Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.6)

“Good Lord, Donald, could you have found an uglier car? It’s your fault, you know. Stevens’ll sue you for sure for this one.”

“I had a great day, Mr. Buttons. Thanks for asking.” Donald turned toward the front door of his mustard-yellow 1970’s ranch-style house. He had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a wet-bar in the living room. He was proud of his home.

His neighbors thought it was a boil on the face of their restored, gentrified neighborhood. Which is to say – they’d all repainted and installed hardwood floors and central air, while Donald had held the line on modernization. His house still had window units. And shag carpeting. Original.

Mr. Buttons, the faux-feline, scampered ahead of the man, with an impatient twitch of its tail. Glaring over is left shoulder, it mewed, “I hate it when you call me Mr. Buttons. Hate it!”

“Well, what else should I call you?”

“Doug. You should call me Doug.”

“You keep saying that. Is Mom home?” Donald shared his ranch-style house with his mother, whom he resembled in all but personality.

“She’s out with her girlfriends. Playing Bingo. But, they’ll probably go to La Bare afterward. I hope I’m that much fun when I’m her age.”

“You are her age.”

“Hmph.” With that, Mr. Buttons, aka Doug, flopped onto his side and began grooming his backside. With feeling. While staring at Hefeweizen.

Donald mumbled something sounding vaguely like “stupid cat” and proceeded down the hall into his living room. Setting down his briefcase, he tugged his tie loose, and headed for the wet-bar.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

“You keep telling me that. Contrary to all appearances.”

“Oh, come one. You know I’m not really a cat. The same way you know that woman you promoted is not really a human.”

“How did you know about Jessica?” Donald stammered and nearly dropped his Old Fashioned. (Easy on the vermouth, extra cherries.)

“I know a lot of things Donald Hefeweizen. You should probably sit down for this one.” The faux-cat paused and took a deep breath. “Jessica Michaellson is the anti-Christ.”

. . . to be continued.

(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton

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Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.5)

Donald Hefeweizen strode from the building feeling accomplished and successful. He had saved the job of a fascinating young woman. At least, he assumed she was fascinating. She looked fascinating.

And he got to fire that obnoxious twit from software who actually refused to sign the Non Compete Agreement. Donald knew that was going to come back to bite him in the ass, but he’d worry about it when it happened. If it happened. God, he hoped it didn’t happen.

Nonetheless, he was mostly please with his day. He took a deep breath of steaming Dallas air, and admired a black Mercedes pulling away from the building. It’s license plate read DIAVOLO.

He shook his head. The things people would put on their cars. Perhaps the driver didn’t know it made their cars easier to recognize to criminals. And to cops. Ah well.

Hefeweizen crossed the street with a crowd and entered the parking garage on the corner, searching for his brand new, lemon yellow Smart Fortwo Pure ultra-compact. He found it where he left it, barely contained within a stall marked COMPACT.

The stall was the reason he bought the car. And the gas mileage.

Otherwise, the car was as disappointing to look at as was its owner. In exactly the opposite ways. Where the vehicle was small, Donald was large. Where it was precisely organized, Donald was disheveled. Strangely, the two belonged together.

They certainly got a lot of stares traversing the toll-roads and expressways. What neither realized was that together they had caused seven collisions. This week. And one distracted driver actually drove into his lowered garage door.

“Evening Harold!” Donald Hefeweizen called to his neighbor, “did your brakes fail?”

Harold Stevens climbed from his car, scratched his head, and glared back at Donald. “I don’t know which insurance agent to call for this one. That’s some car you’ve got there.” He continued to mumble something about damn nuisances and slammed his front door behind him.

“Nice work, D,” chuckled a high-pitched voice.

Donald looked down to find a flat-faced, solid white Persian cat sitting in what was left of a flower bed. The cat, which is what Donald insisted on calling the creature though he knew it had once been human, had muddy paws, a leaf stuck in its fur, and an attitude.

. . . to be continued.

(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton

Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.4)

Jefferson Dunleavy couldn’t figure out why he was being escorted from the building. He had worked for Metroplex Brokerage for the past five years, and in all that time, he had never done anything wrong. Well, nothing anyone knew about anyway.

So, he had refused to sign the Non Compete Agreement that was pressed upon him by some toad in Human Resources.

“Hmph! Human Resources. Should’ve called them Hell’s Rejects. It’s closer to the truth,” he thought.

He wasn’t wrong.

Not even Hell would accept Donald Hefeweizen. At that exact moment, THE DEVIL, himself, was plotting the demise of the abominable HR Director.

Jefferson Dunleavy was still standing on the cement steps in front of his former employer, a goldfish bowl under his left arm (complete with water and a fish named Frank), a twelve-pound backpack attached to his right shoulder, and the personal contents of his cubicle in a cardboard box at his feet.

And he had now idea how he was going to fit everything on his bicycle for the ride home.

That’s when a black town-car pulled up in front of him. And stopped.

A thin, blonde woman in a red leather catsuit slinked out of the driver’s side door and prowled around to stare at Jefferson. Only she didn’t really stare. It was more the way a wild animal might consider its next meal. She licked her lips.

Jefferson shuddered. And nearly dropped Frank.

The tinted rear window slowly rolled down as a low voice called from the back seat, “Bathsheba, don’t scare the poor boy. Invite him for a ride home.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred. “Mr. Dunleavy, my employer wishes to have a word with you. And since you seem to be in need of some assistance, we’ll be happy to escort you and your belongings home. I’ll have someone see to your. . .” She sneered at his shiny blue 10-speed. “. . . conveyance. It’ll be there when we arrive.”

With that, she turned on her heel, opened the rear door and held the goldfish bowl as our supremely ignorant software programmer climbed in.

“Jefferson Dunleavy. I have a proposition for you.”

. . . to be continued.

(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton

At Least I Was Wearing A Ponytail

I woke up this morning extremely nauseated, and with a full schedule of meetings and presentations.

So, like any self-respecting salesperson, I showered and prepped for the day like I might actually make it. Like that first purge of the day was all it would take for my world to be right.

I picked up some Pepto on the way over to my 8:30 AM Mac 101 class for twenty-two teachers at a Catholic school. Twice during my presentation, I threw back a Pepto shot. The nausea persisted.

After three hours, I lost my personal battle. To be precise, my stomach gave up its valiant attempts to restrain its contents.

I screamed, “Please excuse me!” as I raced down the hall to the faculty lavatory, tore off my glasses and suit jacket, and got well acquainted with their porcelain.

And, yea, see how the mighty saleswoman was brought low. Amen.

How was your day?

Leah Has Lots of Kids

My sister has five children! This is one of the many things I adore about her – she celebrates life. Her home is full of laughter and joy, as well as the usual complaints, whines, and tears, that follow children everywhere they go. But she has such blessings times five!

I love visiting her home and spending time amongst my nieces and nephews. They are a delight and pleasure to me, as well as to their parents. There are few other children around whose presence I wish to spend significant amounts of my time. These five beings have the time, attention, and unconditional love of parents who have committed their lives to raising up future leaders. And my sister and brother-in-law are doing a commendable job. As anyone who knows these kids would attest.

Handsome and I are often compared to them, for obvious reasons. We have no children, though we are several years older. We love children and enjoy spending time with them. We are blessed both spiritually and financially. We have the means to provide for several children. But we have none.

Whereas Leah is often posed the question why she has so many children, we are often asked why we don’t. To be honest, it wears me down. We don’t – because we don’t. For lots of reasons. And just like it’s rude to criticize one family for having lots of kids, it’s rude to criticize another for having none. Unlike many “concerned” friends and family, Leah and her husband have never criticized or judged us. They just love us. And they love us even more because we love their family.

The bottom line truth is that my sister is doing the right thing. In every way.

It bothers me, personally, that other people criticize her family, her lifestyle, her choice. It’s the hypocrisy that gets to me. And, I’m a little (ok, a lot) protective of my baby sister.

So sue me.

Donald Hefeweizen Saves The World (pt.3)

That’s when THE UNIVERSE paused and took a deep breath.

For the first time in his life, Donald didn’t see a huge part of THE OTHERWORLD, even though she was sitting in a leather guest chair on the opposite side of his carved cherry-wood desk. Instead, he only saw a pair of long legs peaking from beneath a short black skirt. And red lips, perfect for kissing.

Provided the brown eyes above those lips could overlook the growing blemish on his chin.

Donald reminded Jessica of her father. Except without the glowing red eyes and cloven hooves. And the horns. Mr. Hefeweizen definitely didn’t have horns, though the pimple was making a run for it.

She couldn’t quite figure out where to look. Lazy righty eye? Left eye? So, she settled on the pimple.

Really, was there anywhere else one could be forced to look? It was like a train wreck – she didn’t want to stare. She couldn’t help herself.

“Promoted?! Why? I thought you were going to fire me!”

“Oho, no! Not you, dear. We’re going to fire the software programmers. Seems today’s dramatic losses can be attributed to a virus . . . er . . . a glitch . . . a bug . . . something. Anyway, we fired him.”

“Wow!” Jessica exclaimed. She had heard a lie. she never realized how easy it was to pick up on a fallacy. It smelled like licorice. And it made her happy.

That had never happened to her before. Her father had always said he could smell a lie. Why didn’t he just say they smelled like licorice? Would have make much more sense.

“. . . the corner office on the third floor. It should be ready for you by Friday.” Donald Hefeweizen was talking about something important.

Jessica was too busy smelling his words to hear anything he was saying.

. . . to be continued.

(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton