2368. Office staff

Of all the people who work in this office there’s only one I can’t stand. She’s usually over there. She’s usually the one with the loud voice that explains to Jacinta how to make blackberry pie but in fact she’s trying to educate the entire office staff. Well, she’s not really trying to educate the entire room; it’s more that’s she tries to explain why her blackberry pie is better than anyone else’s.

It all came to a head last Thursday. It was my birthday, and then out of the blue a big bunch of flowers arrived from my husband (he’s such a romantic!). They were absolutely gorgeous and it was such a surprise. Everyone crowded around to admire them and that’s when Rosie-Lynn asked in a loud voice (that’s the blackberry pie maker): “Is that all you’re getting?” She then proceeded to explain the meaning of each flower and its colour. By the end of her explanation, had I been more gullible, I would have been convinced that my husband was having an affair and was taking the house and the kids and moving to Bermuda.

And then last Monday – you’ve guessed it – it was Rosie-Lynn’s birthday. Did her husband send her flowers or what? Plus there was a beautiful diamond necklace. (I’m not too mean not to admit that, yes, it was beautiful). The whole world knew it was Rosie-Lynn’s birthday. They merely had to hear the oohs and aahs to know the reality. To cap it all off she turned to me and said, “Now that’s how you celebrate a birthday”.

I’ve always disliked her, but her undercurrent of supercilious needling and so on gets me down. In fact I have to make an effort to remain positive and pleasant.

Then just yesterday Jacinta told me a few things about Rosie-Lynn.  Rosie Lynn wasn’t married. She lived alone. She sent herself the necklace and flowers. And her birthday wasn’t last Monday – not unless she celebrates her birthday four times a year. I was a little bit relieved, not in a spiteful way but it was nice to know the place from whence Rosie-Lynn’s spitefulness emanated.

A group of us went out to lunch, but Rosie-Lynn didn’t come with us thank goodness. And when we got back to the office, Rosie Lynn was lying on the floor. She had “done herself in”.

2190. The corrugated iron shed

You see the roof of that shed? It’s silver. I can just see it from my dining room window. My late husband planted those fast-growing trees quite a few years back to block the unsightly view of the corrugated iron shed. The elderly couple used to keep hay in the shed for their horses. They had two horses.

“It’s none of our business watching the neighbours feed their horses,” he used to say. “And the shed is unsightly. It ruins the view.”

With that, my husband planted the trees. They’re on our side of the fence. If the truth be told, it worked both ways. It stopped the elderly couple from looking up and into our dining room. Not that we were doing anything untoward. But it’s a question of privacy.

Well! The elderly couple died – as does happen – and the property was sold. It was bought by a couple of men who are – as Maggie from up the road says – “an interesting couple of blokes”. I’m not sure what goes on in that shed, but they ain’t got no horses.

Every day I curse my late husband for his lack of foresight when he planted those trees. Every day, around 11 o’clock, those two park their pickup just shy of the corrugated iron shed. They get out and go presumably into the shed. They’re there from several minutes to about an hour.

Maggie from up the road says they’ll be growing marijuana under artificial light, but I pointed out that it has a concrete floor and there didn’t seem to be any cables going into the shed for electricity. At least that was the case when I went down to the shed when those “interesting couple of blokes” were away for the day. Of course, the shed was locked, so I’m none the wiser.

Tomorrow’s a public holiday. They seem to go away on most public holidays. Goodness knows where to, although I have my suspicions. Maggie from up the road and I intend to go to the shed and find out what’s going on, once and for all. We’ll let you know.

2154. Brand new car

Eva: Goodness gracious! I was just thinking about you Chad, and here I am bumping into you in the street! How’s it going these days?

Chad: Things are going well, thanks Eva. I’m just back from buying a new car. It’s bright red.

Eva: Can we see it from here?

Chad: No. I just parked it around the corner. I should have said, Good Lord! My car has been stolen!

Passing pedestrian: Did you hear that Mabel? That poor man has just had his car stolen. You can’t trust to park anywhere in town these days. Crime has gone berserk.

Bystander I: Did you hear that everyone? This guy here has just had his car stolen in broad daylight. It pays to may sure you lock things up securely.

Bystander II: Oh you poor man. Do you live far away? Could I drop you off at home or at the police station?

Chad: The police station is just around the corner. I’ll walk there, but thanks for the kind offer.

Eva: This is what happens when you defund the police. Crime goes up.

Chad: Come along Eva. We’ll walk around the corner to the police station.

Two minutes later…

Chad: Oh my God!

2019. A gaggle of gossipers

(Today’s story is the penultimate. Tomorrow’s story (Number 2020) will be the last – at least for a while. I am writing this in September so who knows! Tomorrow’s story has LOTS of links so it’s not impossible that it will automatically end up in your email trash. Just a warning!)

Monique and Marcel had known each other for years. They were good friends since university days. Now both were widowed. They usually met once or twice a month for coffee and a chat. Each found support from the other in their loss.

After some time they started to hear rumours: they were a couple, they were dating, they were inevitably going to get married… None of this was true, but rumours stick.

“Apparently they haven’t as yet moved into the same house,” said Nora Cudworthy to Mabel Johnstoneville. “You’d think they would. After all, they do everything else. They should stop pretending we don’t know and move in.”

“I heard,” said Sandy Monteverdi to Joe Devon, “that they were having an affair long before their spouses died. I’m not surprised, judging from the way they carry on these days.”

“It’s unbelievable! Unbelievable!” said Carmel Cranford to Tessa London. “They have their grandchildren come to stay and I heard that Marcel and Monique spend all their time otherwise engaged. Unbelievable!”

“Enough is enough!” declared Monique to Marcel. “Let’s add fuel to the fire. Let’s go away together in the same car to some fancy resort somewhere and leave them to chatter.”

And they did! Off they trundled ostentatiously in the car.

While they were away the nearby volcano erupted and utterly decimated the village. It was like a modern Pompeii. The whole gaggle of gossipers was gone. Of course, Monique and Marcel were safe. But there was no one left to announce their engagement to.

1928. Church flowers

Barry was having an affair. The whole village knew about it. No wonder Melissa had left him. This had probably been going on for months.

No one had a clue who the woman was that he was having an affair with. Was it someone they knew? Was it someone from out of town? No one had seen her. What they had seen, and rather regularly, was a bump in the backseat covered in a blanket. Barry’s car was always firmly in his garage with the automatic door solidly shut before who-ever-it-was undoubtedly emerged from under the blanket in the back seat and entered the house.

The village was a tight knit community. They cared about each other, and not knowing the identity of Barry’s lover was driving them crazy. Anne proposed a plan.

Barry had a large garden. This was a remnant from when Melissa ran the house. “It’s my turn,” said Anne, “to do the flowers for the church this coming Sunday. I shall go and ask Barry if we can have some flowers from his garden for the church.”

It was a brilliant plan! While there Anne would poke around for clues. Perhaps the lover might be spied. Perhaps Barry might drop a hint.

Sunday morning came. The church flowers from Barry’s garden were gorgeous. Anne was to be congratulated. But did she find out anything of interest?

“Not a thing!” declared Anne. “Not a whiff of a hint.”

Everyone pretended not to be disappointed.

Anne breathed a sigh of relief. Her secret was still safe.

1368. A true story

Some people thought it funny, but Ray didn’t think it funny at all. In fact, he thought that John had been downright rude and asked Margaret to make him apologise.

Teresa didn’t think he should have to apologise at all and Robert agreed. Not that it mattered as Nyla and Douglas were the two that would care about such things and they were visiting their friend Gregory to congratulate him on his engagement to Denise. Lynda was there as well, and she was having an affair with Richard, everyone knew it, because Charles had whispered it one at a time, starting with Patrick. Juris had said that we shouldn’t engage in gossip and told Jason and Peter by way of illustration. After that, the whole world knew.

Well, at least Thomas, Graeme, Myra, Brent, Lorraine, Frances, Adrienne, Esme, Thomas (a different Thomas from the one previously mentioned), Hein, Jacob, Ruth, Paul, Julie, Patricia, Hubert, Sydney, Walter, Alastair, Kevin, Trevor, Marian, Ngaire, and Ronald knew.

So as you can see, it’s probably not funny at all.

1153. Who’s the suspect?

The front of Melanie’s house was next to the road, but the back lawn had a different neighbour bordering each of the three sides.

Melanie had a little dog, of which she was most fond. It was a Pomeranian and its name was Pom-Pom. In fact, Melanie got on better with her dog than she did with the three bordering neighbours.

You’ve no idea, said Melanie, what Anita Jones is up to. Her husband’s corpse was still warm and she was out cavorting with another man. And then barely three weeks had passed and he’d moved in. Moved in! Anita Jones, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a cheap harlot. That’s all. Cheap harlot! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

Herbie Davidson, said Melanie, is overweight and disgusting. He walks around in his back yard wearing only his underpants. He’s too fat to do that. He’s gross from top to toe. Nor has he any manners. Herbie Davidson, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a grotesque, obese piece of lard. That’s all. Lazy lard! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

And as for you, Andy McAlister, we all know you watch porn. You sit at your computer half the night grovelling over it. I can see it through the window. I’ve a good mind to report you to the police, you filthy-minded pig. Andy McAlister, I’m telling you this to your face. You’re a dirty gutter rat. That’s it. Gutter rat! My Pom-Pom has more principles.

One day Melanie saw rat poison tablets scattered on her back lawn. Pom-Pom must have eaten one. It was dead.

815. Elaine worked in a pharmacy

Elaine was quite the wrong person to work in a pharmacy. The pharmacy was the sole pharmacy in the small town. Elaine knew everyone’s ailments, and she couldn’t help but let things occasionally slip.

“You shouldn’t be eating that,” she said to Nora at the church bazaar. “You know the doctor has put you on atorvastatin.”

“The doctor put Herbie on isosorbide mononitrate. I said to him that I hoped the heart specialist stopped the 100mg of aspirin, but oh no, he’s on both and I told him it will be the death of him.”

“You’d be amazed at how many people in this town have genital warts. Donald Willesford has them – on the scrotum I belief. Donald Willesford! Who would have believed it?”

“Sheila must be the only one left in town who hasn’t succumbed to the flu. Of course, she never got the flu shot last Fall, which just goes to show how effective that flu inoculation really is.”

“Caroline has a terrible rash. She’s using the wrong stuff. I told her to use Silky Primrose Body Lotion. She didn’t listen.”

Elaine was sacked by the pharmacy. The Union fought for her; she had been unlawfully dismissed. She was awarded a large sum of money and had her job offered back. She refused to accept her job back. Someone else has now employed her, warts and all.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

525. Overheard conversation II

(I’ve just spent a week in a hospital ward – a mixed ward, men and women. It can become tedious, so I jotted down some overheard conversations. Slightly edited!)

Barbara: That was my grandson, Juan. It’s pronounced “Jay-wharn”. You wouldn’t know, but it’s Spanish. Even though he’s only four he has the IQ of a seven year old. I reckon he’s gay because he’s not interested in boys’ toys like trucks and stuff. I call him “my little gay boy”. Of course, I wouldn’t say that to his face; that would be cruel. I am very good with kids. I have two of my own and nine foster children that I call mine. If I won the lottery I would buy an orphanage. My youngest daughter she Chinese. She 17. She come see me this afternoon. She reliable. I ask her who at my house. She tell me. I ask her to water pot plant. She also very bright. Not as bright as “Jay-wharn”. Do you have any children, Naomi, and what do you do?

Naomi: Well, I’m 84, so I’m retired and I…

Barbara: I said to my daughter-in-law that India, that’s another granddaughter, she’s 2, has a “big mouth”. I didn’t mean that she was a blabber-mouth; I meant she could put a lot of food in her mouth at once when she was eating. Of course my daughter-in-law took it the wrong way didn’t she? She’s so sensitive. Too sensitive if you ask me. So do you work, Naomi?

Naomi: Well, I’m 84, so I’m retired and I…

Barbara: Then there’s Riley. He went off the rails. He got his girlfriend pregnant when he was 15. He’s 26 now, and…

Naomi: … and I lectured in Russian at the university.