Genuflect by Gordy Grundy
November 2000; Issue No. 48

 

THE SEVEN STAGES OF TROUBLE; PART III

Just when I thought I had all the aeroplanes circling high and orderly above the airport, a submarine fires three or more torpedoes in quick succession. The ship was already sinking but some bully smelled the blood and swats the burning dirigible to the ground.

I JUST LEARNED ANOTHER LIFE LESSON

There are two life lessons which I have recently jotted down in blood. 1) If you want to flirt with Trouble, you better have lotsa of money. Trouble must be a plaything of the rich. 2) If you have to go to court for something as simple as picking your nose, you better have your attorney with you. If you do not take a three piece counsel, 1) you will have to wait a long time for your case to be heard, and 2) you better expect to get your ass kicked for not strapping on the Kevlar vest of an attorney in the first place.

My reasoning and subsequent action were sound. I had a court date, which was nothing more than a friendly check-up. I really need to watch the blood flow of dollars so I left a message with my attorney stating that I could handle this job solo. The Judge would read the Letter of Dutiful Behavior and see that I am an "A" student in my liquor classes, which are poured by the State of California for all first time DUI offenders. The Judge would then give me a hearty "Good citizen!" and send me on my way. Knowing that Trouble Begets Trouble, I have dotted every tee and crossed all the eyes. I haven't missed a requirement and I sit in the front polishing an apple. This court date was to be a slam-dunk.

Frankly, I am swinging. I have my Solo Debut coming up and I wanted to savor these weeks. I've been waiting a long time for
the cherry poppin' event. I have alot to do. At present, skies are clear and I am full throttle on all engines.

Judge Harkonian commends me for my lack of absenteeism and for fun, rifles through my file. Nostrils flaring, he snaps like a golden retriever on a bloody glove, "Hey! Where did you do your jail time? How many days?" Matrix-like, I am jettisoned backward. "Ten," I blanch, "At Valhalla." And within a few seconds, the now silent gallery and myself suddenly realize that Judge Harkonian wants to kick me in the kidneys. Repeatedly. There is a very strong chance I will have to lay my head on a concrete pillow again.

Hell, at this point, it might be a godsend to spend my Solo Debut in a nice cyclone screamin' cell at LA County. I wouldn't have to balance this tray full of stacked plates. They say that the Good Lord never gives you a burden that you can't handle. Well, lay it on me baby.

 

OVERHEARD

"I'm comin' Darla! I'm a-comin', honey!"

 

GOOD HELP IS HARD TO FIND

From my journal: "...Speeding down the Long Beach freeway, my arms are braced against the dashboard of the old luxury sedan. My right leg is furiously pumping an imaginary brake pedal. I look to the left and see that my driver is sweating profusely and his eyes are wide on the rearview. The blare of a titanic horn snaps my neck to the starboard stern. We have just cut off another eighteen wheeler."

 

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GORDY GRUNDY is a Los Angeles based painter. He can be reached at: genuflect@ gordygrundy.com

 

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