It wasn’t no dark and stormy mornin’, but it was early on that July 5, 2000. I had me a reccurring feelin’ in my gut. It was kinda like when you know the repo guy is gonna come aknockin’ to take the car. Ya feel the need to wander down to the corner joint for a quick eye opener, don’t ya know. I checked out the coffeepot on my stroll into the kitchen. There was a good two cups leftover from yesterday, providing a little sour mash was added. Never hurts to start the day out with brushed teeth and the proper lubrication. Dat’s my philosophy.
My daily commute usually ain’t too bad. It’s about a five-step commute to the office, seven if I go into the kitchen for the coffee, which I did that mornin’. On the wall was my 1972 poster of Pat Paulson for President. It was surrounded by beautiful K-Mart quality framin’ I liberated from a job a couple a years ago. Next to the poster was a coo-coo clock I got at the Taiwan Warehouse fire sale. The little hand was pointed past the clock’s 10. There was no big hand: I think that’s why I gotta good deal. The sound that I had become used to, sort of a belch, had recently emanated from the mouth of the little birdie. That meant it was just past 10:30, very early for me to grace da office.
I knew what I’d find before I ever walked in. The five huge red lights attached to the wall, sort of like them lights above the mirror in the bath, only bigger, were strobing like the beatin’ of a scared cat’s heart. The lights are hooked up to the answer machine, on accounta I don’t pay no attention to the little ones on the phone. It helps keep my calls returned, don’t cha know.
For some reason I can’t explain, I felt a cool breeze on the back of my neck as I went for the “play” button on the machine, even though the air was real still like in an unvented crawl space. Before I hit play, I took a big gulp of my coffee. Ah yes. Da hit of stale coffee and sour mash in the morning was already calmin’ my nerves some.
“Hey Punky. This is Rolanda of Ray and Rolanda’s Righteous Realtyrama. I got a job for you. We need ya to look over this condo unit today. The other seven guys we usually use were all busy. Pretty and perky Paula Primer made an offer last night, and she’s outta town day after tomorrow on business, so we need to know what’s shaken by tomorrow mornin’ or she walks. Hope you can help me out, Punky. Call back as soon as you get this message.”
Good old Rolanda. I’d been marketing her real heavy for six years. It was working too. Three years ago I was ninth on her list, and now I was number eight. It makes yer heart palpitate when the old business heats up. This was only my first job of the month, but heck, there was still 10 days left. Don’t know why I was worried anyhow. I moved up on Rolanda’s list, and I got a job that was bound to net me a cool two hundred. Oh well, time for another quick belt of coffee and a phone call.
Rolanda was in dispose, but her assistant, Bette Yacan, was happy to set up the appointment on the condo. Bette said I should be at Unit B-1, 5th and Green, at 1:00PM that afternoon. She said Rolanda would be waitin’ for me with perky Paula. Bette Yacan. Now there’s a strange name. Ever notice how all them real estate types have strange names? What mother would ever name their kid Bette Yacan? None, that’s who. I’ve seen old Bette down at the corner joint many times after a hard mornin of whatever real estate assistants do. And speakin from experience, I’ll bet ya can’t, if ya get my drift.
So at 12:45 PM I headed out to mount the old 1967 Plymouth Valiant. It would take me about 10 minutes to load up, and 35 minutes to drive to the condo. With a 1:00PM appointment, that would put me there a half-hour late. Get em a little anxious about your showin’ up, and they’ll be very happy to see ya. That’s my strategy. I slapped the old Sears & Roebuck 12-foot extension ladder on the surfboard rack. My trusty 200-candle power light was all ready in the gin locker. In fact, so was the gin. With a hope and a prayer, I turned the key. Eventually, four of the five cylinders sprung to life, and in a cloud of blue smoke old Prince began to move me ever forward to my date with temporary, gainful employment.
Will Punky, piloting Prince, meet pretty and perky Paula? Will Punky be sober enough to make it up the steps of the condo? Will the extension ladder be tall enough to reach the roof? Will Rolanda be Righteous, or will she offer Punky a little incentive to make the deal? These questions and more may be answered in “Hooda Ever Thunk It”, Part Two. Then again they may not. Click on the MMM next Monday morning to see the next installment of The Occasional Chronicles of Punky Mudsill, alternative to the professionals and house detective extraordinaire. See what happens in Part II