Blackhumouristpress's Blog

May 27, 2015

The Gauntlet Through Suburbia or It’s Kinda Like Dutch

Filed under: belgium,humor,humour,Short Story,suburbia — blackhumouristpress @ 8:51 pm
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Margot totally forgot about the block party as she came around the corner to find two barricades blocking the entrance to her driveway. It took a few seconds for the whole thing to register- The busybody fucks put together a block party and put the fun house/trampoline squarely in front of her driveway. She would have to park her car on the side street and face the gauntlet of neighbors on her way to her door. There at the table was the neighborhood old nosey woman with her mentally challenged adult son with the underbite. He is a Bagger at the neighborhood grocery store and it takes longer for him to bag the groceries than to go up and down the aisles to shop. His mother landed him the job. Ted is harmless unless you’re a deviled egg. Ted sat next to his mother and poked each and every one of the deviled eggs and then licked what stuck to his hands as he smiled at his own fingers. Next to Gladys and her son was Susan and her husband George who had gastric bypass surgery, right after they became born again Christians. They have two adult sons who work doing delivery at a pizza restaurant. They make under minimum wage and have nice late-model Chrysler cars. One has a Challenger and the other a Charger. They blast ghetto Rap and wear sagging pants and crooked ball caps delivering food to hungry homogeneous consumers nestled in a really safe community. Margot thinks the boys are dealing dope and they are. Susan and George have two younger daughters after a ten-year sabbatical on spawning. They are twins but not fraternal. One is thin and tall and the other is grotesquely obese and tall. Margot wanted to wire up her backyard so that the chubby one would get a shock much the way a dog does with invisible fences. The heavy-set girl was forever picking flowers and kicking soccer balls into Margret’s plants.

Next two at the table were the neighborhood lesbians that looked like two ugly Dutch men with Dutch boy haircuts. They both played on several lesbian softball teams and treated their Pug named Schotzie like their baby. The larger of the two large women was the daddy and the smaller but rotund one was the mommy and they called each other that. The daddy seemed to always sweat even when there was not a good reason such as cold weather or inactivity and she smelled slightly like a skunk. Perspiring, unwashed skin against more perspiring unwashed skin tends to give off a scent after while. They glared at Margot. They were no longer friends because Margot changed her mind and decided that she really did not want the Pamper Chef stuff that the mommy was peddling as part of her stay at home employment so that she could keep an eye on the dog who had a slipped disc.

The lesbian’s dog Schotzie kept growling at the judge’s well-behaved German Sheppard that sat unleashed at his side. The judge looked like Joseph Goebbels with his legs crossed and his concentration camp dog at his side. His wife had an Eva Braun look to her. She had a nervous thing she did where she kept straightening a strand of hair that was already straight. Margret suspected that the judge’s wife was trained to be obedient and submissive like their dog. The judge never spoke and his wife only commented on the weather. At the far end of the table were the wife swappers. Margot didn’t know for certain that this was going on but felt that the spouses of each couple was far too chummy. Margot was right. The couples would order a pizza delivered by the hip hop looking pizza boy neighbors, have a few drinks and take turns with each other’s spouse and then critique each other’s performance.

The thought often came to Margot- wouldn’t it have been better to stay in the city where the sounds of leaf blowers did not cut through the morning air each and every quiet morning, where busy  with mentally challenged sons would not watch her from their windows, where dysfunctional next door neighbors would not ignore their son’s dope dealing and allow their overfed daughter to destroy her garden, where Nazi look a likes and lumpy lesbians with dogs never would feel at ease to hold a gun to her head to get her to buy unnecessary stuff that she didn’t want or need? No. The city was cold and distant. There were no block parties and you had to lock your car doors and dead bolt your front doors and watch your purse. People in the city never said hello to each other unless they were about to panhandle.

The neighbors were all intrigued by Margot.  Why did she buy a house in the suburbs? Was she ever married? Did she have kids? Why is there no man around or a woman for that matter? Is she happy? Is she sad? Is she content? Is she hiding something? Is she really American? They all wanted to know. It’s the suburbs and everyone sticks their noses up each other’s asses like dogs at a dog park. Gladys asked Margot to stay for a drink, the born-agains asked her to stay, the lesbians, Nazis and wife swappers all took their turns. Margot felt she had no choice. Like a gun to her head, she sat and waited for the questioning at the yearly block party while she sipped a Pinot Grigio out of a plastic cup.

“Well, I came from the city but am originally from Belgium…”

Nobody said anything and then the son of Gladys with an underbite and deviled egg residue on his fingers, looked at Margot and asked a profound question that nobody expected or thought to ask Margot. Ted watched geography shows on public television constantly but nobody knew that. They all thought they were in the presence of a savant. “Did you speak French or Flemish in Belgium?”

Margret answered that she spoke Flemish. Nobody knew what that was. Nothing was said for a nervous ten seconds until the judge’s wife commented while straightening her hair.

“Well we certainly picked a beautiful day to have this block party, didn’t we?”

Yes

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