2/6/03

Bill And His Dad Go For Shelving

The phone rings at Bill's house.
Bill: Hello.
Bill's Dad: That shelving you got. Did it fit in your car?
B: The what?
D: That shelving. Did it fit in your car?
B: What the hell is shelving?
D: THAT SHELVING YOU GOT AT YOUR HOUSE.
B: Goddammit, quit yelling at me.
D: Did you fit that shelving into your car, or not?
B: I really couldn't tell you, since I don't have any idea WHAT THE FUCK SHELVING IS.
D: IN YOUR HOUSE!
B: WHAT'S SHELVING?
Bill's mom gets on the phone.
M: Those book shelves that you got at Office Max a while ago. Did you bring them home in your Saturn?
B: Yes ma'am.
M: That's what your Daddy is trying to ask you.
B: Why can't he say it like that, then? Jesus Christ, who calls book shelves, "shelving".
M: Your father does. He bought some at Office Max, and he couldn't fit them in the trunk of his car. Can you go over there and get them?
B: Well, not right now, I was getting ready to go somewhere. Can I do it tomorrow morning?
She checks with Office Max.
Tomorrow morning will be fine.

Tomorrow morning, Bill at his parent's house.
B: You got the receipt for that "shelving"?
D: I got it right here in my pocket, smart ass. Let's go.
B: Oh, no you don't. I said I'd go pick them up for you, I never said I'd take you with me.
D: You don't want me to go with you?
B: I'd rather you didn't.
D: The hell with it then. Just go on back home.
B: Oh, for Christ's . . . get in the damn car.

We go to Office Max. Once inside, my dad approaches this young female employee, pulls the receipt out of his coat pocket and hands it to her.

D: We're here to pick this up. The sales girl looks at the receipt, looks back at my dad, baffled.
SG: I'm afraid I don't understand.
D: It wouldn't fit in my car yesterday.
SG: It wouldn't fit in your car . . ?
D: That's right.
SG, shaking her head: I'm sorry, but I really don't . . .

I can see my dad is getting ready to blow, I can already visualize tomorrow's headlines, CRAZY OLD MAN GOES BATSHIT IN OFFICE MAX, Son Tells Police, "Shoot To Kill", so I step in-

B: Is there some problem?
SG: This is a receipt for a pack of chewing gum.
B: Oh, for the LOVE OF GOD.
D: What? What's the damn problem?
B: You gave her a receipt for a pack of chewing gum.
D: Bullshit.
B: Here, check it out yourself, Copernicus.
D: I'll be a blah blah crazy talk blah blah blah-

Fortunately, Heaven smiled on me- briefly- as the lady who'd waited on my dad yesterday came over.

SG 2: Are you here to get your book shelves, Mr. Bitner?
B: Is that the same thing as shelving?
D: Shut up, you damn smart ass. No, not you miss, him.
B: Yes, we're here for the book shelves.

We get them loaded in the back of the Saturn, I put the back seats down and moved the front seats up as far as they would go. We get in the front seats to leave and my dad instantly starts complaining. One of the many laws of nature my father routinely breaks are the laws of physics. He's three inches shorter than me, and 20 pounds lighter, but some how he takes up 6 times the space, and he's having trouble fitting his big crazy ass into the passenger seat. I pull out as he starts in-

D: I can't ride all the way home like this. I can't breathe.
B: Well, it looks like the shelves are mostly behind me, scoot your seat back some. Remember- Too late. He reaches to the side, pops the catch, and immediately reclines himself flat on his back
B: -the lever is under the seat in the front.
D: HEY.
B: Oh, for-

My dad on his back is like some kind of damn turtle, he panics for some reason, (maybe he IS some kind of damn turtle, that would explain a lot) and so he immediately starts flailing and groping-

B: Stop. Stop, goddammit, that's my ARM, you're going to wreck us, stop. That's the GEAR SHIFT, let the fuck- stop- that's the emergency brake, quit pulling- STOP!
D: Damn seat-
B: Damn seat, nothing, it's damn you, STOP IT.
D: Can't get . . . help . . .
B: There's no help for you, Jesus Christ, JUST SIT UP, quit grabbing- goddammit, STOP.

Finally, driving one handed down the wrong side of the road, I lean over and grab him by his collar and pull him up right. He sees the oncoming traffic.

D: HEY!
B: SHUT UP!

I pull back onto our side, and on off the road (onto the brim).

D: Damn car.
B: It's a SATURN, it's damn crazy you. You do that every time you try to scoot your seat back. EVERY FUCKING TIME. Jesus.
D: Take me home. It's time for my sugar pill.

We still have to put them together, so stay tuned for Bill And His Dad Assemble Shelving.