Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Jiminy Fucking Cricket

I shoved my keys in my pocket and tapped Sarah’s desk on my way by. “Going to lunch.”

“Okie dokie!”

I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Sarah in a bad mood. On the way past Jasmine’s desk I winked, ignoring her suspicious look, and headed to my truck.

Just where the fuck do you think you’re going?
To lunch.
Bullshit.

My building is one of only three tall office buildings allowed in our heavily restricted commercial area. God forbid the buildings interrupt the view of the lake, river and ice rink next door, all man-made and under heavy refrigeration in this 60 degree weather. Some new additions were made to the mall recently, couple that with the new waterfront property and this place is a fucking zoo. I knew when I got in my truck there was no way I was heading north to become part of the herd.

That was my excuse, at least, for heading south instead.

Wait a second… Are you… Jay, listen to me-
I cranked up the stereo. “Fuego, fuego, the roof is on fire, we don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn…” Sorry, conscience, I can’t hear you. I’m busy singing.

I got down to the street I was looking for and made a right turn. An awakening began to occur. Where am I going? When I saw the store sign I was not quite as determined to step on the gas as I was before. I petered along at a hair-blowing 38 mph for about two blocks then slapped my blinker on.

Blink-a, blink-a, blink-a.

You got to be fucking kidding me. Donoho’s?
They sponsored the lights outside the office. I’m just curious.
Yeah, can I get some fries with that shit sandwich, buddy?

I parked my truck and killed the ignition.

Put that back. Put the fucking wallet back!
I’m just gonna look.
Your eyes don’t work without a debit card? Put the wallet back in the glovebox, bitch!
Don’t make me get you drunk.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I show you today?” I checked out the salesman and knew I was in the wrong kind of place. Damn! That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a salesperson in Armani. Bet the son of bitch has Bruno’s on under there, too.

“I’m looking for a Christmas gift for my girlfriend.”

Tell him how you knocked her up with twins. Ho, ho, ho!

The man behind the counter swept his arm to the right. “Both of those cases there are full of wonderful gifts for your girlfriend.”

I glanced past all the sparklies to find more and more sparklies. Jesus, what am I doing?

“Sir, will this be a ‘special’ Christmas gift?”

No, you pansy twat. Back me up, Jay. Tell him!
“Maybe, I…I don’t know yet.”
GASP!

“Let me show you this one.”

While I stepped on the throat of my struggling conscience, I watched the man pull out a platinum ring with a large square diamond and rectangular ones on either side. My hands never left my pockets as he twisted it from side to side showing me the “fire” and telling me about the “cut and clarity” of it.

He held it out to me and by natural reflex I reached for it.

Don’t touch – too late. Sucker. Grab your ankles while you're at it.

It was very sparkly and shiny and surprisingly heavy. The moment was more surreal than anything I’d ever experienced. I’ve never shopped for a ring before. I’ve seen thousands on the hands of other women, half of which I hit on before I noticed. But I realized at that moment as I turned it and saw the flashes of red, blue and gold inside the center stone, that I’d never held a diamond ring in my whole freaking life.

“How much?” I asked.

“$11,700, sir.”

JEE-ZUSS!

At first I smiled, and then I chuckled before I could stop myself. “Eleven grand?”

“And $700, yes, sir. That stone is a VV1 clarity and nearly 2 carats,” he defended.

Holy mother of Christ! And will it wipe my ass for me when my arms are sore and get up and make me breakfast in bed and tickle my balls when I’m feeling a little frisky? Because for nearly 12 grand I can buy a mail order bride who won’t hesitate.

Dude, don’t let him talk down to you with his gibberish. Throw it in his face and walk out of here. Let’s go, man, throw it. Throw it!
A $12k projectile?
Fine, fucker, set it down gently. Then run, stupid!

“Perhaps I should let her choose it herself rather than make a $12,000 guess.”

The man nodded. “That’s the decision most men come to. We’ll be delighted to help the two of you when you return.”

Yeah, you hold your breath.
Let's go before you decide to buy her a fucking Hummer.