Waiting Room Jabberwockey

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is more of a sketch for a story.

Submitted: March 10, 2009

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Submitted: March 10, 2009



The Waiting Room
The waiting room is austere and bare of anything to attract the eye. I am sitting with a group of people who are a cross-section of humanity. There are some brochures: One reads: "Your Prostate and You". Maybe I am dead, I think, and am waiting for God to judge me.

There is a moter-cycle gent sitting adjascent to me and he has a short sleeve shirt on-even though it is 33 degrees outside with a wind-chill of -11.

There is a woman who excites me. She is 30 years my junior and I wrinkle my eyes and "smile" at her but she ignores it. (I am not as attractive as I was when I was younger.) She is TROUBLE though...I can see the mischief in her eyes. God help the man who loves her..or men. She can probably "Juggle" three or four without them ever knowing she had others. (My kind of woman-I would make her crazy...just for me)

There is a woman with rosacrustia-her face is bright red and the skin looks brittle and her hair is pulled back into a greasey pony tail.

There is an obese gentleman of about 30 or so who I can tell will probably die of a labored heart in 10 years or less-if he maintains his present life-style.

Then there is me. (I will try to hold no punches!)

I am 55 with a full head of curley greying hair and a double chin. I am more athletic than people see and have a horrible vertical scar on the right side of my face. (Looks like I was in a knife fight)...women loved it when I was younger...(They like to dream I WAS in a knife fight...over some woman) It was a "subacious tumor" though and the surgeon was a butcher.  Very unglamourous origin, so I let them dream what they will.

Ironic thing IS my health insurance wouldn't cover it because they considered it "Cosmetic Surgery".
 I looked better before the scar (?)

We all have these fabric shopping bags with all our paperwork in it:

"Mr. Cane, do you understand the statements I just made.."
"Sign here and I will make you a copy..."

"Have I gone to hell yet?" I ask myself. I have a whole shopping bag full of papers. Fortunately I brought a paperback: John Knoll's, "Seperate Peace". I read about Gene and Phineas and pass the time. I look up and the humerous young girl is gone.
If I brought my sketchbook I may have got laid..or at least a blowjob in the commen bathroom..in trade for the sketch.

..or my face kicked in again for paying too much attention to another mans' woman by an unseen gorilla.

"Mr. Cane" a voice yells.
"HERE" I yell back..."YOOO"

"Will you walk this way..."
She is a tall woman  (6' 2") with hips and I watch the way her hips sway as she walks. Undulate.

I thought of the old vaudville joke but did not do it. Imitate her walk. She was good enough to get me propane and heat in the trailer. I did not want laughter following her. They all could have used a good laugh-you understand.


"I need your signature: "Here" "Here and here..and here!"

I looked at her and smiled with my eyes. (My teeth are really awful looking nowadays).

She is like a REAL person who has a REAL job. When she looked at me, she looked right though me as though I was a piece of charnal instead of a human being. She got me the propane for the trailer though. I left a "thank you" note for her on her day off.

There are REAL people who make good money and Fakers who only aspire. I qualify as faker. No track record..bad employers and, yes, BAD ATTITUDE...from the experiences.

"MR. Cane" the woman who has a face like a man, asks me.


"I was just asking you if you had any income?"

"I have no income..." I confessed.

"How Have You Been Living?"

I paused a moment. "By selling anything I had that was worth money." I admitted.
Her face glowed. "So you HAVE INCOME!" she exclaimed, writing her forms.

"No" I said sadly. "I have "Outgo".

"Here we call it "Income".


"I never wanted to sell my belongings!" I confessed.
"But you did" she grinned.
"To make my bills..." I explained.

"and so it is called INCOME.." she was ecstatic/Orgasmic, almost.
She had a face like a man but she was a woman.

"I used to make money with the cameras and now I no longer have them,," I explained. "I sold them all on ebay.."

"Income" she crooned, checking off boxes in her SS forms. "How much did you get...in income from the cameras?" she asked. Pen waiting.

"No..INCOME.....OUTGO!" I persisted.

"Yes" she grinned, insulated from my station in life. 
("How do I get a government job like yours?" I asked, incredulously.)

"Oh Yes, All income...."
"If I sell my shirt out here in the vestibule and am without a shirt" I Explained. " is that : INCOME"?
"Now I would need a shirt...can you get me one...?"

"IT IS ALL INCOME TO US!" she said cheerfully.

"How much do you make an hour?" I asked, blisteringly,. "I sold everything I had.."
"..and that was INCOME?"

Mr. Cane...

I grabbed the delicate woman by the throat and her arms relaxed-knowing she had played her silly cards with the wrong kind of man.

She was so delicate. She was afraid of men though-in general..
She relaxed, like a kitten.
I pressed her to me.

"Mr, Cane, you are very bad..."

(I confess, I treated her-like an effigy)

"YOU ARE A THINGGG..An ugly appendage!" (I never said what I really thought though. She should have been strangled in the cradle.)

"You hold a GUN to peoples' heads' and you qualify or "Disqualify' them from being : ........"Human Beings".
 I hissed like a snake like their double-talk is to me.

I choked her. "I confess I have a bad attitude towards people who beleive I am surviving because I am smart?"
"I..... I'm only clever..." she choked.

"..now go and make a new life.." I said like Matt Dillon, throwing her Republican ass away from me, like bad dinner.

Back in the waiting room, my name is called: "MR. CANE!"

"YOOO" I yell, grinning, abandoning my arcane dreams.

"Step this way.." the young woman says watching her backfield carefully. I walk past a mirror and see how old I am.

I am still "built" like a "Phallus" and made like Phineas.

Three women in the :waiting room give me "secret" "HI-SIGNS", meaning: "I would sleep with him."


"I am an artist and a painter...and I want one of you as a model." I look at them modestly, all..
The one I really want, blushes like a virgin. (she is COOL..) I think...a Fox!

They haul me off.....

"Mr. Cane.....MR. Cane...."

"WHAT!???" I say very crossly. They disturb my fantasies.

I yell, and they whisk me to their "vesibules"....(the women)

"They are all angels,,,: I surmise. Thinking the best...

I can't look them in the eyes. They are all so attractive I feel like Oliver Hardy, I twiddle my tie and pretend they are in love with me.

"God, who needs a Christmas?",  I cough.
 The woman check boxes on a form and qualify or disqualify me from being a "Homo-Sapian"...can you imagine?"

"Rich-Bitch", I whisper, laughing. She touches her finger to her lips and touches her finger to my lips.
"Mr, Cane?"

"YES" I smile. (A woman like that would keep me warm without propane!)
She is "gigantic: but soo...pretty..probably has a boyfriend that will kick your ass..probably doesn't see herself attractive at all.

I look at her face and I can see myself pleasing her,,,(?) at one time.
Copyright 2008 Ortley Cane

© Copyright 2019 Ortley Cane. All rights reserved.

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