Red Tape

by Michele Lynn Seigfried

  “Disorderly conduct,” Tex said.

  “Well, what if he comes in here throwing things around, like his big rock?” I asked. “What if he hits one of us? Would that be assault? Would that keep him in jail longer?”

  Tex shook his head at me and said condescendingly, “Next time he comes in here, pick up the phone and dial 9-1-1 if you feel threatened at all. We are right across the parking lot.”

  “That doesn’t make us feel any better,” I said, annoyed.

  “And I checked out the rock thing. It was one of those plastic fake rocks to hide a key in.”

  “Oh. Then why did he bring it in here?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  I hustled back to work. I was behind in my meeting follow up since Triggers took up all my time. After an hour went by, I was so engrossed in paperwork, I didn’t notice it at first. But then I heard it….drip, drip, drip.

  What the F? I thought. Oh well, I’m too busy to deal with whatever that is. Back to advertising ordinances.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  I called out, “Bonnie, is that getting louder or is that my imagination?”

  Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.

  Bonnie said, “Yeah, where is that coming from?”

  I stepped outside my office into the space where Bonnie sat and looked around. It took me a few minutes, but there it was—the ceiling was leaking.

  “Where is the water coming from? It didn’t rain. Do you think the air conditioning is broken?”

  Bonnie looked at me blankly and shrugged.

  I bent over to get a garbage can to collect the dripping water and I heard a loud crack. I gasped. Gallons of water burst through the ceiling tiles and landed on my head and back with a huge splash. I was soaked.

  Bonnie burst out in laughter. She was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face. I just stood there in the huge puddle with my eyes wide, mouth opened, and hair plastered to my head. I was dripping from everywhere.

  I suddenly heard laughter from outside of our counter area. Oh no! It was Officer Gorgeous walking by, witnessing the mess. Could I be any more embarrassed in front of this man? When Bonnie saw him, she laughed that much harder. I felt the sudden urge to beat her over the head with Mr. Trigger’s pet rock. I was frowning at her and cursing her in my head when all of a sudden…crash! More water smashed through the ceiling tiles, landed on Bonnie’s head, and kept gushing. She jumped out of the way, but not before she was soaked through all her clothes as well. She stopped chuckling, but I couldn’t control my laughter at this point.

  “My shoes!” she screamed.

  Of course, Bonnie would be worried about her shoes.

  “They are Cesare Paciotti’s and I just got them on sale! Seven hundred dollars right down the drain! They’re ruined!” She started to cry, but those were no longer tears of laughter.

  I guessed I’d be a little upset too if I had paid seven hundred dollars for my shoes. Fortunately, I got them for thirty bucks at the outlets and I was pretty sure the water wouldn’t affect them. What I was more worried about was the damage to our records and our office. I ran outside into the lobby to check on the boxes. Those boxes contained permanent records and I was hoping they hadn’t gotten wet.

  Luck was on my side. The boxes were dry. I inspected the ceiling for signs of a leak, but couldn’t see anything. I silently cursed Mr. Triggers again for having me bring boxes over. I was going to be really pissed off if anything happened to them. I placed garbage cans under each of the drips and called the public works department in a panic for help.

  Public works arrived with wet vacs and buckets. They brought over tarps to cover the boxes and equipment, and crates to use as a base for the boxes in case the leak spread to the hallway. The mechanic headed upstairs with his tools. The rest of the guys started sopping up the water in our office. I closed the window to our office, then Bonnie and I headed home to change.

  * * *

  First thing Monday morning, I pushed through the doors to the municipal building and noticed it was like the Heat Miser’s lair. Tex was already waiting in my office.

  “Oh boy,” I said. “Why do I not think this is not a friendly visit? You only seem to come around anymore when there is trouble.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears that you had the flood because someone tinkered with the HVAC system. And when I say tinker, I mean that they did so much damage, that it’s irreparable.”

  “Do we know who did this?”

  “I’m going to need a list from you of everyone you can remember who was in the building last week.”

  “Oh geez! That is going to be a long list. I probably won’t remember the names of the residents who came in, unless they paid for something, then I would have a receipt. Triggers was in on Friday, an hour before the flood. Then there was the council meeting last Thursday. All the meeting regulars were there—Rose Sciaratta, Giuseppe Fruscione, and Mitchell Looney. The mayor and council. Me. Officer Williams working the metal detector. Triggers came to the meeting late. I’ll ask the other departments to compile lists as well.”

  I was glad that Rodney would be back to work later this week. I was tired of dealing with crazy stuff getting flung on me. I called public works and asked them to bring over as many fans as they had for all the offices in the building. I opened up all the windows and I began a quick inventory around the office of anything that might have gotten wet. The copier seemed to work. The rugs were dry, thanks to public works, and the computers were booting up. I saw there was a pile of papers that got wet, but I could reprint those documents. The fax machine was dead. I checked inside the file cabinets, and discovered the water didn’t leak inside. Looked like we got lucky again.

  Next on my to-do list was informing the powers-that-be about the issues here. However, that would have to wait; the fire alarms were ringing.

  “Rats,” I said.

  “You’ve only been putting up with this for a few weeks. I’ve been dealing with this since March. I have nightmares about alarms,” Bonnie said.

  “Hasn’t anyone contacted the alarm company to get it fixed?”

  “Repeatedly.”

  “This is like the boy who cried ‘wolf.’ One of these days it’s going to be a real fire and no one’s going to believe it.”

  Out to the parking lot we traipsed. When the first firefighter jumped off the truck, Bonnie whispered in my ear, “I’d like to slide down his pole.”

  I shook my head at her. “There is something wrong with you.”

  “How could you say that? I’m the only person standing outside here that knows how to find something positive about having to stop what I’m doing and stand outside in the blazing heat.”

  “I think it’s hotter inside; people are probably content to be out here.”

  “You are so negative.”

  Ten minutes later, we were back to work. I picked up the phone and dialed the mayor to see what she wanted to do about replacing the HVAC system.

  “Good morning, Mayor O’Donnell. It’s Chelsey.”

  “Hi, Chelsey, how are you?”

  “Well, not so great. Remember how I told you about the air conditioner causing the flood on Friday? Well, Detective Texidoro was here and he said it was tampered with and that it’s not able to be fixed. Our next meeting is a week from Thursday. Do you want me to get some quotes and do a resolution for that meeting?”

  “Yes, that would be fine. Was there anything else you needed for the flooding? Was any equipment damaged?

  “Surprisingly, the equipment all seems to be working, except for the fax machine. I have some money in my budget to get an inexpensive one. Public works did a good job of getting rid of the water. The carpeting looks better than it did; I think they cleaned it. I’m not sure if any mold will surface in the upcoming days. I don’t know how long the system was leaking before the water came through. I will put through an insurance claim today.”

  The insurance company didn’t l
ike us too much in recent days. All we had were claims. Fires, robberies, and floods. I usually didn’t have to deal with insurance issues, but with Rodney out, that suddenly became my job.

  “What about your records; do you need any kind of records recovery service?” Mayor O’Donnell asked.

  “No, we’re okay. The papers that got wet are all in the computer and we can reprint those. The boxes in the lobby for Mr. Triggers were untouched. Everything that was inside the filing cabinets seems to be fine.”

  “Thanks, Chelsey.”

  I told her I would review everything with Rodney when he returned this week and we disconnected. I also made the decision to write an email to Mr. Triggers and tell him he had one more week to come in to review the documents in the boxes, otherwise they were going back into storage.

  Chapter 7

  Another Thursday night, another meeting. I was in the courtroom setting up as usual and feeling grateful that public works had been able to jerry-rig the air conditioning until a new system could be installed. Mr. Triggers arrived early and I was thankful that the guard was in the room so that I wasn’t alone with him. He had never responded to me about the boxes going back into storage. I was afraid he would come over and yell at me. The green plaid necktie on his white button-down shirt almost looked normal until you saw that he completed his look with jean shorts, black socks pulled up to his knees, and white sneakers. I thought Bonnie was being kind when she said he was an “eccentric” dresser.

  Within a few minutes, Giuseppe Fruscione arrived with a plump, juicy tomato in hand for me.

  “Really? For me? I can’t take that from you.”

  “Chelsey,” he said, “I know how much you say that you like Jersey tomatoes! This is from my garden. You know, it’s hard to grow these in this sandy soil, so I grow them in a container. Besides, my tomatoes are the best; you take it home and enjoy it.”

  “Mr. Fruscione, how can I thank you?”

  “No thanks are necessary!”

  Yum. I did love Jersey tomatoes. I was looking forward to lunch the next day. A nice cheese and tomato sandwich with mayo. Homegrown Jersey tomatoes didn’t taste like store-bought tomatoes. They were so much more flavorful.

  My thoughts were broken by the sound of the gavel. The mayor was calling the meeting to order.

  Mr. Triggers was first up when the public comment period was called. I saw Rose Sciaratta take out her cigarettes and head toward the door. I guessed she figured this was going to take a while.

  “Mayor O’Donnell, I’m here to ask if you are going to put the dunes up at the end of my street,” Mr. Triggers said.

  Mayor O’Donnell replied frankly, “We are not installing dunes, Mr. Triggers.”

  At that moment, Mr. Triggers reminded me of a cartoon devil, with his dark eyes and how his neck and face flared up into a bright red color. All he was missing were horns.

  Triggers raised his voice. “Well, since you look so much like a man, why don’t you grow a pair of balls under that skirt of yours to go along with your penis and put those dunes in place?”

  Mayor O’Donnell shrieked and before I could think, she grabbed the tomato that Giuseppe gave me and threw it at Triggers. Triggers ducked and the tomato flew straight across the room, hitting Rose square in the head. She dropped her cigarette inside before she tumbled out the half open door. The cigarette landed on the pile of agendas and poof! Up they went in flames. The fire alarms were triggered and the noise was so ear piercing that it was hard to think. The guard grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the flames, but not before the room filled with smoke and damage was done to the walls and carpeting.

  I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt and escaped out of the emergency exit that was close to my seat. I jumped into my car to move it before the fire trucks arrived and blocked me in. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset about the fire or the fact that I would be missing out on my cheese and tomato sandwich. I wondered why I ever decided to come back to work instead of being a stay-at-home mom. Oh yeah, that’s right, I needed the money.

  * * *

  The next morning, I arrived early to work. Rodney had previously sent out an office memo that we were having a potluck lunch for all the staff. With so many things happening, I initially thought it was a good idea on his part. We all needed some morale boosting and this might have done the trick. But, with the fire in the courtroom, I wished he had scheduled it for a different day because I had too much going on.

  I pulled open one of the front doors of the municipal building single-handed, while juggling my crock-pot in my other hand. I had made my famous root beer pulled pork. Bonnie offered to get the rolls.

  I headed to the kitchen and searched for an electric outlet. I had to fire up the crock-pot so that the pork would be ready in time for lunch. As I bent over to plug it in behind the table, I heard a familiar voice. I slowly stood up and turned around. A twinge of humiliation combined with a rush of blood to my heart made my cheeks flush. Oh no! I thought. Officer Gorgeous just got a full view of my big behind.

  “Officer Williams. How nice to see you. What are you doing here so early?”

  “I brought the lasagna over from the PD for today’s lunch to put in the fridge.”

  “Oh, I love lasagna. Well, see ya.”

  I darted out of the kitchen, then slapped myself mentally on the forehead. Why couldn’t I think of anything better to say than “Oh, I love lasagna”? I am such a dork. My mind went totally blank when he was around. Why didn’t I ask him something about himself? I could have gotten to know him better. All right, get a grip, I told myself. I have a baby at home, I’ve got a full-time job, I started working out again. I have no time in my life to sit down for thirty minutes and watch a rerun of Friends; I certainly do not have enough time for a man!

  I headed to the courtroom to assess the damage. It had a smoky stench. Public works was already there, ripping out the carpet and airing out the room. They told me it wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was just cosmetic.

  I trotted back to my office. Bonnie had just arrived. “What the heck happened here last night?” she asked.

  She must have noticed the courtroom. I started to laugh uncontrollably. Bonnie couldn’t understand a word I was saying because I was hysterical.

  “What? What tomato? What the heck?” she asked.

  When I finally regained my composure, I gave her the gist of the story. “Giuseppe Fruscione brought me a tomato. Triggers said something nuts to the mayor. Mayor O’Donnell threw the tomato at Triggers. He ducked, Rose Sciaratta got hit in the head, dropped her cigarette, and set the place on fire.”

  “Holy shit! At least the fire alarms worked this time,” Bonnie exclaimed.

  We both chuckled.

  “You have to listen to the audio of the meeting later. It’s crazy, but right now we have a lot to get done before lunch today,” I said.

  We buried ourselves in paperwork. I felt like every time I accomplished something, something new popped up for me to finish.

  When the clock read eleven forty-five a.m., I got up from my chair to go check on the pulled pork. As I headed out to the kitchen, I noticed Mr. Triggers walking in, but I was pretty sure he didn’t see me. I wasn’t in the mood for him. I stepped into the kitchen, grabbed a fork, and lifted the lid of the crock-pot. As I stirred in a little more barbeque sauce, I inhaled the steam. It smelled good and I was so hungry. I thought about eating a sandwich before the crowd got there, but I thought I’d better wait another fifteen minutes.

  I took my time walking back to my office in hopes that Triggers would be gone by the time I got there. No such luck. I found him arguing with Bonnie at the counter to our office. I stepped into the office and locked the door behind me. I didn’t want to be in the same area with him without a barrier between us if I could help it. I noticed that Mr. Triggers could stand to be introduced to deodorant.

  “Mr. Triggers, how can I help you?”

  “Hey moron! I want to speak to the mayor!” he s
houted.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Triggers, the mayor is only part-time and does not have an office here. I could take your phone number and have her call you.”

  I could hear Bonnie under her breath saying she already told him that.

  “I want to talk to the mayor, now!” Triggers yelled impatiently.

  “The mayor is not here,” I answered.

  “Do you work for the mayor?” he asked and before I could answer, he started firing a range of other questions at me.

  “Why isn’t the mayor here? Doesn’t the mayor have office hours to speak with residents? Doesn’t the mayor think it’s important to be here for the residents?”

  I tried to make a mental note of the questions, so I could answer them. I said, “Well, I…”

  He cut me off. He pointed at me and yelled, “I am not done talking, moron!”

  I usually prided myself on being helpful, but it was clear to me that this insulting guy did not want answers to his questions. He wanted to speak with the mayor and he was not going to be patient about it. He said that I didn’t understand why he wanted to meet with the mayor and he started on a forty-five-minute exposé about his life, his house, and the dunes he wanted. Obviously, he hadn’t remembered that I was well aware of the situation. I suspected he was older than I originally surmised and I wondered if he was losing his mind, his memory, or both.

  Each time I tried to get a word in, he would get angry and cut me off. I had learned along the way that sometimes an irate customer just wanted to be heard and didn’t really want a solution to their problem. So I listened. And listened. And listened. Then my mind drifted, imagining the food in the kitchen. My stomach grumbled. I could smell the food. I could see the various employees heading over to the kitchen and closing their offices for the lunch hour. I was jealous. I was annoyed. I wished he would go away. Then finally, he stopped talking.

  I snapped out of my daydream. I did not know what else to say other than what I had already said to him, so I asked, “Would you like me to have the mayor call you to set up an appointment?”