“So, what about my throat?” I spin back to Sally who’s currently got a death grip on that little white bag shesnappedup.
“The office said your throat cultures all came back clear. I’ll be sure to refund your co-pay. Have a good day.” She starts to plod off before turning back around, that same stone-faced expression on her as if we hadn’t crossed that awkward vaginal divide to becoming fast friends. “And remember, when it comes to anal sex, a condom is still a good idea.” She takes off just as my latte arrives, and it takes all of the superhuman strength I don’t have not to hurl itather.
“I don’t like anal sex!” I jump a little, begging the words to somehow stumble back into my mouth. Instead, I snap up my drink and barrel toward my Honda the way I should have to begin with. “Noonedoes.”
No sooner do I land in my car than I get a group text from my boss, Lenny, the owner of Windows-R-Us.
Warehouse fire. Need to let a few of you go. So sorry. Message me if you’d like a referral letter. Allthebest!
“All the best? No, no, no!” I bang my hand over the steering wheel, and the horn goes off three times fast. I look up in time to see Preppy Frat Boy staring wild-eyed while loading his Beamer midflight. Icalledit.
I don’t bother waving him off with my middle finger. Instead, I hightail it back to my shitty apartment where, of course, there’s not a single parking space out front, no thanks to the overgrown bright orange truck that readsAbatement and Cleanupwith a giant skull and crossbones slapped across the side as a part of its not-so friendly logo. I head in sans my Cherry Garcia, my vaginal suppositories, or ajob—and get as far as thefrontgate.
“You live here?” A man with a hardhat squints down at me, looking every bit like Fred Flintstone cometolife.
“I sure do.Look—I’ve had one hell of a day, so if you’re trying to sell me cookies, steak from the back of your car, or any form of deep-fried religion, Ican’teven.”
“I’m not trying to sell you anything, lady. This is a notice from the city.” He points to a letter posted over the entry. “The landlord tried to replace some roofing damaged from the rains, and it turns out this place is loaded with asbestos. Insurance offered to replace all the drywall, but unfortunately, you’ll have to find someplace else to call home. This could take up to a year.” He hands me a white surgical mask. “You’ve got thirty minutes to get your necessary belongings out. The landlord will have to foot the bill to get the big stuff intostorage.”
“What?” I stagger forward, staring at the white boxy building I’ve called home for the last three years. Okay, so I called it a hothouse from the armpit of hell, but still, it’s where I lay my head at night. And then it hits me. “Oh my God, I’ve done this. It was me who reported the leak. I’majinx.”
“You’re a hero,” Fred Flintstone barks back. “Now get in there and get out as fast as you can. I’d hate for you to lose a lungoverit.”
“Holy hell,” I whimper as my feet spur me onunwillingly.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve saddled my tiny Honda Civic to the roof with bags and shoes, and the odd stuffed animal, looking every bit the batshit homeless lady I feared I’dbecome.
“Where to go? Where to fucking go?” I can’t go to Lisa’s. I slump over the steering wheel at the thought of rooming with my younger sisters in that tiny shoebox of a house. As it stands, I can only handle Friar’s Corner for a few hours at a time. It’s not even on Google maps forshit’ssake!
Think,think!
“Oh God, I can’tthink.”
My phone buzzes and a part of me fears to look down in the event some other part of my life dissolved in the interim, but I do so with one eye closed, and as soon as I see it’s Raven, I perkrightup.
I text her my latest, greatest debacle,homeless—no job will travel!Raven will know what to do. Raven always knows what to do. Three minutes go by, then seven. Oh God, I’ve done the impossible. I’ve stumped her. Doesn’t she realize the best solution is for me to room with her in that luxury apartment that she’s technically only seen the inside oftwice?
I shoot another quick text in the event I hadn’t painted the clearest picture of my not-so-bright, can’t-even-afford-shades derelictfuture.
Just my luck, I have forty-seven dollars insavings!
There. That should erase any loose ideas of me hauling myself all over downtown Jepson in an effort to find partially hygienic shelter by way of myVisacard.
She texts right back.How about yoursister’s?
“Gah!” I drop the phone to my lap a moment before I pick it right back up and begin texting away like a womanpossessed.
There is no room at the inn. Lisa is out. How about a snazzy deluxe apartment in the sky—on the upper east side ofJepson? RING ANY DOORBELLS?IhitSend.
Subtlety never was mystrongsuit.
Again, more silence. Wow. Raven Masterson has been a sister to me ever since freshman orientation, and it seems this day I’ve overstepped my homelessbounds.
My phone pings.I’ve gotanidea…
I text right back.Don’t keep me in suspense too long. My vagina is bound to fall off, or my car might spontaneously explode. It’s that kind ofaday.
She pings back.Ha. Ha. Very funny. My roommate has malaria. It’s not agoodtime.
