whatever it was it excluded her from a modeling career. From what I gather she's not one you'd tell your friends about the next day. All of that changed in an odd stroke of luck.

Some ditzy broad was driving through the construction area while applying make-up one day. Her distracted state caused her to veer off to the left where our poor little flag girl was standing. Sure enough the blonde's side-view mirror whacked the laborer square in the face, breaking bones and tearing flesh. The driver sped off before anyone could get a license plate number. Fortunately, her boyfriend must've come from equally brilliant stock. He showed up on the job later on that day asking for money for the damaged side-view mirror. The guys dropped their shovels and rakes to respond accordingly. When the cops showed up half an hour later an ambulance was called. No incident report was filed. Justice had been done.

But this isn't a tale of revenge. It's more the Happy Ending sort. With the money from the lawsuit our lucky little laborette was able to get plastic surgery, both reconstructive and cosmetic. Once the doc liften his scalpel for the final time and pulled the last stitch tight she was a regular bombshell. The guys on the job barely recognized her and lonely men passing by in their cars were more than willing to obey her traffic commands. I'm not sure if that mirror ever got fixed, but its owners boyfriend did finally regain use of his limbs after a few months of physical therapy. I didn't say everyone won; someone always has to lose in a truly happy ending.

Now send me back to work, Bobby. I need more yarns like these.

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