Several weeks ago, a new light appeared in the night sky. Only this heavenly light wasn’t attended by wisemen and frankincense and all that. No, this new star came in the form of an amber colored security light outside my apartment. And it made my bedroom glow like a cheap roadside motel. After one sleepless night, I paid a visit to the folks in the management office and very calmly explained to Steve the Manager why, if they didn’t do something about the bright orange spotlight, I was going to hire a 12 year-old with a BB gun to do it for them.
“We’ve had some windows broken in cars, so that light is an added security measure.”
“But it doesn’t face the parking lot, Steve. It faces my bedroom. And I haven’t broken any windows. Or security lights… Yet.”
“Well, I’ll sure see what I can do about it.”
A month passed. Steve, obviously, was not in a hurry and the temptation to invite my friend Jennifer, her boyfriend John, and John’s air rifle over for dinner grew daily. Every night, I closed the blinds as tight as they’d go, drew the curtains across the window, and then tossed a heavy crimson sheet over the curtain rod. And still, the room was haloed in a fierce orange light. You have to be a very seasoned hooker to fall asleep comfortably in that kind of aura. And I’m very new at hooking, you see.
Then the rains came. Last night, I thought we were in the middle of a hurricane. The winds were shaking the windows and doors, and the water was pouring off the roof in thick, dark sheets. Hal, who is ordinarily pretty oblivious to such things, heard the weather slamming the windows and made a beeline for the bedroom. I followed. A few minutes later, as I lay on the bed explaining to Hal about God and moving furniture, there was a pop and the prostitute after-glow vanished. Just like that.
I yipped with glee, rolled over and went to sleep.
This morning, I heard footfall on the roof and looked out to see a maintenance man replacing the whore light.
“Crap!”
In nothing but a wife beater and boxers, I ran outside, down the steps and onto the lawn.
“Hey!” I waved to the man leaning over the roof.
“Yuh?”
“Do you think maybe you could turn that light? You know, so it’s facing the cars and not my window?”
He didn’t say a word, but nodded, smiled and with a flick of his wrist, reaimed the fixture. Done and done. Turns out, Steve’s guys work much more quickly without pre-teen, CO2-powered persuasion. Or um, a bra.
Thank you, ladies.
Lol, the finale was great! Thanks for the laugh ^_^
There’s always someone out there who is a sucker for a wife beater and boxers. I’m sure his vantage from the top of the roof had nothing to do with it.
NYC is full of whore lights. You get used to them.
ah, the power of a girl (and her girls) in little clothing!
great story!
Started reading your blog a few months ago,and now it’s on my list of Favourites. Thanks for all the laughs! Seriously
use what God gave ya, that’s what my grandmother always said *grin*
Well done!
You know, they say that feminism is dead. I think, however, that knowing how to use your assets is VEEEERY empowering!
I love how you unknowingly were so convincing…
Ah, yes… the power of the “ladies” in a tank top – they saved me from getting my car towed once. Sometimes, you just have to let them do the “talking” for you… (;
Ugh.
I am wearing a tank top with no bra as I speak, and am thinking, yes, maybe I should go try to get some stuff done… damn! haha
I have some street cred but was stumped this time. Had to look up ‘wife beater’ in wikipedia. What came to mind was Danny Aiello in the Woodman’s ‘Purple Rose of Cairo’. Got any pictures? Usually when eye-contact fails you go for the ‘jugular.’
Well done
Do you remember that Seinfeld episode with Kramer and the chicken store with the red light? This is just like that, just that you don´t have Jerry to switch houses with!
So glad you got your light fixed. Sleep well tonight. I hate to be the PC police, but you might want to use the term “tank top” more and “wife beater” less.
oh the power of boobs…
You’re new at “hooking?” Thought you were a seasoned pro from your previous post.
hmmmmm…. i wonder if that tactic would help me rid my apartment of roaches and convince my idiot neighbors to stop parking on yellow curbs?
well done. kudos.
I don’t mind the term wifebeater (I love wearing those to sleep), and I’ll use that word if I’m wearing one. If it’s a tank top, then that’s what I’ll call it.
I just love how your posts are so prose-y. And yes that is a made-up word. It was the only way I could think of to describe how you write about your life that makes me feel I’m there, too!
Thanks for the multiple laughs.
Agreed, Joanne. And all respect, Diane, but the minute I stop using colorful (though not patently offensive) language, that’s the minute this blog will turn its face to the wall and die. I have no desire to be PC. Ever.
So are the boxers payback for the stolen sweater in some way? PS, why is a dude stealing clothes from a chick?
Because he is a douchebag, Mike. Duh.
Ah yes, the all-powerful douchebag monicker.
Fish,
Thank You for not being PC.
Hillary
I’m going to NYC this upcoming weekend with my boyfriend. We love blues music, any reccomendations??
It’s funny that Diane only picked on your use of the word wifebeater. It’s okay to be a hooker, though. Very funny, Fish.
Love the story…one of my favorites. And hey…I used to live in KY so let’s just say I understand perfectly well how/where the term “wife beater” originated…don’t know about PC (or care!) but nothin wrong with callin it as ya see it! Douchebag…now THAT’s PC for sure, huh Diane? NOT!
Glad you were able to resolve your lighting concerns!! I have a street light style light right outside my bedroom window that shines right into the room every blessed night. (I’m thinking of lining my window with aluminum foil…..) Unfortunately, it’s round, so redirection isn’t an option.
Here, Here to a good night sleep, however it may be achieved!
Thank you for not being PC…how boring would THAT be!?
oh, one more thing. i now look forward to thursdays SO much more than i ever did! thanks!
I’m sorry so many people were so offended by my suggestion of using the term wife beater less. It’s just that when a term like wife-beater becomes part of everyday common language, it suggests that violence against women by their husbands is normal, acceptable behavior.
Fish, I did not mean any insult and did not mean to imply that you should begin filtering your awesome column through the PC-police. I agree wholeheartedly that a great amount of your humor comes from off-color references & topics.
Perhaps a future column on topics that you personally, Fish, would not make light of would be interesting discussion? What’s funny and what’s not? And why? Just a thought.
Funny about the “wife beater” as I posted last week about a wet tshirt contest and mentioned all the girls came out in tattered “wife beaters.” Never giving the term a second thought.
I love my wife beater t’s as they are the most comfy thing in my drawer.
Great post, Fish!!
Sorry, folks. I agree with Dianne. I hate the term ‘wifebeater.’ I find it patently offensive. The first time I heard the term was mid-nineties. It makes spousal abuse sound socially acceptable and like there is a preferred uniform for engaging in the practice. It’s like calling a pair of high-heeled shoes ‘phallus-choppers,’ or a style of boxers ‘child-molesters.’ I can not imagine that most people would not object to the casual use of those terms.
A sleeveless T-shirt is called an A-shirt. That’s easier to say and write too. Not to mention the only graphic it brings to mind refers to the shape of the shirt.
As to the comment about things to object to- ‘Hookers’ at least implies some consensual agreement on the part of women who engage in such. ‘Wifebeaters’ only implies domestic violence against women.
Sure, it’s still a free country, in theory at least. You can say or write anything you want. Just don’t be surprised when readers exercise our rights to mention what offends us.
I ran out of characters on the first post. I did want to say, appart from that one word which really ruined the mood of the story for me, your work is well-written.