"Would you like a free credit report?" That is exactly what the woman asked me, as if credit were something that one could even report...ever. I'll admit, this confused me. My first reaction was "Huh?" That's actually my first reaction to everything, which is why I went to jail for 8 months (long story...for another blog entry).
After that, I gazed deeply into her deep blue eyes, and spoke with my deep baritone voice, "How is that even possible?" She didn't respond. She just stood there, staring at me...probing my deepest thoughts with her proboscis. "Excuse me, Jenny," I don't think her name was Jenny, but I desperately wanted it to be, "But...my credit. First of all: 'What is it?" and secondly: 'How can you check it for me?'" Still nothing. Still blue eyes. Still deep. Still still.
This made me angry. "Jenny!" I screamed, "How chose you me?!" I had meant it to sound all mysterious, medieval, and archaic, but I think it sounded more Yoda than anything else. Still nothing from Jenny. She didn't move a muscle, nor turn, nor wink, nor think. She was an absolute statue. I couldn't help it, I started to cry. Tears welled in my eyes as if I were a guy who was cutting onions...or his fingers off...or just really sad about something.
Despairing, I did something I'm not proud of -- I called my mom. That's right, I selected "Mom" from my contacts list and punched the little green button that makes the magical phone calls happen. My mother wasn't home, but I did leave a message for her. It went exactly like this: "Mom...I...and the Jenny won't even....Buwahhh!!! She just, like...even and she stands there! Statue!! You're a statue is what you are at all!!! Buwahh-haaaaa...muhhmmahawaaa!!! (there was a continuation of aspirated & bilabial noises following here which I don't have the patience to write out) You mean...I mean she is just...Jenny! She didn't even...I mean...she didn't tell me anything about ANYTHING! Why Mom!!! Does not she love me!?"
I hung up, and turned back to Jenny. The waterworks were going pretty good at this point. As I wiped the bloody tears from my eyes (yes, that's right...much like the Virgin Mary I was crying blood I was so sad) I looked at Jenny again, and I saw her for what she truly was: the Yellow Pages. I blinked...and blinked...and blinked...then wiped more bloody tears and looked again. I could not believe my eyes (which I had just blinked and wiped, in case you weren't paying attention): Jenny was nothing more than a heavy, bound book full of "words" and "numbers."
Well, you cannot believe my elation. I cannot even believe my elation I was so elated. I took Jenny upstairs, when mischief started to take over my brain. "Who does Jenny think she is, being not a person like that?!" I screamed at my refrigerator. In a fit of what can only be described as "rage," I punched Jenny right in the rib. That's right, I'm not proud of it, but a man does odd things when he's mad. A...man...does...odd...things. Once my anger had been slaked, I made a Pop Tart and watched Everyone Hates Chris until I fell asleep.
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