|
|
|
Project 30, Chapter 7 |
| Written by Project 30 | |
| Wednesday, 06 August 2008 | |
Chapter 7 - Roby Thomas
Now, I have witnessed a potential poisoning, wow wee! I mean the guy dropped. Something exciting on my trip to DC. Something worthwhile while I was off of my plastics job for one week, because the Big Three (GM, Ford and DaimlerChrysler) was going through that two week maintenance process. It was going to be a four-day trip, going on Priceline and getting a crap hotel in DC, in a part of it that wasn't so bad, but not so good. After the round trip ticket, and the motel paid for four days, I had to stretch out the three-hundred dollars I had and hoped that ***** that I was going to buy would not burn a hole in my wallet, and also not to be a DC cop in disguise. After the transaction, I was at one-fifty, but it was good and nice, even at the age of thirty-five. Plus, no DC cops came by knocking at my door.
The get-together was for the next day, but I wanted to see the White House again for the first time in, uhh, well, when I went to DC the last time, Clinton was President and I recall it being before his near lost of his job when he was doing Monica Lewinsky (and who can blame him, if I was married to Hillary, I'd be screwing some of the female aides in The White House, ugly or beautiful). So it was in the early or mid-nineties, but I cannot pin point the right year I was there. My childhood and teenage hood is a damn blur, I can't remember ****. Which personally I like, I like going to these family reunions and pissing off the people who haven't seen me since I was nine years old or earlier, when I say, ‘No, I don't remember you...uh, what was you're name, again?' They get upset.
So as I pass by The White House, I see an array of strange people with special interest literature floating around. Mostly against President Bush, with one Chinese guy following me around stating that Dick Cheney is the Devil. Now me personally, I don't like Bush being president and I'll just say this, "Nobody died when Clinton lied." Is it worse to send troops to war for the wrong reasons, or for the president to be screwing a government clerk while on the job? I personally choose option A.
Before the meeting, I had introduced myself to everyone involved in Project 30, with one female giving me a look of death. She stated that ‘The Thirteen Years Of Gray' was sick and twisted. I asked her how could that be, she responded on the idea that she didn't like the end of Chapter Three and stated it was over-excessive. Now, for those of you who have not read that yet, I will not spoil it. But I can see why it was ‘over-excessive.' The **** I write is crazy...
As of which, the admin gave me a gift, just like the rest of the people. I was in the process of opening my gift until I saw the out-of the-ordinary display of the admin falling down fast. I stopped that process of making the attempt to rip of that wrapping of that present that seemed to be a twelve-by-twelve-by-twelve cubed box, and had walked quickly over to the dead carcass of a well-dressed man, seemed to be reaching fifty-five, which was my guess, but I could have been wrong. It followed five or ten minutes later with the DC coppers floating on by and removing us out of the mansion, sitting there for over an hour while I tried to talk to Max Booth the Third, but some others had his attention more than I had his, so I backed off of it. Just wanted to ask about Ireland, the county he is from and how much it probably cost to get to DC, an overseas trip, plus, the stupid question if he had even seen U2 in his native land. Despite my Doom Metal influence, there was always room for U2.
After that hour had passed, we were ordered to go to the nearest police prescient, which was four blocks away. A few got rides, but I chose to walk up there. I walked in, told the desk sergeant why I was here and he directed me to a nice waiting room, and I sat for almost two hours. Seeing all the random officers floating in and out, with two of them asking me why I was here, I told them about the guy who got poisoned and died on Shakespeare Avenue. Afterward, instead of being asked by the lead detective, who was Detective Davidson, I was told to go to a little room, which was basically an interrogation room. My guess that he had some reason that some goofy **** from Detroit may of poisoned the admin's wine and killed him? Detroit was a look down by some, even Detroit's mayor Kwame Kilpatrick was a criminal, even mayor Marion Berry when he led DC back in 1990. But I was in there territory.
I was lead by a young male officer with a female sergeant who was, I'm guessing, playing Detective Davidson's ***** due to which that they had to question twenty-thousand witnesses (or just twenty). This female sergeant (named Sandoval) I'm guessing was over thirty, and seemed to be more of an ******* when asking about my account of what had happened at the mansion, in a rather intimidating way. Two guesses on that, she may have had her own way of being evil, to have the potential suspect to spit it out, or she probably hated the male gender and her being a cop in a large and dangerous (not to mention, corrupted) city had something to do with her being a *****.
Sgt. Sandoval asked about my present, I stated that I didn't open it and was about to until the man had dropped on the ground and croaked. The male officer finally dropped the stern stare at me and had stepped out of the room, coming back in with my present, still wrapped with a tear. Of course, the female sergeant had stated that a tear was on there and asked me again if I was about to open it, opposed to getting to it just before he passed away. I admitted I was about to open it, and I knew what she would say next, that I lied to her and threatened jail time on me. I knew it was a usual cop scare tactic, but me and a sarcastic tone, stated that I was so sorry that I altered the truth, which summoned her to give me a dirty stare with her teeth out. I seriously thought that she was going to hope over that desk and attack me. Or, just scream and yell in a militaristic tone. I almost felt that I was in Basic Training in the US Army again.
Platoon halt. Half-right face. Front-leaning rest position, move. In cadence, exercise!
She tells me to open my present in an awful tone of voice, at first, I stopped and thought to myself that this woman may have dated one of the corrupted types in DC and caught him in the act of banging his secretary. There sure was some story behind her foul mood. But anyways, I unwrapped it to see a small white cube box, opening it to see a book called ‘The Search Of Joseph Tully.' With a little note card being placed as a bookmark on page number two of the story in cursive writing stating:
‘Pills And A Palm Pilot, a story you erased was embarrassing, Thirteen Years Of Gray would be a future LifeTime movie. If you keep going the way you are going, you are never going to get a Hardcover Book with your name on it, such as this one. Try Science Fiction next time, it may work wonders for you.'
~~ The Admin
After Sandoval's attempt to make me piss my pants in fear, I was free to go with me giving out my address in Detroit with my phone number. And the next day I left DC on plane to Detroit. Had a friend meet me there and drive me to Saint Clair Shores, Michigan for a good thirty bucks, and I was home. Keeping that book and that note with me, placing it on my work desk. Thinking about what he written on that note. My story I erased called Pills And A Palm Pilot did suck, I could agree. And since I did not approve of it on being on the site, I took it off of there, which also included comments from what I'm guessing a druggie making some rather unintelligent comments. I couldn't care if one dislikes my stories and says so on the comment board, nor do I care when the grammar Nazi's making there comments, it's practice for me and I encourage the grammar Nazi's to call for my head when I make a mistake, as long as they point it out and not come to Detroit from Northern Canada to chop off my head. But that druggie who made those comments sounding like a complete idiot. I spoke to only a few family members once I rotated back to my civilization and told them what had happened. Afterwards, I was tired as hell and went to bed at 7pm, with a few calls coming in at 9pm and 11pm from family members just hearing about what happened, and a friend calling me a 1:30am asking me about my witness to someone dropping on the floor and croaking. I told my friend I'll talk to him later about that and shut off my cell phone afterwards.
I went my primary place of employment the next morning, which is a plastic shop. Went to my supervisor to report, he asked me how my short vacation to the Nation's Capital was, I told him I wouldn't recommend him ever to go there, under any circumstances. Funny that he next asked me if I saw George W Bush, I said I did not. And, really, I did not. Then he told what machine I was going to work on, machine 21, which I'm assigned there a good 60% of the time. With a good view of some lovely Albanian women at machine 20 that requires five people to operate (2/3 of my shift is Albanian, or from a neighboring country). With questions on how my trip to DC was from time to time. My cell phone ringed a few times while I was working, but I was not allowed to use it on duty.
When my lunch break came by, it ringed again, showing a 202 phone number. I walked outside and answered it, it was Sandoval. She had some additional questions, on which people from StoriesVille I knew personally, which happened to be a witness. I stated I had a few exchanges with Max Booth the Third, but only online. She told me of the new information they had found and also stated she had my criminal record at hand, including my military record. She stated that a person like me should have more class, instead of being, what she said, ‘A Jive-Assed Clown.'
I could go on forever with how people in my post-military days have said that to me, that I should have ‘more class.' But of all, I have to keep this story under two-thousand words, it the rules. After I dropped the call, one of my fellow male co-workers who happens to be Albanian walked up to me, he asked me who that loud-voiced woman on the phone was. I replied that she was ‘some broad with issues.' He laughed and stated that she probably needs to be laid. I couldn't agree more. Copyright 2008 Project 30 |
|
| Last Updated ( Friday, 08 August 2008 ) |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
via Email