by Chris Orlet
It was Monday morning and the smell of dead fish was in the air. I got up at the same time. Ate the same cold Corn Flakes. Coffee. Put on the chicken suit and a dirty tie. Went out to the garage and started the Dodge. Pulled out of the drive and drove down the street. Circled the block, rolled down the back alley.
I'd hid the mask and cape under the front seat. One of those horror show movie masks. I slipped it on and stole along the bushes keeping out of sight.
She always kept the back door open.
She was still in bed when I surprised her.
'Oh, my God, Emery! You scared me. Emery, what are doing? Why aren't you at work?'
I said, 'I'm not Emery.'
She sat up in bed and gave me this fat, disappointed look. 'I don't think this funny, Emery. No, I fail to see the humor in this. You're going to be late again. That's the third time this week.'
I didn't go for the cash directly. That would be a dead giveaway. Instead I began rifling through the drawers. Not my drawers, of course. I knew what were in my drawers. I tossed a few things on the floor, some bras and panties, just to make it look good.
'Emery, stop that!' she cried. 'Have you lost your mind? EMERY! What do you think you're doing?'
Then I went for the cash. She keeps it in a shoebox in the right bottom drawer with some stocks and bonds and this anniversary ring I just finished paying off--an expensive ring she can't even wear anymore because her fingers have gotten too fat. When she saw what I was going for, she hauled her fat ass out of bed and grabbed my arm. 'Emery, for Godsakes. Put that back!'
I was hoping I wouldn't have to get rough with her, but she left me no choice. I threw her back on the bed and climbed on top of her.
'Emery!' she cried.
I said, "I'M ... NOT... EMERY!'
She struggled and I had to slap her face. Then she began bawling as I had my way with her. After that she was quiet. Just kind of wept in the pillow while I gathered up the cash and the ring and beat it the hell out of there.
I felt bad about it for a while. Till the cops came by the office and slammed my face into the corner of the filing cabinet and cuffed me in front of the other accountants and threw me in their car and took me downtown. I felt bad about it till she pressed charges.
Then I didn't feel so bad.
About the author:
Chris Orlet is a frequent contributor to McSweeneys website, the decline of Western Civilization, and the crazy woman with half a face on the corner. But he weeps for all of us.