by Don P. Bick
Part II - Humorous
LUNCH ROOM
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Lunchtime. We crowd into the small room. All six of us. The table quickly becomes buried with sandwiches, cookies, fruit and trash. The microwave pings, another Weight Watcher's meal done. Conversation. The same as yesterday.
Wait a minute. I didn't notice until now. Sally has a big brown bag beside her. She picks it up. Opens it. And reaches inside. Is it? My eyes are glued to the brown paper. I can't help but notice out of the corner of my eye that Renee is also staring at it. It figures. She would. I never liked her.
Sally's hand begins to come up out of the large grocery bag. I can't help myself. I lean forward in anticipation. I detect movement at my side. Renee. I barely control the hiss that is about to escape from my lips.
That crackling sound. It has to be. Only one of those packages could make that unmistakable noise. Any moment. Her hand comes out of the bag. Yes! There they are! Fritos!
I sit back in my chair. And act disinterested. My eyes never leave the bag. Renee. Neither does hers. I want to smack her. That greedy woman...
"Anyone want any Fritos?" Sally asks, as she tears the half full bag open and sets it in the center of the table. I barely get a good look at them before Renee's hand snakes across the table and plows into the golden mound of chips. I smile, thinking how much I'd like to break her arm. And with slow controlled movement I reach forward and snag me a large handful. Take that Renee. My hand is bigger than hers.
She eats faster though. Big mouth! In no time her greedy little fist was back in the pile. I start eating faster. Before my hand is empty I reach out the other one and fill it, until I am unable to hold a single additional chip. What do you think of that move, Renee? She doesn't miss a trick. She pulls the same thing. Fortunately, the others are all engrossed in a conversation. About refrigerators I think.
The pile gets smaller. Thanks to greedy guts Renee. The two fisted Frito Bandito. I want to smack her more than ever. Look at her sitting there shoving fistfuls of Fritos into her face. Disgusting! I don't turn my head to look at her, however, afraid I might not be able to keep up the pace. I have a rhythm of my own going.
I hesitate a split second too long. Not many Fritos left. Renee's hand is already on its way. I should have gotten more before both hands were empty. You... I glare at Renee behind my calm smile and relaxed demeanor.
No. I don't believe it. Sally reaches over and takes the rest of the chips. Who does she think she is? She hardly ever eats that many Fritos. No wait. There's one. It's the only one left. Not a broken one either. A whole large yellow Frito. Hiding just under the edge of the bag. Maybe no one will notice it.
She does. Eagle eye Renee. Predator. We both stare at it, wondering if Sally is going to snag it. I get my hand ready. Renee better not. I swear I will…
Renee slides forward in her chair, ever so slightly. Sneaky woman. She did it so well I almost admire the move. She's not going to get it though. I cough, which requires me to lean forward and cover my mouth. I now have the advantage. I decide to go for it, when it happened.
Sally's hand reaches out. I stare. Renee stares. While Sally takes what she thinks is an empty bag and with both of her hands, wads up the package and tosses it into the trash. I hear the single chip get crunched into tiny pieces in the process. I watch. Dumbfounded. Numb.
Renee gasps. Begins to rise. The look in her eyes is frightening. I've never seen her like this before. She goes for Sally. I stand up and grab her. She is making some deep seated growling sounds. Way down in her throat. Her eyes have a crazed look about them. She begins to drool. She's also strong. We struggle and finally I have to slap her to bring her out of it. She needs help. Everyone is staring. Fear plainly visible on their faces. They don't know what's going on. I forcible remove her from the room, grabbing the wadded up Frito bag from the trash as we go.
Renee and I don't work there anymore. That was a long time ago. We're married now. And once a week, without fail, we attend Fritos Anonymous meetings. We like to think we're stable.
APPOINTMENT
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Darkness. I quickly dress. I'm late. The alarm. It didn't go off. Must have forgot to set it. I hurry. No coffee. Out the door.
The car starts, thankfully. After I grind the starter in my impatience. I have an appointment. Got to be on time. It's important. A big client. Big account. It's already late.
Traffic.
Honking. Won't do any good. Gridlock. I can't believe I didn't set the alarm. Not today of all days. It's moving! I rush forward. Time is running out.
The turnoff
Finally! I might make it. Three minutes. Two blocks. I floor it and hope some unsuspecting dog doesn't run out from between two parked cars. One block. Almost there.
There it is. The house. It's big. No, not big, gigantic. Big client. Big account. Large iron gate, it's open. Long driveway. I drive up to the house, mansion is more like it. I park.
I grab my briefcase. Open the door. Place one foot outside the car onto the pavement. I raise the other leg to step out. Then I see them. I don't believe it.
I want to die!
I'm wearing two different colored socks, one blue, one red. No, not just blue and red ones, bright blue and red ones. My suit is brown.
Big client. Big account. Maybe he won't notice.
I pull my slacks down further to cover them, discreetly of course in case someone is watching out one of the windows. I can feel them flashing out to the world between my slacks and shoes. Blue and red. Red and blue. I approach the door. I push the doorbell. Red and blue. Blue and red.
The door opens. I ask for Mr. G. Foster. I learn Mr. Foster is Ms. Foster, Georgia. Great. I'm expected.
I'm ushered into the den. Do I have to sit? I ask myself, trying to figure out a way to remain standing. Two chairs, facing each other. No choice. I sit.
The door opens. The most beautiful woman in the world enters. I jump up and hope my pant legs fall quickly, I feel one hang up. Static. The red one.
"Hello Ms. Foster," I greet her. "I'm Sid Redburns, I mean Sid Burns." Stupid! She's stunning! What about my socks? Get a hold of yourself. She motions for us to sit. I don't want to. She does.
She sits.
When she isn't looking I tug on my pants to get them as low as possible. I hear a pop. The top button of my pants, the only button. It rolls next to her foot. She doesn't notice. I stare at it. Then her.
Why does she have to be so attractive?
I have to sit. No button. Red and blue socks. She's looking up at me, smiling. Waiting.
I gingerly begin to sit.
Too much dinner the night before. The whole week before. I needed the button. I hear another noise. My zipper. I look at her, she doesn't seem to notice. She doesn't notice because she's staring at my socks. The red one.
She's trying not to laugh, I can tell. It becomes too much, she can't hold it back.
Embarrassed, I jump up to cover my socks. I forgot my pants. No button. Zipper down. They fall.
But I was already taking a step. I fall.
My underwear, tiger stripes.
She can't contain herself. This dignified, attractive, wealthy lady actually had the nerve to fall out of the chair and begin to pound her palm on the floor while howling at the top of her voice.
I get up, ungracefully. And hurry from the room. I leave without my briefcase. I have to go back.
Ms. Foster is beginning to gain control of herself, until she sees me. I grab my briefcase with one hand, I'm holding up my pants with the other, and run.
I exit. Behind me, pounding on the floor and uncontrollable laughter. My appointment. No client. No account.
BLUE-EYED BLONDE
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There she was, standing off to one side of the room, visiting. Long blond hair, filled with curls cascaded down over her shoulders to the middle of her back. She had the face of an angel. What a body! Instinctively, I knew she would have blue e
yes. No ring. I find blue‑eyed blondes irresistible. I begin to plot and maneuver.
As tactfully as possible I extricate myself from the three people I've been talking with, and work my way slowly across the room. I feel like a great hunter. One who has spotted his prey and is silently stalking it, patiently waiting for the right moment to move in and pounce on the unsuspecting, and I imagine not totally defenseless creature.
Suddenly, she turns and swiftly walks toward the bar for another drink. She passes within a couple of feet of my position, which is slightly behind a fern, peering out between two of the plant's fronds. I forget to look at her face as I stare at the movements of her perfect body beneath her tight well‑fitted clothing. I start gasping as I realize I had been holding my breath for longer than it should have taken to pass out. I want her. I mean really want her.
I work up my courage and sneak out from behind the palm. She's walking back. This time I have enough control to force my eyes upward. Into her eyes. They are blue. They meet mine. She smiles. I melt. Become speechless. She passes. Some hunter.
I retreat to re‑plan and re‑plot my strategy. To the bar. Two and a half drinks later I'm ready. No new plan just more courage. No stalking this time. I boldly set out across the room in her direction. And promptly trip over the moving floor. I didn't fall. Not quite anyway. Fortunately, there was something to grab onto. A woman. However, even in my condition I realized I shouldn't have grabbed her there. She screamed. And swung. The portion of my drink that hadn't already splashed on her was flung
