I'm watering the winter rye that's sprouting up nicely when Daddy from Little Israel comes out of his front door for a chat.
"Hello Mr. Mike."
"Hey, Daddy, what's up?"
"Mr. Mike, how much do you pay your handyman?"
"Twenty-five an hour."
"Oh, that's too much. I pay only ten maybe twelve dollars."
I look over at his place with the shit-brown paint that is already not looking good, the fading yellow of stucco, loose brick, Palace facade. "Yeah, well, guess you don't want the handyman's number then.
"I need to find somebody. They take my money for materials and don't come back."
"No shit. And when you promise ten bucks an hour, go figure."
"I need to find someone to finish job. The tile has no grout."
"Good luck with that, Daddy."
Mean Queen came out and nodded toward me. I guess I was suppose to bow or some such shit but just said, "Hey Mean Queen."
She didn't respond, but went straight for the car for Daddy to drive her somewhere.
After they left I was waiting for the next fucking Middle Eastern prick to come my way. The reason was I was served with papers for a law suit. Apparently one of these rag-heads of the East tripped on the cement walk in front of the house and wants fifty grand. Their last name sounded like what you call a camel when they spit on you. It happened back of February of 2011. And guess what, the fucking attorney is Armenian. Figures, the hood is turning into a Middle East hodge-podge of wacked out sand-jockeys and Armenian gangsters. Just great when all I thought I had to worry about was missiles from Little Iran and Little Israel.
I don't need to go to the Middle East or Eastern Europe. They have fucking come to me.
Proof, again, that you don't get what you don't pay for.
ReplyDeleteI hope your insurance company has a good attorney. I'd sue [em back for non-payment for the advice you've given him.