I got my under carriage oiled, twice! On my vehicles. Let's keep this clean! The boy and I were sent out by the dad about the house to get the vehicles ready for old man winter and salty roads. It was not high on my list of exciting things to do, but after I left this place of under oiling, there was a story to be had. 

     I really wasn't sure what I was getting into. From the appearance on the outside. it looked like a normal building, it had that barn, drive shed, garage, look. Not unpleasing, it didn't make me want to drive away. Once I unloaded the boy out of his car seat and walked into the makeshift office/lobby/waiting room, I was pleasantly surprised. 

     I had step back into time and it was AWESOME! In one corner of the room was a big veneer bookcase, loaded with books, with a sign, that said: "Need a book, take a book." I looked at the books, not recent reads, which was fine,  but all coated with a bit of an oily film! Books are combustable to begin with, but even more combustable when coated with oil. High risk reading! No smoking near the book you are reading! 

     Then there was a lovely living room, with a toy area for kids. Two recliners flanked the coffee table that was loaded down with trash. That's right, TRASH reading! You had your People, Hello, Flare, Sports Illustrated, and the list could go on. I didn't have the time to sift through it all like I wanted to. I chose the comfy burnt orange recliner to set myself down into, trying really hard not to touch it too much, once again, a black oily film coated my chair, and the dark brown recliner that was beside me. And I was okay with it, after all, I am at get your vehicle under oiled place. Oh, and the TV! And free WI FI! I was beside myself with joy! I didn't know what to do first, read a somewhat current trash rag, watch TV or surf the net on my Ipod. I was only going to be there for 40 minutes or less, so I had to make the most of my time. A little reading, watch a bit of TV, check Facebook. I did it all! 

     And where was the boy all this time? In the toy area! Happily playing with oily toys, grimy stuffed animals, blacken trucks, and dusty books. He was in boy heaven! I only stopped his fun once. He was lying down on the area rug, which I think at one time, it might have been a brightly coloured rug. Not anymore. It was beyond a soiled rug. I understood that, I was at a spray my vehicle with PAM place, but I couldn't have my kid rolling around on a who knows what has been trasped upon rug. He could play with the dirty toys, but head on rug, face on rug, had to stop. 

      And then it happened! It's like the boy gets stressed out about being in new place and feels the need to crap his pants. He always does this to me, so I'm always prepared. But not prepared to change a bum in this place. If a place was super dirty, and I had this job to do, I would leave and use my vehicle as a changing station. But I didn't have my vehicle, my vehicle was up on a hoist, and I wasn't sure for how much longer. 

     I really wished at that point, that I had a sheet, a huge garbage bag, a hazmat suit, anything to lay down on that area rug. I had nothing but my coat. In my head I was thinking, "Just do it fast, if I go quickly, and no goofing, no skin should have to touch this floor." The boy was thinking, "If I wiggle, and twist and turn, and arch, and carrying on, I'll get to stay on this wonderful oh, so dirty carpet of flith!" Since I was busy, trying to pin down a wiggling body and just get his diaper on, it was then, it appeared out of nowhere. 

     A MOUSE?! There it was, by the boy's head, a baby mouse. Big enough to wander around, but small enough not to be afraid. It took its jolly old time wandering away from us, stopped had a look around, scratched his face and scampered to the other side of the rug. By this time, I had the boy's bum changed and the boy was walking after the mouse with his Shrek like hands out streched, "Oh a baby mouse. So, cute." And I was more like the freak out mom. "Ah! A mouse! How about we don't pet the mouse."

     Then my hero arrived. The owner of the get your vechicle undercoated with oil with shake and bake on the side, scooped up the baby mouse in his hand, and said in his deep gravely voice, "This mouse?"  He opened the door and tossed it outside. 

     About 5 minutes later, my vehicle was ready to go. I was looking forwarded to my next visit, with the second vehicle the next day. I was already lining up my magazines for my light reading, eyeing up my cozy, yet oiled soaked orange recliner (also highly flammable) My only regret was that I didn't bring a coffee in with me and a couple of cookies. It was just a great, dirty, oily smelly waiting room.

     I told my hero, that I would be back the next day with gold vehicle. He said that he hoped that my next visit would be mouse free. I told him I hope so too. 

From the 4th line

Arlene

     My dad always tells people that I have the ability to make a dull knife interesting. I guess what he means is that I can take that dull knife and give it a story or least of all,  give it a personality, make it lifelike. Before too long, the knife has a name, I've constructed clothes for it, and now has a permanent spot at the dinner table, no longer used as a knife, but now, a long lost cousin, twice removed, who was found foraging for wild berries, in Iceland, and somehow, through luck and faith, made its way to me. See, dull knife, made somewhat interesting. But my dad also says that I missed my calling. No, not a minister...although the title sounds quiet regal, "The Reverend Arlene has a speaking engagement at  Buckingham palace." What my dad is talking about, is auctioneer. How he got auctioneer, I don't know, I really don't speak quickly, I may talk a lot, but not like an auctioneer. Plus my ablilty to sell things to people isn't that great, I'm real good at talking you out of that expensive vegetable peeler, when a good paring knife will do the same thing at half the cost.
   
     In case you didn't know, I clean houses for a living. I've been cleaning and scrubbing people's grim and dust for 14 years. Wow, actually had to stop and thing about that. Maybe, for my 15th cleaning anniversary, I should send myself off to a cleaning lady convention. That could be fun, me by myself and the hotel chambermaids, talking about the weird unspeakable things we have pulled out from under beds. (in other words...without getting to graphic...."toys.") Some people think that all this cleaning lady does is read other people's magazines, try on other people's clothes, and take naps on my client's beds. That only happens some of the times! The other times, I'm too busy having coffee and cookies with my clients and having deep meaningful conversations with them. The other part of the time, I'm happily cleaning away, just me and Jian Ghomeshi and the CBC. Or other days, just me and Stuart Mclean from the Vinyl Cafe, also CBC. Check them out!! Here's my shout out!!

     After a month of serious vacuuming, all great thinking gets done when one is doing a mindless task, that this blog will be about stories. Long, short, true, false, an exaggeration of a true story that gets blown way out, a false story with true elements, a long story, that should be made into a longer story, a short story that stays short, with the the ability later to go long. There maybe inquiries, finger pointing, rants, raves, mocking others, comedy, and feel good. Never ever, will there be anything profound. My mind just doesn't do profound. Will there be characters? Yes, but I haven't decided if I'm going to use the cast of characters that surrounded me, or create new ones so that my cast is not identfied. Another day or two or three of vacuuming, will help work out the bugs.

     My teachers in school always told me to write about I know. Which was something that always stumped me. Especially at the  grade school level, because  what does one know in grade school. You know that your lunch probably sucks, the kid in front of you smells odd,  your seat at your desk is hard and your butt hurts and you know that recess isn't long enough. At the high school level, you know a bit more. You know that your lunch sucks, doing group projects isn't your thing, your English teacher has a beard that probably houses a family of sparrows, your seat at your desk is hard and your butt has been numb for about 10 years, you know who sells drugs, and you know which guy knows how to hotwire a car. You know to stay away from the people who hang around the back stairwell, because chances are they are having sex, and you know not to stand to close to certain teachers because of their bad breath. And yes, there is still the kid that smells odd, just more of them in a confined space.

     With that all being said, I know lots, TONS!!! I will take my teacher's advice and write what I know!

From the 4th line,
Arlene