Friday, August 29, 2014

Getting Ready for Work at Seventeen

Today's Spice: write a story
Where is that darn work shirt again? I can’t ever find anything in this house. Ugh! Maybe it’s in my room; I checked there three times already though. 
Walking drudgingly through the hallway, glancing in the open bathroom door, sees nothing but darkness. Covers nose, as the putrid aroma in the house is magnified by a thousand times upon approaching the bathroom. 
Why would it be in there? Nah, I don’t even remember the last time I went in there. The toilet hasn’t worked in weeks… oh, gross, it totally smells like someone has been using it though. Pretty sure if I push the door open any further more of the crumbling ceiling that’s resting on top of it from the roof leak will come crashing down on my head. Nah, it’s not in there. There’s no way. I wonder why the patch that Dad helped me put on the roof didn’t hold… what a waste of time! And I ruined those pants with tar.
Continuing down the hall way, has to step over a few different piles of discarded junk mail scattered on the floor, very large mounds of clothing, a phone book, and a baseball bat. 
If that stupid shirt makes me late for work I’m going to be so mad all evening. Where is it? Why is it always so difficult to get dressed for work? I think I’m going to hurt someone. Oh my word, did the dog poop under the kitchen table again!?!? I think I’m going to kill someone. Why, why is no one capable of cleaning a single mess up in this pig sty? 
Proceeds to pick up a small pile of hardened dog poop with a paper towel; places it into an overfull trash can that has several flies swarming above it, and a considerable pile of trash spilled all around the outside of it. The beige wall behind the can is almost painted with splattered food and beverages that might have found their way into the trash can at one point in time (but more likely fell beside it). Then proceeds to pick up a few more piles of dog poop from beneath the table. A mouse dashes from behind the trash can and into a hole next to the broken dish washer. 
I hate it here. I HATE it here! Who lives like this? Where is that stupid shirt?!?!? I need to leave now! 
Someone shouts from another room, “can you make me something to eat?” 
“NOOOO, I have to leave for work like now. Seriously, like five minutes ago. There has to be something you can make yourself to eat. Ask, mom to make you food. Have you seen my stupid work shirt anywhere?” 
A second shout comes back, “no, mom is sleeping. I can’t make myself anything to eat because there aren’t any clean dishes.” 
Or counter space. My word, could it be possible to pile more crap onto those counters? I don’t think so. I think it’s physically impossible! I’m totally throwing away like half those dishes when I get home from work. Mom will never notice. No one will. I better take out that trash when I get home from work too. Oh no, I hope no one washed it! Haha, why would anyone do laundry? 
Laughs extra hard and bends forward a bit at the absurd thought of someone laundering clothing here. 
Oh man, if someone washed it it’s going to be so yellow. Our darn water! I hate this house. Why did mom make us move here? You can’t wash white in this house. I will look horrid going to work in a yellow tux shirt, and next to all the other servers wearing white… no, I’ll have to call in sick. 
Arrives in the laundry room/ one working bathroom, climbs over a two and half foot pile of laundry spanning about 7 feet of floor, opens the washing machine lid and then pushes aside some clothing to be able to look into the dryer. 
Thank God! Dang it where is THAT shirt?!?!? Seriously I better go back to my room and pack a change of clothes. There’s no way I’m coming home tonight. I can probably call Amber from the payphone at work. Her parents will totally let me stay over. I bet I smell though. I know this house makes me smell, it has to, I can smell Lisa’s house on her clothes. No, no I spend all my time in my room and my room does not smell. I’m calling Amber as soon as I get to work. Ahh, where is that shirt?!?! Someday! Someday I will get out of here. Someday I will have my own home, my own family. Someday I will actually be able to have friends over. I will not live like this forever. Who lives like this? 
Tears start streaming. Walking past two people sitting on the couch amongst some empty food wrappers, more clothing, stuffed toys, several cats; they're watching an old television set that's crammed into an large TV console that's almost toppling from all the papers, books, and random nonsense that's been shoved into every crevice on the piece of furniture and all over the top as well; almost trips on a broom lying in the middle of the living room,steps in a wet puddle that turns the bottom of the white sock on her foot yellow then notices a white linen fabric bunched up under one of the cats. 
Ah ha, you stupid shirt! Someday…
The house was eventually foreclosed on and then demolished.

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