[Scene: A Home Depot store in the Flatiron District of
Manhattan, 20 minutes to closing time on a scorching hot summer Sunday evening.
I am wandering the store searching for a small portable fan, when I spot nemesis
David Bowie (see Scene #1 and Scene #2 for backstory) in a hardware aisle. He
is wearing a white pique polo shirt, collar popped, a pair of plaid Bermuda
shorts, and orange Chucks with no socks. I stare at him unseen for a few
seconds, then run to the carpet section and grab two large samples. I run back
to where David Bowie is still ruminating over small metal items sealed in
plastic.]
Me: (placing the carpet samples on the floor next to David
Bowie, then lying down and rolling around on them, hysterically laughing)
AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! HAHAHAHAHA! WAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! (pauses, taking a deep
intake of breath) AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
David Bowie: (at first startled, then settling into a unhappy
smirk, slouching perceptibly) Oh, fantastic. Fantastic. FAN. TASTIC. Can you
not for once find SOME OTHER PLACE TO BE?
Me: (wiping away tears of laughter, remaining on back,
maniacally grinning upwards towards David Bowie) Oh, god. Look at you. Where do
I begin? It’s like Christmas for me. Do please tell me what you – YOU! – are
doing here!
David Bowie: You should stay like that on your back all the
time. Really flattens out all those deep wrinkles.
Me: (frowning, sitting up quickly, then rising) Charming as
ever, Jones. Answer me.
David Bowie: If it will dispatch you to the foul Hell from whence
you spewed forth with more rapidity, then fine…one of our toilets is running and
it needs a new dunker.
Me: (bursting with explosive laughter)
BRAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! AAAAHAH! Dunker??? DUNKER??? Do you mean a “floater?”
David Bowie: (irritated, scowls) WhatEVER…that black balloon
thing in the tank.
Me: (unable to stop grinning) Right. So why on earth didn’t
you call a plumber?
David Bowie: You try getting a plumber in Manhattan on a
Sunday night. And anyway, I am perfectly able to make a simple home repair
myself.
Me: I will pay for your “dunker” and almost anything else
you’d like to have in the universe if you would allow me to just stand there
and watch you try to fix a toilet.
David Bowie: Judging by your overall shabbiness, I doubt you
can afford bus fare back to whatever disreputable hovel you’re squatting in at
the moment.
Me: (irritated) You look like Grandpa Vampire Weekend.
David Bowie: (angrily) At least I’m not covered in coffee stains
and dog urine!
Me: (very angrily) ARROGANT CLOWN-SHOD JERK!
David Bowie: (very angrily) MALEVOLENT MIDDLE-AGED MEDUSA!
[A physical tussle ensues, sending the carpet samples and
toilet fixtures flying. A crowd gathers. The Home Depot store manager, whose
nametag reads “Armand,” crouches in a far corner of the store, shivering and
quietly weeping. Store security arrives, separates me and David Bowie, and
escorts us to the door.]
Me: (singing loudly) “…Ashes to ashes, funk to funky,
Bowie’s toilet needs a dunky…”
David Bowie: (shouting to wife Iman, who is waiting in a limousine
idling at the curb) THAT’S IT! WE’RE BUYING THE SPACE SHUTTLE!
Me: (continuing) “…for heeeere, am I sitting on my home can,
faaaaar above the world, my toilet is screwed and I can’t make my dooo…”
David Bowie: (entering limo) SHUT! UP!
Me: (yelling to limo as it screeches its tires as it jerks
into traffic) Wait! Wait! You forgot to pick up a Laughing Gnome in the Garden
Section! HAAAAA!
David Bowie: (yelling with head out the window, 3 blocks away)
I hate you SO MUCH, Marianne!
© Copyright 2008- Marianne Spellman