Ironic Ire

One hand hung from the car window, clutching a glowing cigarette, periodically bringing it to her blood red lips to take a desperate puff. Her other had clutched the cell phone desperately to her ear as she laughed raucously during her conversation, to the detriment of the other drivers on the road.

I vaguely admired her ability to multi-task, though her distraction was potentially to my detriment.

See, but for my driver’s license that has been expired for the past four years, I am a law abiding citizen. I really could not bear the potential embarrassment or the potential pain and inconvenience of being involved in a traffic accident during rush hour traffic. Of course, I would have to get into stuttered explanations to the police during the accident inquest as to my aversion to going to the Department of Motor Vehicles, and the fact that I would not be returning to pay the government license tax until they developed a drive through service. Something tells me that they would not understand my little boycott, and I was not prepared to deal with their unreasonableness and lack of understanding, all of which would be due to this dyam woman’s distraction by her cigarette and cell phone. I worked out the entire scene in my mind.

As her car continued to veer to my side of the road, I delicately honked my horn to advise her of the pending dire straights, whilst grumbling to myself that the heifer really should concentrate on the road.

To my consternation another hand appeared from the inner recesses of her body to flip me the bird (her nail was blood red like her lips), all with a sneer of her moustached upper lip, which I must say was quite unattractive, and very unladylike (her behaviour and the moustache). Then, as our vehicles crossed paths, she lowered the cell phone and the cigarette, sneered, “Stupid Bitch!”, and drove off in a huff, leaving me to inhale the fumes from the toxic vehicle carrying the toxic personality. My gasp of outrage sputtered and died a dismal death in her wake.

Interrupting my conversation, I flung down my cell phone, prepared to bellow an indignant response, but realized that it would indeed be futile. She was gone. She had won. The stinkin’ heifer! Where were the cops when you needed them???

I then picked up my cell phone, and resumed my conversation, getting into a passionate diatribe on how drivers no longer concentrated on the road. People are so easily distracted!

And on that ironic note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta...

'Fro.

Froggle Rock

I hot-stepped it out of the house at 9:00 AM, rushing to make it to work for 8:30 AM, feeling absolutely fabulous and groovy. My car was nice and shiny from the wash and polish the day before, and I took a moment to admire the sheen before I opened the door, and plopped by backside on the seat before distractedly closing the car door.

Then, I felt it. A splat of moisture running across my face, down my clothes, as I looked around in puzzlement wondering what the hell had just happened. Then, my peripheral vision caught a movement from the corner of the car door.

There was now a pair of slimy, scrawny, Kermit-esque amphibian legs protruding from the door, squished to a pulp during my distracted morning musings. I had slammed a frog to its death with the door.

Now, mind you, I have always been a vocal and passionate advocate for the death and dismemberment of all things amphibian, but never in the general proximity of my person whereby the blood spatter (my CSI term) and what may have been frog piss could catch me in its cross hairs. I am after all, an innocent victim in this war that I have declared against their kind.

My body eventually summarized what my mind was now telling me, as my fight or flee instincts went into overdrive. Having dived headfirst across the centre console, cutting a great gaping hole in my neck with my still fastened seatbelt (for I am a law abiding citizen), managing to open the passenger door to crawl hands first, bawling as if the frogs of hell were chasing me as I made the escape from Kermit’s dead relative, I now look back on the entire episode with a great sense of ‘ick’, general nastiness, disgust and other like synonyms. I am now convinced that the sons of bitches are stalking me and want to see me dead.

I relive the scene every morning, noon or night that I should close my car door. Never again will I have that naïve feeling of fabulousness, distracted and lost in my morning musings. I now have a sense of hatred and disgust for my car, who aided and abetted my trauma. Doors are now cautiously opened every morning, I now petrified of what I may find waiting for me.

There was a morning when there was a family of four nesting comfortably within the inner recesses of the door jamb, ready to wreak their havoc on my nerves, as my brother was summarily summoned to dispatch them with vicious haste.

He and I almost resorted to fisticuffs when my bellowed demands from the house that he “Kill the [*expletive*] rat bastards!” were ignominiously ignored, he choosing to release them into the ‘wild’ for they were ‘just babies’ and ‘would not do me anything’. He looking on in embarrassed resignation as I took bleach from the house and splashed it indiscriminately into the general vicinity of the area where he released the sons of bitches; I killing the surrounding flora in the hopes of capturing a certain kind of fauna within the widely cast net of my killing spree, all whilst cussin’ him for his [*expletive*] PETA antics, and tellin’ him that West Indian people don’t behave so, and how he does be watching too much North American TV, for he obviously don’t remember how the spider did come back for the man in Arachnophobia, and how he was being a friggin’ namby pamby wimp, and how I don’t ask him to do nuttin’ fi me but to kill four measly frogs, and not even that he cudda do propa!

Anyhow, I digress.

Now, I am relegated to spraying the door jamb of the car with bleach each night before I retire. Car advocates have advised that this will ‘ruin the paint’, as they obviously give no care to the fact that should a frog jump on me whilst I am driving, that may ruin mine or another persons life, for I would surely crash and dead, if not from the accident, then from the trauma. They never seem to see my point when I break it down for them so. And I know that the stinkin’ amphibian would just hop away from the stinkin’ scene to go forth and create more flickin’ tadpoles, and seek to ruin someone else’s life.

Death to them all, I say. Screw that circle of life bullshit!

And on that anti-ecological note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta...

'Fro.

Turn off the lights, and light a candle...!

Turn off the lights, and light a candle…

Teddy knew what he was talking about when he was setting up his romantic scenario, though I now believe that not only was Teddy being the romantic, crooning, baritoned Lothario…, but Teddy must have also just been dyam cheap, and was actually conserving his water and electricity bills.

This is now the direction that I am heading. Fire hazard notwithstanding, I am going to start lighting my fancy-schmancy-decorative scented candles and place them strategically around the house. I just hope that this does not back-fire on me if inquisitive neighbours call the police to report I am working obeah in my living room.

See, my electric bills averages CI$200.00 per month, and have only ever increased to a maximum of CI$400.00 in the summer months when I run the air conditioner. With central air in the bedrooms only, and my AC being on a timer, I just cannot the understand the more than 100% increases in my bills during the summer months, and of course, my vociferous protests have gone ignored for the most part, but for the other consumers feeling my pain.

Today, being the ever efficient (and reluctant!) bill payer that I am, I went to pay my electricity bill, which was in excess of CI$600.00 for July’s usage. I, knowing about (and being a part of) the recent hue and (out)cries from the anti-CUC Caymanian John Q. Public, and, knowing that I had no particular choice, went to pay the flicking bill, well equipped with my screw-face and disgruntled mumblings. Then, to further my general pissed-offedness, the customer service representative (hereafter referred to as “the Gyal”) tells me that my usage for August is in excess of CI$700.00!

Now, this is enough to make a body launch all kind’a cuss words and what not, for I want to know how my flicking electricity bill goin’ now equate to car, house and land payment!

Then, when I ask the Gyal for an explanation of the charges, she started a dialogue fraught with all kinds of impressive “kilowatt”, “megahertz” and pocket-hertz spiel intricately interwoven, and proceeded to look irritated when I interrupted, and tell her to start speaking English, for I don’t talk ‘lectricity.

The only thing that I unnerstand from what she say, is that CI$500.00 from the new bill, is for fuel charges! They want me to spend CI$500.00 for gas! And, would this then mean that only CI$200.00 from this new bill was actually going to line CUC’s coffers?

So, reasonable person that I am, after interrupting the Gyal’s programmed ‘lectricity rhetoric, I asked her to provide me with an explanation as to the kind of fuel that was being purchased and the purchase locale. If I am paying for it, I want to know what I am buying, and to have a better understanding as to what I am paying for.

Does CUC buy this high-class fuel from Texaco or Esso? Regular or unleaded? Can diesel work? Is it jet or rocket fuel? Can't they just add water? Did they comparison shop? Can I buy the gas from my favourite gas station and tell them to use that instead? I mean, I can get a coupon from the gas station, so this is actually my preference. My money can then work for me!

Then, because I interrupted her programmed customer service rhetoric with my thought provoking enquiries, the Gyal starts to st…st…stutter….and tell me that she can’t answer my questions. Everyone has to pay these charges across the board.

Well, I am fed up. As I now realize that I have the potential to turn into my father, walking irately throughout the house, turning off lights and bellowing “Lawd…’un’nu min’ de light bill!”, I need to take preemptive action.

Should I run a swamp-esque lake through my backyard, and harness water and wind energy? What about rigging up my own kind of solar energy thingy, for I sure as hell cannot afford for anyone to come and install any solar powered thingamabobs in my house. Maybe I should build my own personal wind mill in the back yard, or get back to the ol’ kerosene lamp days.

I am fed up with the CUC monopoly. We need to heighten the call for competition. Maybe then, as it was with Cable and Wireless, we can get all forms of energy-usage plans: residential, corporate and small business; maybe implement frequent kilowatt usage miles? What about energy usage circles like Sprint has? Maybe dole out bonus kilo wattage points to ‘loyal’ customers who stay with CUC’s draconian services at the introduction of competition. Implement fridge plug-in wattage discounts? Free CUC shares for excess usage, with the application of the dividends to outstanding bills?

I hope their marketing people are taking notes!

All this to alleviate my having to take some of the corned beef from my hurricane supplies, because my grocery money now has to pay the ‘lectric bill.

On that pissed off note, I shall now exit.

Ta ta...

'Fro.