To Sire, With Love (Part V)

“Don’t worry, Ms. Malone. I’ll unclog this toilet,” I told Sam at the start of her shift. “Sorry for not courtesy flushing.”

“That’s sweet of you for offering, Mr. Watkins,” she said. “But for legal purposes, guests at the Salvation Army shouldn’t do any of the work. It’s okay. This happens all the time.”

“It was actually Larry’s ass cheeks that caused this to happen. Not mine,” I explained. “He said it had something to do with the coffee.”

“I understand.”

I stood around and stammered a bit as I watched her plunge shit down the toilet. The smell was unbearable. “So,” I finally uttered, “I enjoyed your poem this morning. Do you write a lot?”

Her face instantly lit up. “Yes! I actually have tons of poems! I can read them to you sometime!”

“Oh no no no. That’s okay,” I said.

“Oh,” Sam sighed.

I instantly felt bad. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I meant that I got expelled from school in the third grade, so I never learned how to appreciate poetry. Yeah…that’s why!”

The toilet then unclogged and all the water rushed to the bottom. “Okay,” Sam said, “I got it fixed. Tell Larry to not use so much toilet paper next time!”

“I’ll let him know,” I responded. “I also want you to know that you’re a saint, Ms. Malone. Mother Teresa is just a pimple on my ass compared to you.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, Mr. Watkins. But really, I’m just doing what any good person would do.”

“Yeah I’d never unclog toilets for a bunch of hobos. That’s for goddamn sure.”

Sam removed her rubber gloves and washed her hands. “Well I hope you have a wonderful night Donny. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Please wait,” I pleaded. “There’s so much more I want to know about you.”

Sam cocked her head. “Like what?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Who’s your favorite Celtics player? Is 4.6 inches enough? Could you ever love a homeless man like me?”

“I don’t think these are appropriate questions, Mr. Watkins.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” I began to stutter. “Sometimes I say the wrong things. I’m a raging alcoholic, Ms. Malone. I also have a crushing gambling addiction and I owe several mob bosses a lot of money. I haven’t changed my underwear in seven weeks and I don’t use deodorant. I just don’t know how to talk to people!”

“Donny, you’ll get the help you need. I promise,” she replied then quickly stormed away.

“Ms. Malone, I’m in love with you!” I screamed.

TO BE CONTINUED…