BLAH, BLAH, BLAH
L. M. David
I had to find it. The right sequence, that is. If I do not, I will get that look. I hate it when that look is aimed at me.
Okay, concentrate. Oh, geez, what is that sequence again…
Looking at the objects in front of me, I stared long and hard at each. The symbols were foreign although I have an inkling these mean something to everyone except me. I know the things are dark as night and have bright things on them that form strange shapes, but that is all. I figure I should recognize these, especially after all the times I have sat here staring at them. Originally, the figures mesmerized me. They seemed unique then, especially since I had never seen anything like them. But after days of staring at them for long periods of time, the shapes are no longer interesting. I am bored and want something new to look at. And do not get me started on how difficult it is to push the objects. My hands were not built for manual labor…so it annoys the ones who watch me when I struggle at this. No one cares that I, too, am frustrated.
I resent doing this over and over again.
Oh stop griping, I think and smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. I have to get this right or she will scold me.
I really hate being scolded.
Concentrating, I glanced at the objects one at a time. Let me see, push this, then that and then one more… it has to be the right sequence. Confident I had made the right choices, I lean on the objects and press each hard. I had barely released the third key when a loud shrill went off. My ears still hurt from the last time this happened, which was not long ago.
Shifting my eyes to the left, I saw the tall, annoying individual who always watches me, come and stand in front of my station. The hair above her eyes furrow — this is the ugliest being I have ever seen, wearing something so hideous my mind will never comprehend why she put it on. If anything, she should be ashamed of herself being out in public looking like that. And the only reason I know this thing is female is because she has breasts.
Not that I noticed.
In an effort to avoid a reprimand for my blunder, I offer my widest, most innocent smile along with my best wide eyed blameless look. Only what I am actually thinking is please do not bitch at me again.
“You got it wrong.” She rebukes me as expected. “What am I going to do with you Chester? That’s the ninth time you got it wrong today. Now try it again.”
What I hear is: Blah, blah, blah, Chester, blah, blah, blah!
Why does she speak to me that way? Does she not know I cannot understand her? And that accent, it sounds like water roaring over a cliff. It truly grates the nerves!
And who is this Chester? She calls me that constantly. Does she not realize that is not my name? You would think by the way I ignored her when she voices that name, or the way I start looking around to see who will answer, or that I just do not react at all, that Chester is not my name!
Finally, she turns and walks away. I stick my tongue out at her. Thankfully, she does not see me do it…this time.
At this rate, I will never get a break or have lunch.
A faint click came from the panel.
Oh, terrific, she reset the thing.
Okay…let me get it right this time. I would do anything to keep that weird female away from me. Thank all creation she does not live in my neighborhood. They would toss rocks at her without a moment’s hesitation. And I would be at the front of the line throwing the largest ones.
Concentrating, I looked at the panel again. Oh, forget it! I am just pushing these things and hope for the best. I mash the objects in sequence quickly and with all my strength. After the last one is pushed, I wait for that obnoxious sound which would bring the ugly lady stomping my way.
The shrill sound is absent.
Looking left, the ugly female has begun slamming her hands together making a clap, clap sound. I have seen this action before and clap with her.
Thank the stars, I smiled stupidly, I finally got it right.
Uh-oh, my smile fades, here she comes.
“You did great Chester,” she picks me up. Thank the stars I had breakfast a long time ago…otherwise, she would be wearing it. “And guess what, we finished just in time for lunch. The chef has prepared all your favorites and the bananas, I’m told, were delivered about ten minutes ago fresh from the market.”
She set me on the floor and grabbed my hand – time to go home. As we walk to the area I call home, she continues to talk.
Which, again, I translate as blah, blah, blah, blah…