Flies, Cockroaches and Fleas

In the past, we’ve had problems with flies, cockroaches, and fleas. None of them can compare to the brief infestation of lady bugs that we recently went through, which was somehow worse. Like ten thousand kittens suddenly showing up at your door. Adorable turns disturbing in great multiples.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. Sage has been talking about a fabulous birthday party she went to the night before.

Todd sings in the winelighhhhhttt….

Sage Are you listening to Kurt Elling?

Todd Kurt’s birthday was three days ago. We also missed Guy Fawke’s day.

Sage, who has been checking her usual websites I do not understand how Shelly’s daughter Hannah can be this old. Wasn’t Shelly just writing about Hannah attending kindergarten?

Todd Well - I didn’t miss Guy Fawke’s day. Wow, Hannah is old. You know, I’m getting older too.

Sage, unbelievably oblivious That’s from a song, isn’t it?

Todd I think it is. Prob’ly “Happy I Forgot Your Birthday to You”.

Sage Oh noooooooooooooooooooooo. I forgot AGAIN. I am the worst person in the whole WORLD. Argh. I feel awful. You should go be boyfriends with Kurt Elling. Kurt would remember. Probabaly he would not only remember your birthday, but he would write you a new song every year and sing it to you.

Todd Nah. It’d never work. He’d always be on the road.

[Todd’s note: I don’t know why she feels terrible. It’s not as if I am good atremembering hers. Or I would be if it weren’t as well advertised assweeps week.]

These past two weeks with Paul have been absolutely wonderful. It’s as if every single time since he was born that I ever said, “Use your gentle voice, please,” or “Let’s talk about what’s upsetting you,” he was actually listening. He just didn’t put it into practice until now. I was beginning to think that five years old was going to be the very hardest year we’d have to go through, but once he turned the corner, he’s been acting more like ten than five.

We have our rules - that I emphasize we both need to follow - when we’re going to someone’s house. The rules are meant to be followed all the time, but I go over them again before we’re at someone else’s house. I always say, “Okay, sweetie. Remember our rules? We need to follow them. We need to be: respectful, gentle, kind, cooperative, and use our toes instead of our bodies to communicate.”

He giggles. “Mama, not toes.”

“Oh, sorry. We need to use our belly buttons?”

“We need to use our voices.”

“Ooooooh. You’re right. We need to use our voices.”

So the other day he asked me, “What does cooperative mean, exactly?” He’s gotten fascinated with what words mean.

I had to think about it for a little while. I realized that, with Paul, I’ve used the word “cooperation” when what I actually mean is “obedience”, because I hate the dog-trainer connotations of that word. So I said to Paul, “Cooperation means…um…it means when we can think of a solution to a problem that makes us both happy.”

Ever since then, he’s been wild for finding compromises to problems that come up, and it’s been an excellent influence on me - now when I say, “You’re being so cooperative!” I really mean it.

Like Platoon. Remember Platoon?

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Todd Do you think if the Smurfs were on today that Jokey Smurf would become Terrorist Smurf? “I’ve got a surprise for you, Smurfette.” BOOM!

Sage If the Smurfs were on today, they’d have spaceships and guns.

Todd So they could kick Gargamel’s ass?

Sage Right. And they’d say things like “kick Gargamel’s ass”.

On Saturday, I saw the movie Runaway Jury. You should also go see it. (Except Scott. Scott, you would hate it.) I confess that I drove all the way to the Big City not because I’d read excellent reviews or seen the trailer but because I’d seen a movie poster and it had the words “John Cusack” on it. Yes, thank you. I am thirteen years old.

I was about twenty minutes early, so after buying a pretzel I went into the theater and sat watching the endless commercial slide-show, because it was too dark to read my book. They won’t let me bring a backpack into the movie theater anymore, is that true at your local theater? I really don’t understand this new rule. Purses are allowed, as are fanny packs. What exactly are they afraid you’ll bring, in a backpack? A gun will fit into a purse or fanny pack, easy. Hell, a gun will fit into a jacket pocket. Bombs? Though I don’t know for a fact, it seems unlikely that a bomb would have to be big enough to fit into a backpack, as getting one that big on a plane would be impossible. I’m guessing a bomb would fit into a purse too. Maybe they’re trying to keep out the semi-automatic weapons that can wipe out an entire theater in less than two minutes.

When the previews began, I almost got up and walked out.

Preview 1, The Last Samurai: Tom Cruise, civil war veteran, goes to Japan to teach the troops there how to fight For Their Country. Tom Cruise fucks a Japanese woman, so he’s not a bigot.

Preview 2,The Alamo: Billy Bob Thornton leads a group of good ol’ Texas boys against the Evil Mexicans. No, it’s okay to hate the Mexicans in this movie, because Billy Bob fucks a Mexican woman. He’s open minded! He just hates those Mexicans! Wow, is their skin sort of the same color as the people in the Middle East? Whoops. We must have done that on accident.

Preview 3, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World: Dead-eyed Russell Crowe puts an entire slowly-sinking ship’s crew in danger in order to win a navel battle For His Country. We’re allowed to hate the uncouth, redneck white-boy enemy, because judging from the long lingering looks, Russell Crowe probably fucks his second in command.

After sitting through those three previews (while sadly remembering the days when Hollywood made anti-war movies) I was dreading Runaway Jury itself. Happily, you can still depend on Dustin Hoffman to be a wildly bleeding-heart liberal and my fears were proved unjustified. I was also pleasantly surprised to find Cusack playing his age, after sitting through the embarrassing first twenty minutes of Serendipity in which he played a twentysomething. John. You are thirty seven years old. You can no longer pull off the Cute Geeky Boy. You have graduated to Handsome Geeky Man. Please don’t try to harken back to your youth in a movie ever again.

Anyway. Go see it.

We don’t allow any gun play in our house. So when Paul recently found an empty antibiotic pill capsule on the floor and an herbal remedy in tiny ball form that could be inserted into the capsule and squeezed out so it flew across the room, and he called it his “shooter”, I gave him a frown.

Sage Hmm. A shooter?

Paul Don’t worry, Mama. It’s a medicine shooter. See? It shoots out medicine to the whole town, so they don’t get sick.

Sometimes I wonder if he’s just humoring me.

Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. It’s Todd’s turn.

Todd The rock group Badly Drawn Boy has a very pretty site.

Sage Yes! I know! You love Badly Drawn Boy and want to marry them and have their babies! Now GO!
Sage gooooooooo
Sage go go go
Sage Go before I have to move to a senior center because I am SO OLD.

Todd They’re just one boy as far as I know.

Sage Well quit mooning over their site and PLAY.

[later, after Sage has listened to Badly Drawn Boy]

Sage I don’t want to marry Badly Drawn Boy and have his babies. In fact, he tried to get my number and I said, “Ew.”

[long pause]

Todd Think hard about this next move.

Sage I was in the bathroom washing the sound of Badly Drawn Boy out of my ears.

Yesterday I drove to the Big City for sushi and a movie. I went on the strength of planning to go and never actually doing it, so that when I had no free time I was always kicking myself for not taking the opportunity to go when I could.

So, somewhat grimly, I got into the car and drove all the way to the sushi restaurant. I’d never been there before; the closest I’d gotten was one day last year when we were all hungry and actually made it into the restaurant and sat down before Paul (who gets grumpy just like we do when we’re hungry) started banging a fork on the table and we whisked him back out to the car and ate at Taco Bell instead. I parked and saw a sign on the door which read “Saturday: 11:30 - 3″ and then “Please enter through the door to the right.”

I had no idea what time it was, so I went to the store next door and asked. “It’s 11:22,” said the clerk cheerfully. I thanked him and turned to go. “Or…wait. It’s exactly 11:45.” His co-worker smiled and agreed. That was weird. I mean, far be it from me to slam someone’s time-telling skills - at 31, I still figure out which way to turn by holding up my left hand and thinking, “Okay, this is the hand I write with…so this must be left.” But confusing 11:22 with 11:45? Strange.

I went back to the restaurant and tried the door to the right. It was locked. I was about to try the original door when a middle-aged Asian woman came bursting outside, talking a mile a minute on her cell phone. She was giving directions to the person on the other end, ending with, “Do you want me to wait outside for you?” I thought the offer was unusual for the restaurant manager to make, but as she was whisking back inside, I called, “Excuse me, are y’all open today?”

She grinned, “Um, I’m a customer. But yeah, they’re open!” and she went inside.

I felt really dumb. I felt even dumber when I went inside and - though the waitstaff was indeed 100% Asian, the woman who’d been outside was about forty pounds and forty years off of being a member of the staff. To a person, they looked like as soon as their shift was over, they were going to run off and do a shoot for Prada.

I read my book and ate my sushi, and should have stopped while I was ahead, but then couldn’t resist and ordered a Volcano Roll, which I’ve had before. Here, however, it came in a real seashell, which was placed inside a bowl with flames surrounding it. I had no idea how I was supposed to eat it, and I was afraid to ask and look stupid in front of the Pradaites. Then my waitress came by and said, “Would you like a refill of your Diet Coke?”

“It was Coke,” I said.

“DIET Coke?” she said.

“No, just a regular Coke,” I said. The fact that she picked my weight to be nasty about didn’t bother me, but the malice behind it did. Yeesh. Eat a sandwich, Pradagirl! You’ll feel less crabby!

After I’d eaten about half my Volcano Roll (it finally stopped flaming) I found my way to the movie theater. I went inside and the clerk behind the popcorn counter was an African-American boy (who, along with everyone else behind the counter, looked about eleven - don’t you have to be sixteen to work in this country? When did everyone under 25 start looking like they ride Bigwheels on the weekends?). I asked him for a pretzel and he got one for me. “That’s $2.50,” he said, so I gave him three dollars.

He gave me my change, then as he was putting the money into the cash register, he said, “Oh, you gave me a ten!” and showed me that I’d handed him two ones and a ten dollar bill.

I took back the ten and gave him a one instead. “Wow,” I said. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate you being so honest.”

Later, I felt weird about saying that. I mean, my actual motivation in saying it was, “Wow, with the state of ethics and especially teen ethics in the year 2003, I’m impressed that you were honest enough to let me know about something that could have made you $9 with no possibility of being caught,” but I worried that he would in fact take it as, “Wow, I didn’t know black people could be honest just like us white folk,” or something equally hideous.

Then “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist” went through my head for the next hour.

Poor boys.

We used to see this car with the vanity plates that read “LOGG” around town all the time. Then we would be unable to stop ourselves from singing at leastthree renditions of:

It’s Lo-og, it’s Lo-og
It’s big, it’s heavy
It’s wood!
It’s Lo-og, Lo-og
It’s better than bad
It’s good!

You just know that’s why the person chose that word for their vanity plates. The power to make people sing.

Last night Paul and I went out trick-or-treating. Those of you who have been reading these entries for a long time know that we don’t bother with most holidays, including Christmas. But Halloween? For Paul, Halloween is Christmas, and Disneyworld (or, you know, it would be if I were willing to let him go there) and more than two carob covered raisins at a time all rolled into one. So it was a big night.

Paul put on his Harry Potter outfit (I’d have hoped for something more original, but in fact he was the only Harry Potter we saw all night, so that was okay) and we set off. Paul was more dancing than walking, and his eyes were huge, taking everything in. After we’d gone to about five houses, we hit a stretch of badly lit sidewalk. As we walked towards the middle of town, an enormous Rottweiler came at us, and not in a cute wagging-its-tail way, either. I yelled, “No! No! GO ON!” and pretended to run at it, which made it back off a little, then it came at us again. I picked Paul up (no small feat, as I’m only 17 inches taller than he is) and yelled again. Paul was screaming and I told him to stop, because it was making the situation worse - which it was - and he did. Pretty impressive for a five year old. I can’t tell you how much I wished I had not read Cujo during this whole exchange.

Still holding Paul, I walked fast towards the center of town where I knew the dog wouldn’t follow us. Too many lights and cars. By the time I was able to put Paul down my entire body was shaking. When I called Kite later to tell her about our adventures, she said, “Well, think of it this way: you were really, truly scared on Halloween.”

I watched The Recruit recently. The local video store is a wee bit lacking in their DVD selections. Besides, I wanted to find out if Colin Farrel is consistantly the amusingly terrible actor as he was in Phone Booth. (Answer: Oh yeah.)

So at the beginning of the movie, Al Pacino is trying to convince Colin that he should join the CIA, instead of working for Dell Computers. He says…

That’s how it begins, you know. Call will come in a day or two. His name is John Medika. He’s head of R&D for Dell. He’s gonna invite you out for martinis. Before long, you’re going to be working out of advanced encrypting in Bethesda. Five years, you get your first annual trip. To Texas. You’ve got a wife by then, point five kids, and $200K a year. And that’s it. That’s the whole show. Then you’re dead.

That’s so sad. Is this what the American culture has come to? This is what men are told to look forward to? You’ll earn this much money, pump a little sperm out and continue the family name, then you’ll die? Good lord, no wonder men collapse when they hit fifty. If I were a middle aged man and actually believed that my destiny would be nothing more than the mindless drudgery of sitting at a desk for the next fifteen years, I’d buy an Audi TT and fuck a twenty three year old too. ”

Morphing Spell

Freaky Friday Fictional. Submitted entry: There is no such person as Stewart Henderson McMaster, yet he is easily invented. Take a little bit of Stewart Robinson, mix in a few traits from Paul Henderson, invent a family tree branch off the New York McMaster’s, and cast a beautifully introspective morphing spell. Once again I will feel like a new person - complete with ID, medical history, friends, and even memories of my new past.

I don’t morph very often; the spell requires so much energy and detail it leaves me too drained to even levitate for a week. I like to have enough energy to handle immortal life’s little emergencies. It’s a vague sort of knowledge, because I can’t remember most of what I’ve been through after I morph. But I can always remember the magic - the spells - the paths - my friends the trees.

Morphing never ceases to amaze me. I will be Stewart Henderson McMaster. I will remember my childhood! I will feel real love for my mother, Sandra McMaster. When I think back on my father’s funeral, I will cry. Everything about me will be different, but I will still be who I always have been. I am still me. It’s just that now I will be someone else. Now I will be Stewart Henderson McMaster. I won’t remember who I am now - but I will be aware I have existed since the beginning.

Sometimes I wonder if I am not the devil himself. Cursed to walk among man. But I don’t seem to fit the devil’s description. I don’t think evil thoughts or try and corrupt those around me. I am definitely not the ringleader of the war against God. I don’t even believe in Him. I don’t have to. I know I have no afterlife - just events leading up to my next life. I choose my next life. I get to create it from the lives around me. I am the writer of my own reality. In a way, sometimes I wonder if I am God. It’s the wondering that gives me my power.

Just this morning I took a walk through the woods behind my house. It’s only a few acres, but every morning I see something new. I had a nice long chat with a small doe that hasn’t been able to find her mom in the last few days. She was freaked to say the least. I talked to the trees through the wind for her, and sure enough her mom was fine - run off to the other end of the county with a four-point buck. Most people are like that little doe - even me. Even now - at my most powerful.

Which brings me to the end of my spell - and the beginning of my new life. I am Stewart Henderson McMaster. Even though I will change, I will remain the same.

NOW THERE IS SUCH A PERSON AS STEWART HENDERSON MCMASTER!

I AM THAT PERSON!

I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!

I always will be.

Chopin vs. Hank Williams Sr.

Sage and Todd have been playing online backgammon for hours and hours.

Sage This has to be my last game. My eyes are all upsetted about how much time I’ve spent staring at the laptop screen. They’re all bloodshot and burny.

Todd You’re just afraid that you’ll lose the 19 pt match because you can’t see the pieces. Big baby.

Sage Ha. No, I have to have time off the computer so people in town don’t think I have pinkeye.

Todd Or a drug habit, along along with your loose sexual practices.

Recently, Bea and I were standing at the top of a small hill with a slide running down on either side. A group of boys was on one side, and two girls were on the other. All of the kids were trying to figure out how they could turn the slides into some kind of competition. Finally one boy asked us to count, and when one team got to five slides total, they’d win.

Then Bea and I watched as the boys argued over who should go first and how important it was to go fast once you’d hit the slide itself, while the girls quietly won the game. Hee.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon and listening to classical music.

Sage Goooooo.

Todd I feel too peaceful to go

Sage I know what you mean. Don’t you feel like you’ve been transported magically to 1976?

[silence]

Sage Maybe that’s just me. My dad ALWAYS played stuff like this.

Todd Must be just you. Search for the keyword “drankin’” and you’ll get what we heard at my house growing up.

Yesterday, Paul got fascinated by leeches, where they live, why they suck blood, and what they look like. As a result, I know far more about leeches than any human being should have to (including the fact that they make excellent bait, and baitshops think the only way to photograph them is to put a pile into someone’s hands). In the process of exploring The Wonderful World of Blood Sucking Worms, we came across a movie poster for The Attack of the Giant Leeches, which Paul instantly wanted to watch. I’m considering saying yes, if I can find the Mystery Science Theater 3000 version. Nothing more likely to take away the movie’s power to scare than a bunch of geeky robots making fun of every moment.

Virtual Daddy

Last night Paul and I blabbed with Todd via webcam and voice chat. While Todd and Paul were talking, I went into the kitchen to fix myself something to eat. Paul came in, wanting attention, and I said, “I’m making cereal right now, babe. Please go work with Daddy.” He said okay and bounced out of the kitchen, back to the computer.

After he’d left I snorted with laughter. I’d behaved without thinking exactly as I would have if Todd had actually been sitting in the back room.

Of course we miss Todd, but it’s surprising how very present someone can feel when all you’ve really got is their voice and face.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Todd I’m so proud of myself! I recognized two actors last night.

Sage Who?

Todd What’s his name from Silence of the Lambs whose name I just forgot, and Gary Sinise. I’m particularly proud of that one.

Sage Sorry, the first one so does not count. But good job on the second one.

Todd Well, it counted last night when I knew his name.

Sage I mean, not only an actor identification, but an obscure actor identification.

Todd Right. And I really wanted to say he was Michael Keaton, but I didn’t. So good for me.

Frilly Pink Curtains

Sage and Paul are making a ranch-style house, using Legos.

Paul Look, Mama. I’m making a jail over here in the corner of the house.

Sage Oh yeah?

Paul Yeah. See? I’m leaving a space here on the wall that only skinny people can squeeze out of.

Sage And who gets put in the jail?

Paul Skinny people.

Sage That’s good, sweetie. Be a kind and gentle despot. The world could use one of them.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon. Sage is telling Todd about the museum trip.

Sage In that group of all-girls-but-Paul, Paul got more attention than anyone else. I guess sexism isn’t as dead as I’d hoped

Todd He’s very smart and charming.

Sage Well, but so’s the youngest girl, Mabel. And she didn’t get half the attention he did. (Let’s have a Mabel, okay?)

Todd Give Paul credit here
Todd he’s also new
Todd and there are two reactions to new
Todd get away you’re scary
Todd and you’re cool - let’s play

Sage I’m not talking about the girls, I’m talking about the museum docent. And the guy they they did pottery with. Also, at first I thought “get away you’re scary” was a reaction to me saying “let’s have a Mabel”, hee

Todd Ha. That too.

Last night, Todd and I watched About A Boy (far better than the book) together using voice chat and synchronized DVD players. At the end, one character says to another, “Your son is not expressing himself, he’s expressing YOU!”

I said to Todd, “See? This is why it’s really good that Paul has exposure to a lot of different adults. This way, he and I can spend an hour dancing to boomy classical music, and later on in the day he can show his namesake every single boring rock in his rock collection and she will be completely enthralled instead of making up reasons to do something, anything else.”

Kite once said to me, “I was a terrible mother, but I’m a wonderful granny.”

And indeed, she is an incredible granny. The kind who will go fossil hunting, wade in the creek, play endless games of tag, and then come inside and spend an hour helping make a kaleidoscope out of an old paper towel roll, tissue paper and string.

She’s become the Uber-Granny of this small town. When parents are having troubles, they send their children to Kite’s house. She does volunteer childcare once a week at a local community center. The first time I attended, we walked in and the children looked up, wreathed in smiled, yelling, “Kite! Kite’s here! Kiiiiiite!”

I got a little teary. This woman, who has been labeled weird and different for such a long time, is now the source of real joy to children all over this town. It was a lovely moment.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage What are you listening to?

Todd The Januaries

Sage, trying to listen to them But Todd, they’re horrible. Also, look at the review: “The Januaries spin delicate bubbles of sugary pop that float along a 1960s-scented breeze. For girls who’ve been wearing makeup for a couple years now, but still love their frilly pink curtains.”

Todd I love my frilly pink curtains.

The Gas Bill

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Todd A $15 bill came for the Ozark house gas.

Sage Oh GOOD! I tried to pay it and they couldn’t do it without an account number. So quick, go get it.
Sage go get it
Sage go get it
Sage now now now

Todd Get what?

Sage The bill.

Todd What?

Sage THE GAS BILL

Todd The gas bill is in HERE already.

Sage Is there an account #?

Todd I mean, it’s in the garbage under a bunch of wet icky stuff. You need it?

Sage ARGH. GO GET THE GAS BILL. I WILL WAIT FOR YOU. UNTIL MY PATIENCE IS EXHAUSTED. THEN I WILL GO HAVE SEX WITH CALEB.

Paul and I were at the Big City library, where we found a life-size steam train engine, meant as a indoor playground for children. Paul stepped up to the door, and was about to walk in when two nasty little kids started yelling that he wasn’t allowed in. Emily, the younger one, scowled and shrieked that boys wer not allowed (ignoring the fact that her brother Michael was already in the train). I stepped up behind Paul and scowled.

“Cut that out,” I said. “The train is for everyone to use.”

Emily kept up her rant, but Michael had seen my face and hissed nervously, “Emily, shhh.”

Paul spent a moment in the train and then we wandered off to find more books. Half an hour later, we walked by Emily, standing next to her mother.

“Stupid boy,” yelled Emily, “Go away, boy!”

I rounded on her and snarled, “You need to stop being hateful. To my child. Right now. Am I being clear?”

Emily, finally silenced, nodded in a cowed way.

Her mother did absolutely nothing, which made me wonder if Emily was a hellion in general, and the mom was glad to see someone who could make her kid shut the fuck up.

Knowing that I tend to be overprotective, I do my best to stay out of kid altercations. But really, being screamed at for committing the offense of coming within Emily’s sight was a little beyond even his burgeoning social skills.

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon and listening to “Propose a Toast” by Sporty Thievz, which begins:

This joint is dedicated to everybody dead and gone
Everybody gettin it on
Everybody locked up
Everybody on the curb
Everybody in the struggle
It’s gon’ be aight
We proposin a toast for all a y’all
This one’s for y’all man, for everybody, Yo

Sage This song is dedicated to everybody. Ever. Who ever did anything.

Todd Yo.

Sage This song is dedicated to that guy in the blue hat who’s getting fries from McDonalds. And Mrs. Richardson, this is for you. And that guy who used to mow my lawn, yo. Also that shiny rock in my yard.

Todd This one’s dedicated to my landlady’s dog.

Sage And my belly button. Belly button, I love you, man.

Is that my mother on the phone?

Sage and Todd are playing online backgammon.

Sage Wow, the sound on this stereo is so good I thought we were having a thunderstorm, but it was a thunderstorm in the the song I was listening to.

Todd, in the desert What’s a thunderstorm?

Sage, singing randomly With resurrection power…Telephone is ringing, is that my mother on the phone, telephone is ringing, is that my mother on the phone…

Todd, whose mother died years ago It would take RESURRECTION POWER to get my mother on the phone.

A friend told me a great story about working at the Department of Motor Vehicles (city population: 570,000), and how people would walk in without the right signatures on their paperwork.

Worker I’m sorry, but you’ll need your wife’s signature on that line.

Person Goddammit! You mean I have to go all the way home and get her signature?

Worker, all but using hand signals to convey that the person can go around the corner and forge it Sir, all I need is a signature.

Person I need this done today!

Worker If…you…could just…get…a…signature…on the paper…

Person, stomping off Fuck this.

So I was on my way to the local Department of Motor Vehicles (city population: 2000) with a friend, and I told her this story. When we walked in the door…

Worker Sir, I’m sorry, but you’ll need your wife’s signature on that line.

Person Oh? My wife’s signature? On that line? You know, it’s the funniest thing. Did I tell you that Janie came with me?

Worker, wide eyed What a fortunate coincidence!

Person She did. She’s right outside, so I’ll bring this paperwork to my wife, and I’ll have her sign it, okay? I’ll be right back.

Worker, struggling to keep a straight face You go do that. She’s just around the corner, right?

Person Yes! Just out of sight!

Worker cracks up the minute he’s out the front door.